Write-Up Or Write-Off?

, , , , , | | Working | May 26, 2018

(I’m called in to talk to my front-end supervisor and the assistant store manager about a customer complaint.)

Assistant Manager: “I received a disturbing call about you from a customer who said that she dropped her cash while paying and you didn’t help her pick it up.”

Me: “Well, no, I didn’t. I was told in training that cashiers aren’t supposed to leave their registers in the middle of a transaction unless there’s an actual emergency. Also, the customer in line behind her did help her pick it up, and three people picking up a few coins seems like overkill to me. Anyway, the only reason that her cash ended up on the ground is because she tossed it at me instead of handing it to me, forcefully enough that the coins bounced off of me and landed on her side of the counter. I’m not in the habit of helping people who disrespect me.”

Supervisor: “[My Name], you need to calm down.”

Me: “I’m calm; I’m just telling you what happened.”

Assistant Manager: “The customer didn’t call to inform me of this because she wanted you to get in trouble.”

Me: “Really? I can’t think of any other reason to call and complain about something so petty.”

Supervisor: “That’s enough! I’ve been at this store almost a year now and you are the only cashier I’ve ever gotten any complaints about from customers!”

(This is an outright lie. Cashiers and baggers at this store talk to each other all the time, and one of the things we all talk about is, “[Supervisor] chewed me out over another BS complaint.”)

Assistant Manager: “You’re probably lying about her tossing the cash, too. I’m sure if I looked at the security camera footage from that day I’ll see she did nothing of the sort.”

Me: “That’s a great idea; let’s go look at it right now. I even remember roughly what time it was.”

Assistant Manager: “We don’t have time for any of that; just sign this write-up so we can all get back to doing our jobs.”

(I refused to sign. Within two weeks of this incident, I had found a new job and given my notice.)

Thou Shalt Not Use The Lord’s Name To Haggle, Part 2

, , , , | | Right | May 26, 2018

(I’m working as a commissioned salesman at a large music gear retailer. A gentleman comes in soon after we open on a Monday morning and says that he needs a complete music set-up for a newly opened local church: PA, drums, guitar, bass, and keyboard gear. I agree to help, as it has been a slow month and I can use the sale. The guy proceeds to nickel and dime me for every possible discount he can for just under two hours, mentioning that it’s “for a church” at least a dozen times, grinding so hard that in the end, a $12,000 deal is making barely $150 profit.)

Me: “Okay, with the stands and cables it comes to [total].”

Customer: *scratches his chin for a second, looking at the total on the screen* “That still seems a bit high. I really think God would like a better deal.”

Me: *exasperated and ready to just get the guy out of the store* “I’m pretty sure God would also like for me to be able to feed my family this month, too, man.”

Customer: *somewhat sheepish* “Oh, well, yeah, I suppose he would.”

(He paid the quoted price.)

Thou Shalt Not Use The Lord’s Name To Haggle


, , , , , | | Working | May 26, 2018

My cousin is having a destination wedding in Mexico, and we’re all staying in the same resort. I am underage at this point, so I’m assigned with the task of watching over my brother who’s been drinking. He ends up getting way more drunk than I have ever seen him, before or since. My brother, mother, father, and I are all in the same room. My brother is so drunk that he’s wrapped himself around the toilet and refuses to move. It’s around this time our ceiling starts leaking.

My dad dreads calling the front desk, since they have been nothing but a pain the whole time. They’ve been trying to force my parents into a timeshare meeting, and pushing upgrades we don’t want. They also have a habit of disappearing whenever we need help. My dad reluctantly decides to call after a couple of puddles start forming. The front desk starts asking if we would like to upgrade for an additional cost, and my dad keeps telling them he just wants to switch rooms. They then tell him they only have upgrades available, and they will waive the cost if he goes to the timeshare meeting. Being exhausted and just wanting a dry place to sleep, my dad agrees.

We are all woken up around two am to change our room. My brother is still passed out in the bathroom, and we can’t open the door to get him out. It takes him quite a while to figure out how to stand up and get out of the bathroom, and at this point the man from the front desk is fairly annoyed. We all pack up and start on our journey down the hall. We’re not even two doors down from our room when my brother spots a trash can, and immediately makes a run for it and makes a disgustingly loud display of getting sick. The front desk attendant is mortified and just tries to move things along. My brother stops at every single trash can he can find to repeat his display. I eventually can’t help but laugh, and this irritates the front desk attendant even more.

Finally we make it to the end of the very long hallway and to the final hurdle: the elevator. My brother immediately goes pale and starts shaking his head, but we have no idea where we’re going, so we have to follow the attendant. We end up going up three stories, and we are all deadly silent, just waiting for the inevitable moment. Somehow, my brother holds out, and as soon as the door opens he expels into the trash can waiting outside the elevator. The front desk attendant is now shaking with anger, but still says nothing. We finally manage to get to our room, my brother curls around the toilet, my dad tips the man, and all is good.

The next morning, my dad goes to the front desk to discuss the timeshare meeting. He is then told that all fees have been waived, but he can still go to the timeshare to get credit for the gift shop, which he decides to do, anyway, since he had planned around it. He also asks if they discovered the cause of the leak in our ceiling. Turns out the girls above us got wasted, ran their jacuzzi, and then fell asleep. The jacuzzi flooded their room and leaked down to us. They then let him know, with quite a bit of disdain, that the girls above us happened to be the maid of honor and a couple bridesmaids from our party. They were my cousins. Turns out none of my family can hold their liquor, but the hotel staff didn’t bother us anymore.

Ignoring The “Security” Part Of Social Security

, , , , | | Working | May 26, 2018

(I am at home and suddenly receive a call from an unknown number. I decide to answer.)

Caller: “Am I speaking with [My Name]?”

Me: “That would be me.”

Caller: “I need you to confirm you are [My Name]. Would you please confirm your date of birth and social security number?”

Me: “I am not comfortable providing that information.”

Caller: *agitated* “Well, you have to confirm you are [My Name] before I can speak to you.”

Me: “But you have not said who you are, or what company you are from. Why would I give my social and birthdate to you?”

Caller: *more agitated* “Because you need to confirm your identity!”

Me: “You do realize you called me, right? I have no obligation to answer your questions. If you tell me who you are and what company you’re from, I might reconsider.”

Caller: “Fine! If you want to be difficult, then I am ending this call. I don’t have to put up with someone like you!”

(They hung up on me, and I later found out that they were from my credit card company. I filed a report with the company and they came back to say that they reviewed the call and she had done everything right, including hanging up on an abusive customer. Interesting that they never told me the call was being recorded.)

When Self-Service Becomes Self-Serving

, , , , | | Right | May 25, 2018

(I’m running the self-checkouts during a busy time and this man calls me over.)

Customer: “Do you think I can scan this, even though the clearance sticker is covering the barcode?”

(He holds up a big Santa plate.)

Me: “Yeah, shouldn’t be a problem. If it is, just remove the clearance sticker a little so the lines of the barcode are exposed.”

Customer: “Well, you should just do it for me, since you clearly know how.”

Me: “Uh…”

(I look around to make sure no other customers are having issues, quickly scan it, and hand it back to him so he can decide how he wants it bagged. It is quite fragile, and I’m not sure.)

Customer: *looks at the plate after taking it back* “So, you got anything to bag this in?”

Me: “We have plastic bags.” *points at the plastic bags on the self-checkout*

Customer: “Okay. You bag it, then!”

(I wonder if he wanted me to pay for him, as well.)

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