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Has A Report Retort

, , , | Right | July 7, 2017

(I am a receptionist in a corporate bank and I have to screen every call that I receive.)

Me: “Good morning, [Bank].”

Caller: “Hi, may I speak to your IT manager?”

Me: “May I know which company you are calling from, sir?”

Caller: “[Company].”

Me: “May I know the purpose of the call?”

Caller: “I would like to send a report.”

Me: “May I know what type of report, sir?”

Caller: “Look, mate, you are just the receptionist. Why are you asking 25 questions? Are you transferring my call or not?”

Me: “I’m afraid not, sir. Goodbye!” *hangs up*

(With that kind of attitude, especially when speaking in a demeaning way, may never get you through any call when you don’t even know who you would like to speak to. I’m just doing my job right, mate!)


This story is part of our Bank Customer roundup!

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Weeding Out The Bad Neighbors

, , , , | Friendly | June 19, 2017

(It is during summer and I am about nine years old. A few months ago, the city had decided to fix some nonexistent cracks in the sidewalks and make the residents pay about $500 each for it. Obviously, people complained, but the city informed them that the sidewalks were city property and that the residents had no right to decide whether the repairs were necessary. The residents tried to fight the cost being forced on them, but they lost. One of my neighbors is a bit of a grump who likes to turn tiny problems into huge issues. He also has a large garden which he tends to obsessively. When I’m walking past his house on the way to a friend’s place, I see a tiny flower (clearly a weed) growing between the cracks of the sidewalk. I pick it and tuck it behind my ear before continuing on my way. My friend isn’t home, though, so I go back to my house. I find my mom and the grumpy neighbor arguing on the front porch.)

Neighbor: *pointing at me* “There! There it is! See? In her hair! That’s the flower she stole!”

Mom: “That little thing? The way you were going on, I thought you meant an expensive flower, like an orchid or something.”

Neighbor: “It doesn’t matter! She’s a dirty thief!”

Me: *thinking I’m about to get in a lot of trouble* “But it was just a weed! It was growing between the sidewalk cracks.”

Neighbor: “I don’t care where it was growing! You stole it from me.”

Mom: “What exactly is it that you want me to do? She can’t put the flower back.”

Neighbor: “I know she can’t put the flower back. Do you think I’m stupid? She destroyed it, and I want her punished! If you refuse to address this matter, I’ll have to involve the police.”

Mom: *pulling me behind her* “Go right ahead.”

Neighbor: *shocked* “What?”

Mom: *trying not to smirk* “As you well know after those repairs, the sidewalks are the property of the city, not you. The city has no laws forbidding children from picking flowers. Now, if that will be all, I think it’s time for you to leave.”

Neighbor: *sputtering* “But… but… she stole from me!”

Mom: “No, she clearly didn’t. But you’re on private property, and I’ve already asked you to leave once. If you stay here, you’ll be trespassing, and I’ll have to involve the police.”

Neighbor: *leaves, looking like he just swallowed a lemon*

Me: *staring in shock at my mom, who’s normally very soft-spoken and non-confrontational*

Mom: “Never give in to people like that, honey. If you do, they’ll walk all over you forever.”


This story is part of our Neighbor roundup!

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The Epic Fight Between Positive And Negative

, , , , , | Right | May 5, 2017

(I work at IKEA. Today I’m at the small food counter near the registers when a woman makes a fuss about us having run out of fish sandwiches. Behind her in line is a regular who is also the son of one of our senior workers. After a two or three-minute rant, he rolls his eyes and addresses her:)

Regular: “They sold out. Throwing a tantrum isn’t going to magically make pan-fried fish fall from the sky onto your sandwich.”

Woman: “What do you think you’re doing? Mind your own business!”

Regular: “This is my business. I’m here for a hot dog and you’re in my way; move along, please.”

(This woman sees the queue agree. She stomps off to a recently installed little machine with smiley faced buttons. The idea is to press the button corresponding with your experience. She begins repeatedly mashing the frowny-face.)

Regular: *orders his hot dog and calmly walks over to the machine, grabbing some mustard on the way while silently counting the number of times the woman mashed the button*

Woman: “What do you want now?”

Regular: *eats his hot dog in silence until she turns to leave, then he steps to the machine and starts pressing the smiley-face* “You hit it 37 times? Let’s top that score. 1, 2, 3, 4…”

Woman: “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?”

Regular: “8, 9, 10, pressing buttons, 11, 12…”

Woman: “Stop that! I am leaving a negative review! You can’t make it positive again!”

(By now the regular’s mother has shown up, as the manager has been so busy.)

Regular: “19, 20, 21…”

Regular’s Mom: *takes a look at her son, having heard the short version from my coworker who paged for her and connecting the dots* “I’ll call a manager.”

(She runs into the backroom of the food counter. Barely containing her laughter, she pages the manager, who shows up surprisingly soon.)

Manager: “What’s the issue, ma’am?”

Regular: “54, 55, 56…”

Woman: “He’s removing my angry points! You didn’t want to give me fish and I left a bad review and he’s removing it!

(There is a small crowd forming to take a look at the show — and buying more hot dogs and drinks to enjoy while they’re at it.)

Manager: *also having trouble containing his amusement* “Well, ma’am, I can only apologize. We’re out of fish, and just like we can’t stop you from leaving negative reviews, I can’t stop him from leaving positive ones.”

Woman: “Fine! When he leaves, I’ll just push the angry face more!”

Regular: *waves his mother over* “Hey, mom, can I have a few more hot dogs and a drink? I’ll be here until closing, 78, 79, 80…”

Woman: *leaves, screeching* “You’re all in on it. You’re all against me!”

Regular: “83, 84…”

Probably One Per Inch

, , , | Right | February 3, 2017

(I’m working to returns desk handling a small line which has gathered.)

Woman: “Is it possible to return this? It has been in my bag for the past month; I just completely forgot about it!”

Me: “Do you have a receipt?”

Woman: “No, sorry.”

Me: “I can return it, but you will only get the current price, not the price you purchased with.” *scans item* “It would be £9.99.”

Woman: “Oh, that’s not so bad. It was £12.99, I think. Sure, I can live with that.”

(Suddenly the man behind her sniggers.)

Man: “That’s not how you do a return, lady.”

Woman: “Excuse me?”

Man: “You’ve got to make them feel small. Kick up a fuss. Get loud. Demand a manager. You’d get that £13 back, no bother.”

(The woman stares at him for a long time, making his confident expression falter, before turning back to me.)

Woman: “How small does your d**k have to be to get a thrill out of £3?”

(The man turned red with embarrassment and fled the store. The rest of us had a chuckle and, while I couldn’t refund the woman full price, the rest of the line coughed up the remaining £3, for the entertainment.)

What A Complete Trucker

, , , | Friendly | October 10, 2016

We joke about people who drive large trucks in East Texas, and my husband always has tons of stories to share. His favorite is still about some guy in a Dodge double cab trying to weave in and out of traffic. He decided to ride my husband’s rear for a good five miles, then nearly caused an accident when he darted to the left lane, then in front of my husband. He slammed on his brakes, trying to cause my husband to hit him, but my husband had already begun to stop. He just had a feeling the guy was road-raging.

The truck driver decided to speed back up and gets stuck behind someone going extremely slow, and is unable to move back over due to the right lane’s decrease of speed. My husband, however, is able to get over due to having a small car. He watches with interest as the truck speeds up, slams on his brakes, then speeds up again in repetition while getting nowhere. My husband eventually is back beside him and sees the guy slamming his hands on his wheel, cursing at traffic.

They get to a stop light, and it has turned red by the time the truck has gotten to it. All the same, he speeds through it, catching up to my husband … who has slowed down at the next red light. In succession, they caught every red light for five more stops. At the final red light, the truck driver looks as though he’s going livid. He looks over at my husband, who merely grins at him, waves, and then turns left off the main road.