No ID-ea Who You Are

, , , | Right | June 29, 2018

(I work at a store where the policy is to ID everyone regardless of if they look old enough or not. I especially adhere to this policy if I don’t recognize the customer. A lady I don’t know enters the store and, without a word, goes to the pull-tab lottery machine and starts putting in money.)

Me: *approaching with a smile* “Excuse me, ma’am. Could I see your ID, please?”

Lady: *rudely* “I’m 51 years old.”

Me: “I understand that. Store policy is that I need to see ID.”

Lady: “It’s out in the car.”

Me: “Okay, well, can you get it for me, please?”

Lady: *suddenly rude and annoyed* “Seriously? That’s r*****ed.” *goes out to get ID from car*

Coworker: *who is not on duty, and is annoyed* “She’s just doing her job!”

Me: *to coworker* “I don’t know her; do you?”

Coworker: “No, I don’t.”

(The lady comes back in and shoves her ID in my face, barely letting me see that she is, indeed, 51 years old.)

Lady: *rudely* “That is a stupid policy! In [Town we’re in], everyone knows everyone!”

Coworker: “To be honest, I don’t recognize you, either.”

Coworker’s Dad: “I also don’t know you, and I’ve lived here a long time.”

Lady: *grabs her pull-tabs* “Well, you’ve just lost a customer today!”

Coworker: *under her breath* “Good riddance.”

You Are My Sunshine, My Only Sunshine

, , , , , | Healthy | June 4, 2018

(I’m a CNA at a local nursing home. I take care of one elderly gentleman in particular that I’ve developed a very good relationship with. He calls me “Sunshine” because of my sunny demeanor, very blonde hair, and love for yellow scrubs. I am chatting with him one evening when this exchange happens:)

Me: *telling a story* “And my friend said, [My Name], what did you do now?”

Resident: *looks confused* “Sunshine, who is [My Name]?”

Me: *laughing* “[Resident], I’m [My Name].”

Resident: *pondering this for a moment…* “No, you’re not. You’re Sunshine! End of story!”

(It made my day!)

This Story Is Full Of Holes

, , , , , | Working | May 30, 2018

Coworker #1: “Do you still have the single-hole puncher? The handheld one?”

Me: “No, sorry. It was defective, remember? Why?”

Coworker #1: *holds up her plastic badge sleeve and a miniature quilted wallet* “Well, see, I want to put a hole through this—” *the plastic sleeve* “—and this—” *the cloth wallet* “—so I can have them together on my lanyard. Wouldn’t that be so convenient?”

Coworker #2: “We already tried it with the three-hole puncher.”

Me: *dumbfounded but trying to be polite* “I don’t think you can put a hole in the cloth with a paper hole puncher.”

Coworker #1: *disappointed* “Oh…”

Coworker #2: *seeing my big three-hole puncher* “Oh, here’s a strong one, over here!”

Me: “I don’t think it will work. The hole puncher isn’t sharp. It just pounds out holes in paper.”

(They went away, but I can’t help but wonder how much of their work day they had already put into trying to use hole punchers on a thick cloth wallet.)

A Beautiful Siren Song

, , , , , | | Right | May 23, 2018

(Our auto insurance call center shuts down at 10:00 pm everyday. It is 9:55 pm.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Call Center]. My name is [My Name]. How may I help you today?”

Customer: “I don’t care who you are. I hope this is being recorded. I have called in multiple times and no one has helped me yet!”

Me: “I apologize for your experience, sir. If you want, I can get my manager on the phone to help you out.”

Customer: “No, you will do my claim and no one else.”

Me: “All righty then, sir. Let’s get started.”

(I continue to take his information to finish his claim. We are one step from being completed with his claim when I hear the customer cursing someone else out on the other side of the line and then a loud bang.)

Me: “Sir, is everything, okay?”

Customer: “Why are you worried about what’s going on over here? Aren’t you supposed to be taking my information for the claim?”

Me: “Sir, I heard a loud bang and was just wanting to make sure everything or everyone was all right.”

Customer: “Mind your own d*** business, you piece of s***!”

(Little do I know that my manager is shadowing my call and has already called the police to trace the number.)

Manager: *pulls one earphone off my head and mutes my call* “Keep him on the phone for a few more minutes.”

Customer: “Excuse me, are you even listening? I thought it was your job to take my call,and listen to what I say, and take my information.”

Me: “I have been listening, sir, and we have one more step to do. Here are the dates that are available to get your vehicle in the shop.” *tells customer the dates* “Which would work best for you?”

Customer: “Let’s go with [date].” *sirens in the background*

Me: “Thank you, sir. Would you like this information to be sent to you via email or via text?”

Customer: “Here’s my phone number for the text. I have to go now; I’m in trouble.”

Me: “Thank you for calling [Call Center]. Again my name is [My Name], and I hope you have a wonderful and blessed day, sir.”

Madness In Bloom

, , , , | | Right | May 23, 2018

(I work in a flower shop. It’s a Saturday during prom season, and a lot of people are coming to pick up their flowers. Our first customer of the morning walks up with a huge scowl already on her face.)

Customer: *quiet and unintelligible*

Manager: “Hi! Can I help you?”

Customer: *glaring* “Pickup.”

Manager: “Okay, what name?”

Customer: “[Customer].”

(I go through the stack of order slips looking for hers while my manager goes to the cooler to get her flowers. The customer’s glare intensifies as I flip through the stack as if I’m personally offending her by not instantly producing her slip. My manager returns with the customer’s order. It’s a wrist corsage and boutonniere set, and it’s absolutely beautiful.)

Manager: “Here you are!”

Customer: “I don’t think I like this.”

Manager: “Um—”

Customer: *picks up the gorgeous corsage like it’s a piece of poop and turns up her nose at it* “No, this isn’t what I envisioned at all.”

Manager: “I can definitely fix it for you. What seems to be the problem?”

Customer: “Did you make this?”

Manager: “Yes, I did.”

Customer: “Are you the person who took my order over the phone?”

Manager: “Yes, I am.”

Customer: “Well, this isn’t what I wanted at all.”

Manager: “What would you like me to change? This is the peach and champagne ribbon you told me to use, and these are the types of flowers we talked about, and this is the peach color you wanted for the boutonniere—”

Customer: “Do you have a book I can look at?”

Manager: “No, we don’t.”

Customer: “Well, can you give me some ideas or something?”

Manager: “What don’t you like about it?”

Customer: “I don’t know. I just don’t like it.”

Manager: “I’m trying to help make it what you want.”

Customer: “But you don’t even have a book or anything. I thought it would be a lot bigger than this.”

(The corsage is already bigger than average, something we all remarked on when my manager made it.)

Manager: “I can add more flowers to it, but that will raise the price.”

Customer: “It’s not about the money. I just don’t like it.”

Manager: “If you can tell me what you do want—”

Customer: “You go back to what you were doing when you got here. I need to deal with my feelings for a minute.”

(She then walks two or three steps away from the counter and stands there, motionless, glaring into space with her fists clenched at her sides for about two minutes. Finally:)

Customer: “You know what? I have another idea.”

(And with that, she walked out, without paying for her flowers.)

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