The Prices Are Not Going Down Under

, , , , | Right | October 19, 2017

(I am a customer in a nail salon in Singapore, along with another lady who’s Asian but not local.)

Lady: “I would like to remove the gel manicure and get a new one done.”

Manicurist: *in simple English because she’s from Vietnam* “To remove gel, $30. Classic mani at $26 and classic pedi at $36.”

Lady: “I’m sorry; I don’t understand you.”

Manicurist: “To remove gel is $30.”

Lady: “Why are you charging me so much? In Sydney, they don’t charge me to remove the gel, and for mani and pedi it’s only $65. I don’t understand; it’s dollar to dollar now. How come you need to charge me to remove the gel?”

Me: “This is how the service is here.”

Lady: “This is ridiculously expensive. I don’t understand. It’s dollar to dollar now. How come they are charging me so much compared to Sydney?”

Me: “Well, you’re not in Thailand or Indonesia, where their services are really cheap. At the same time, you’ll never know the quality rendered to you with that kind of price. Whereas here, their services are excellent and their products are good. I’m really happy with my service and I’ve been with them for many years now.”

Lady: “If I knew it was going to be this expensive, I would have done it in Sydney!”

Their Opinion On The Matter Is Locked

, , , , , | Right | October 19, 2017

(Our store door has three locks, one of which is an outer hasp which must be turned and locked with a key. It is right next to both the store’s hours and the “Closed” sign. I have locked the door and am nearly done with closing duties when a customer pulls on the door, then sees me and knocks insistently when it won’t open.)

Me: *opens door a little* “Hi—”

Customer: *overrides me* “Are you closed?”

Me: “Yes, sorry.”

Customer: “Well, you should’ve locked your door.”

(The customer then flipped the still-open hasp and walked off before I could inquire how, precisely, I was supposed to lock myself in from the outside while I was still in the store.)

Your Son Has Something To Tell You…

, , , , | Right | October 19, 2017

(I work as a manager for a supermarket. During times like Mother’s Day or Father’s Day we get in vast amounts of certain items that all go on offer. I have to jump on the checkouts to serve, as my current checkout operator needs a break. A male customer has come to my checkout holding flowers and a card for Mother’s Day. Please bear in mind that it is already Mother’s Day and we have sold through most of our stock.)

Me: “Hi there. How are you, and would you like any bags today?”

Customer: “No, I don’t want any of your f****** bags! What I do want to know is why [Store] employees are all a bunch of extortionate, immoral d****es?!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir. Is there a problem? And if so, how can I help?”

Customer: “Oh, you can’t help me; all you workers are just mindless sheep, and you are the worst. You’re lower than dirt!”

(I take this a lot, so it doesn’t really bother me. His bill isn’t even that much; it is around £6.00.)

Me: “Well, that’s £6, sir.”

(He then threw the money down and walked away. Little did he know, though, his card said:

To Mum
Happy Mother’s Day
With love
From your Daughter)

Your Brother Is Not A Mourning Person

, , , , | Related | October 19, 2017

(I’m folding laundry and putting it away quietly while my daughter naps in her crib. I find a shirt that, while clean, still smells like my husband, who passed away two months ago. I had thought that I would never smell him or his work again, as I had washed the last shirt he wore accidentally, so I start crying. While I’m doing so, my brother barges into the room I share with my daughter and sister.)

Brother: *barges in* “I want some of your soda— Why are you crying?”

Me: “Shh! [Daughter] is sleeping! And I’m crying because I found one of [Husband]’s shirts that still smells like him, and no, you can’t have any of my soda!”

Brother: “You’re still crying over him? It’s been two months!

Me: “That doesn’t matter. It hurts like h***, and you know it does! Now leave; she’s sleeping.”

Brother: “Oh, my God. It’s been two months; you should be over it by now!”

Me: “Over it? Seven years together, a marriage, and a child together… and after two months, you think I should be over it?”

Brother: “Uh, yeah.”

(He wouldn’t leave until I started throwing clothing at him while crying, effectively waking my daughter up, who sat on my lap while I cried. I folded the shirt up and put it in with the rest of my husband’s clothing, so that whenever I feel like it, I can take it out and hold it. My brother then tried to get me in trouble, but my parents and uncle took my side. Because of how he reacted to my mourning, I have yet to cry in front of another family member, fearing the same reaction.)

Your Excuse Has Been Declined

, , , , , | Right | October 19, 2017

(I’ve just finished ringing up a customer’s purchases, and now she’s swiping her card to pay. Unfortunately, it’s declined.)

Me: “Sorry, I’m afraid that didn’t go through. Did you maybe want to try it again?”

Customer: “Huh? I just picked this card up from the bank before coming here. It should work. It’s brand new.”

Me: “That’s weird. Try it again.”

(She tries again. Once again, it doesn’t work.)

Me: “No, sorry. It’s saying ‘contact bank.’ Are you sure it’s been activated?”

Customer: “Yes. As I said, I just got it. Set it up again.”

Me: “Okay.”

(She tries paying again. Once again it is declined.)

Customer: “Why is it being declined? It should work.”

Me: “I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe try going back to the bank and asking them. I’ll watch your shopping for you.”

(The bank in question is in the same shopping centre as my work, and roughly a two-minute walk away, so suggesting she quickly runs over there to find out what’s going on isn’t an unreasonable suggestion.)

Customer: “No. It’ll work. Let me try again.”

(Again she tries. Again it fails. Now she’s getting noticeably annoyed.)

Customer: “This is a new card. It should work. Why won’t you let it through?”

Me: “It’s not me. All I do is tell the register you’re paying by card, and you do the rest.”

Customer: “Well, then, it should work. Do it again, and make sure it isn’t rejected this time.”

(She ends up trying it about ten times in total, each time getting more and more annoyed at me, despite my insistence that it’s out of my power. Eventually, she gives up and pays cash, all the while muttering about how her card should work. She leaves, but ten minutes later she comes back with a smug look on her face.)

Customer: “Just so you know, I just used my new card to get money out of an ATM.”

Me: “Oh, good.”

Customer: “So, obviously, it was you that was the problem all along. Maybe keep that in mind next time you decide to reject my card and tell me it’s my fault.”

(D***, how could I have forgotten about ATMs? Now she could see right through my devious plan to stop her, a random 60-something-year-old woman whom I’d never met before, from paying for her groceries. Is it any wonder my heart now skips a panicked beat every time a customer’s card is rejected?)

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