The county I live in is reassessing the tax on something to do with our refuse program — i.e. the dumpsters we take our trash to. I live in a house owned by my in-laws, literally next door. The house was an enormous garage long ago and was later converted into a duplex. When they bought the house, it was a single-family home.

On the day before Thanksgiving, I am home preparing for my husband’s family to eat at our house. I am very pregnant and have a small child, but my husband is at work. To my knowledge, both of my in-laws are at work, as well.

A man knocks on my door.

Tax Guy: “Hi. I’m from the county tax assessment office, and we have this home listed as a duplex, but there is only one mailing address. How many families reside here?”

I notice he has a clipboard and the right seals on his truck, but I had no idea about this and am miffed to be interrupted.

Me: “Um… the what now?”

Tax Guy: “The tax on the refuse sites is being reassessed, and as this is listed as a two-family home, we must tax the home as such. Now, how many families reside here?”

Me: “Well, it’s only one family because it is a one-family dwelling.”

Tax Guy: “I need to come inside to confirm it. You have two electric meters on the side of the house.”

Me: “One of them is disabled, and the electric company has yet to remove them. I am not letting you inside right now. I don’t know anything about this, and I am in the middle of preparing for tomorrow.”

Tax Guy: “I have to take pictures to prove this to the tax office as this is listed as a duplex. If I don’t, they will assess this as a two-family home.”

Me: “Sorry, I don’t know you, and I don’t know anything about this. My in-laws own this house, so you will need to talk to them before I can let you in. They live next door. Have a good day.”

I closed the door and went back to cooking and cleaning, somewhat confused as to why he needed pictures. I later learned that he went next door; my father-in-law had stayed home and I didn’t know because his truck was in the backyard. He explained that they had submitted the necessary documents and pictures to the county and there should be no issue. My in-laws complained to the county later that having assessors knocking on doors and asking to come in to take pictures without warning might alarm some women!

As an on-the-floor sales associate, I am not often on the register. However, it’s only a half-hour before closing and the store is completely dead. I’m standing at the register when a man walks up with a box of envelopes he wants to buy.

Me: “Hello, do you have a [Store Loyalty Program] card with us? “

Customer: “Yes.”

The customer gives me his phone number. I scan the item and then hit the card button on the computer. The customer slides his card and it prompts him with the PIN code input. After he enters it, the computer tells me that the authorization for the card has failed. This is most likely not his card’s fault as our debit system has been acting up lately.

Me: “The computer is telling me the authorization has failed. Let’s try and run it through as credit this time.”

The customer becomes visually frustrated. 

Customer: “This is your fault! I just used this card a few minutes ago without a problem!”

Me: “Yeah, it probably is our fault. Our system has been acting up lately.”

The customer slides his card again.

Me: “Now, if you don’t mind, hit credit when it brings up the PIN screen.”

Customer: “This is your guys’ fault. This isn’t the first time this has happened here.” 

Our store has a policy that when you use a card as credit, we have to get the last four digits of the card and see the signature on the back of the card.

Me: “Can I see your card?”

Before I can finish my sentence, he says:

Customer: “No, I’m not doing anything more. I’ve done enough. Either go through with it or not.”

Since our system doesn’t allow us to bypass the last four-digit program, I try to explain to him that there is no other way.

Me: “I just need to see the last four digits of your card. If you like, you can read them to me.” 

I am completely willing to just bypass the signature part in order to get him out of the store.

Customer: “I’ve already said that I’ve done enough! I slid the card; your system is screwing up! I shouldn’t have to do anything!”

By now, some of my coworkers have noticed what’s going on.

Me: “All I need to do is see your card. After that, you’ll be fine to go.”

Customer: “Forget it. I don’t want to buy this stuff anymore. It’s your fault that you didn’t get to sell me this today.”

Me: “All right, sorry about that. Have a nice night.”

He then proceeds to stand there and watch as I clear his details from the computer. 

Customer: “You need to tell your manager to fix the system.”

Me: “Have a nice night.”

Related:
PIN-Headed, Part 13
PIN-Headed, Part 12
PIN-Headed, Part 11
PIN-Headed, Part 10
PIN-Headed, Part 9

I work as a dishwasher at a pretty popular restaurant that hosts mostly lunch, but also many dinner selections. Ten minutes before the end of my shift, one of the line cooks calls in and says she can’t make it. I offer to stay and help out since the other line cook that is coming in is still new.

It has been exceptionally busy tonight, which means the manager is on the line with the new girl, and I am playing the mediator, going from line to food running to registers. I am panning up soups for the line, and finally, when I get done with that, there is only one order on the window; it has a fifteen-minute ticket time. I run out and take the plate to the guest.

Me: “Sorry about your wait; you had a [Popular Sandwich Item]?”

Customer #1: “Yep.”

Me: “Here you are! Enjoy your meal.”

As I walk away, I hear [Customer #2] say to [Customer #1]:

Customer #2: “You should have gotten a free [dessert item].”

All happy mood, gone.

I work in customer service at a government authority. We can, of course, only answer questions regarding our work area. A woman my age calls. She is worried about health care for her partner.

Me: “Well, it is not part of our area of expertise, but I do know that your partner could look into something called the European Health Insurance Card. You could Google it.”

Caller: “Google it?! How unprofessional of you to suggest such a thing! You do not take this seriously!”

Me: “Well, I am sorry you feel that way. As I said, this is not something we administer, but rather a little advice.”

Caller: “I demand to speak with a professional case officer who will take matters seriously! Someone who actually works there!”

Me: “What I can help you with are questions concerning our actual line of work. Do you have any further questions regarding [reason for calling]?”

I had to restate my response to her initial question in order for her to understand I actually, well, work there. She kept muttering “unserious, unprofessional” for the remainder of the conversation.

I live in a large apartment complex that’s very dog-friendly; many of the residents have dogs and chose to live here for that reason. We even have a small fenced dog park area which all the dogs and their owners love. Even if you don’t have a dog, it’s generally accepted that you’re okay with dogs being around if you live here.

One day, as I’m walking my dog in our complex, I notice a woman I’ve never met approaching us quickly from the opposite direction. Just for common courtesy, I step off the path and I pull my dog’s leash tight to keep him close to me and out of her way.

Without so much as even a “hello,” the woman marches up to me and suddenly starts complaining.

Woman: “Dog owners aren’t using the dog park enough!”

She’s probably implying that I should be there now, instead of in her way, I guess. In a rude and snotty voice, she continues.

Woman: “The dog park should be turned into parking spaces so people like me have more room for our cars!”

Before I can even get a word out, my dog turns around and kicks dirt all over the crazy lady’s feet! It happens so fast that it takes me a second to even process what’s going on, so even though I stop him as quickly as I can, her shoes and lower legs are instantly pretty well covered in dirt and bark. I try to apologize and say it was an accident, but all I can get out is:

Me: “I’m so sorry!”

Then, she claimed I told my dog to do it on purpose and huffed off angrily down the path, mumbling about how her shoes were dirty now.

I felt a little bad, so I tried to kick the remaining dirt and bark back off of the path and into the bushes as best I could. But when we got home, I gave my dog a treat and told him he’s a good boy.