God Loves Little Girls Who Stand Up For Others

, , , , , , | Right | October 28, 2014

(I’m a manager at a technology store and a lesbian. There are two men holding hands and giving each other little kisses every now and then, a woman who is trying her hardest not to look at them, and a mother and her five- or six-year-old daughter, all waiting in line. The two men get to the register.)

Man #1: “Hi, we were wondering if you do wedding registry here?”

Me: “No, sorry, we don’t. But my wife and I found when we were doing our wedding registry stuff that if you find a shop that doesn’t do a registry, just write down the SKU numbers so people can come in and—”

Woman: “Come on, none of us have time to be dealing with your little gay pride bulls***! None of you should be getting married anyway. It’s a sin!”

(I start to open my mouth, but the little girl stomps her foot and gives the woman the meanest look I have ever seen.)

Little Girl: “That’s not nice! You say you’re sorry, right now!”

(The woman is taken aback, but is not done with her rant.)

Woman: “I will not apologize to sinners! What they are doing is wrong! God hates people like—”

Little Girl: “No! Girls can like girls and boys can like boys. If God wanted boys and girls only to like each other then he would have made them only like each other! And don’t you know God loves everyone, even boys who like boys?!”

(The woman and the little girl look at each other for a good 10 seconds until the woman drops her items on the floor and storms out. The mother, the gay couple, and I are all speechless. Like a total boss the little girl takes the expensive robotic toy from her mother and walks to the counter.)

Little Girl: “I want this, please!”

Man #2: “My soon-to-be-husband and I would like to pay for that.”

Me: “And wouldn’t you know it, we give 50% discounts to amazing little girls here!”

 

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A Fraud Sandwich

, , , , | Right | October 10, 2014

Customer: “Hi. I’m here to order some food, but first, I have a little situation. I was hoping to talk to someone who could help me with it.”

Me: “Okay, sure. What can I help you with?”

Customer: “I was in here last week and I left three of my sandwiches here. I had already paid for them. I just accidentally left them in the store. I called and the woman said, I forget her name, but she said I could get them replaced.”

Me: “All right, did you have your receipt?”

Customer: “No, it was left in the bag that I left here.”

Me: “Okay, so, you don’t remember who you spoke to? What day—”

Customer: “No, I can’t recall her name. She just told me to come in and I could get my sandwiches.”

Me: “Okay, what day did you come in?”

Customer: “Oh, I don’t know. Some day last week.”

Me: “Okay, last week? So… what day?”

Customer: “I guess, I don’t know, I think it was Thursday. Probably Thursday.”

(I get some more information including her name, that she was here around four or five pm, and that her order was over $40 and paid for in cash.)

Me: “All right. I’ll go ahead and check out this information and I’ll be right back.”

(I check the manager’s schedule for last week to see who it may have been that she spoke to. It is the first week of December and it just so happens that Thursday of last week was actually Thanksgiving, one of two days out of the entire year that we ever close.)

Me: “So, ma’am, are you sure you came in on Thursday?”

Customer: “Yeah, it had to have been Thursday. I’m pretty sure it was Thursday.”

Me: “Okay well, we were actually closed last week on Thursday because it was Thanksgiving.”

Customer: “Oh, well, I don’t really remember. I guess it was probably Friday.”

Me: “All right, I’ll be right back.”

(I check the schedule for Friday, and it turns out that two female managers were in very early for Black Friday catering and left well before four pm. The only female manager who was in past 11:00 am was me. I double-check our guest checks and can find no orders for even close to $40 that were paid in cash.)

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but it looks like there are no checks from Friday for a forty-dollar cash transaction, and the only female manager here on Friday that you could have possibly talked to was me.”

Customer: “Look, I don’t really remember what day it was. The manager I spoke to just told me to come in here and any manager would be able to get me my sandwiches.”

Me: “All right, I’ll be right back again.”

(One of the female managers is actually working and says she didn’t talk to this woman, so I call the last possible option and she confirms that she would have left a note about it and that she can’t remember any situation for three sandwiches by this customer’s name.)

Me: “Well, ma’am, unfortunately, there seems to be no information regarding your situation. Our procedure is to take the customer’s name and phone number and leave a note of communication for other managers. I cannot find any notes and none of our female managers remember promising anyone by your name three sandwiches.”

Customer: “I… I don’t understand.”

Me: “The managers here are all instructed to follow a certain standard of procedures when dealing with promising customers free food. We take the customer’s name and leave a note for the other managers—”

Customer: “So, what are you telling me?”

Me: “The procedure for dealing with this situation was not followed by whatever manager you may have spoken to. You can’t remember any details about your transaction and there is no evidence of it here in the store. Unfortunately, due to our policies, I will be unable to give you any sandwiches for free today.”

(The woman has been becoming increasingly rude as our interactions continued, culminating at this point to full-out head tilts and accusatory eyebrow raises.)

Customer: “I definitely spoke to a manager and she said all I had to do was come here and talk to any manager and I would be able to be given the sandwiches that I have already paid for and left here.”

Me: “Are you sure that you spoke to a manager, ma’am?”

Customer: “Yes, I am.”

Me: “Our managers all follow the same procedure for dealing with promising free food to customers. Somehow, you managed to not be treated to the correct procedure and I will be unable to give you anything. You don’t remember the name of the manager and I can find no proof that your transaction ever existed. It would be in your best interest—”

Customer: “I spoke to—”

(Tired of being cut off, I continue to speak regardless of her interruption. She continues to try to interrupt me and I continue to speak over her.)

Me: “It would be in your best interest to have as much information as possible regarding your situation if you truly intended to have your food replaced.”

(The woman tries to act very holier-than-thou about the whole situation.)

Customer: “I spoke to a manager and was promised my food replaced. I didn’t even ask for my money back. I just wanted to get the sandwiches that I had already fully paid for, and that is not my fault; that is your fault. Now, I’m going to need to buy some jars of your hot peppers, and maybe you should go ahead and give me a discount.”

Me: “You know what, ma’am—”

Customer:Excuse me?! What did you say?”

Me: “Ma’am, you know what? I—”

Customer: “WHAT.”

(I pause and look at her. I figure the negligible price of a small jar of hot peppers that we give away for free on people’s sandwiches every day is worth quieting her.)

Me: “I’m sorry that there was a miscommunication about your sandwiches, so I’m going to do you a favor and go ahead and give one of these jars to you for free.”

Customer: “Good.”

(After making me keep an associate late to watch the line so I could investigate this situation, inconveniencing other customers, and being remorseless and insulting about lying to somebody’s face, I hope that woman could get to sleep at night for “winning.”)


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Demands Are Reaching Breaking Point

, , , , | Right | September 28, 2014

(It is Thanksgiving night and our store has been open for about four hours already. It’s been very busy and we have a much larger than normal team to oversee. A woman has approached my coworker, asking about a certain item.)

Coworker: “Well, I’m not sure. Let me find someone to ask.”

(He calls on his walkie for that section and gets no response. I happen to be walking by when he stops me and asks if I know.)

Me: “Sorry, I really don’t know at all. Who’s here right now?”

(The guest meanders off a few feet looking at another display. We look at the schedule trying to find who is here and not on break since we all came in around the same time and by law need a 30-minute non-paid break.)

Customer: “I just don’t understand what is taking so long. Why is it so d*** hard to find someone? Why can’t anyone just get this item for me?”

(As this goes on my coworker is trying to get someone to answer on the walkie.)

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. But we can’t leave the front end because of how busy we are. If you can give me just a moment, please. I need to check the schedule before I can call someone. We’re just trying to find out who is here and not on break right now.”

Customer: “Well, why would they be on break?”

Me: “We all came in around the same time to open the store tonight and we have to stagger our breaks, so I just need a moment to find out who is on the floor right now.”

Customer: “I just don’t understand why the h*** anyone would be on break! They’re here to work! Not to take a break! They need to get back to work! This is bad business!”

Me: “Do you take a break at work?”

Customer: *scoffs* “Well, of course, I do!”

Me: “They wouldn’t you think we should get a break, too?”

Customer: “No! Not tonight! This is different! Why is no one able to help me?!”

(By some miracle, God smiles down on me and someone from a nearby section answers on the walkie and says to send the guest down.)

Customer: “Finally! This shouldn’t have taken so f****** long! I’ll be calling corporate!”

Me: “You do that. Happy Thanksgiving!”


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Turning Red Over The Matter

, , , , , , | Friendly | September 7, 2014

(I am a natural redhead, and I always get comments on how nice my hair is and how it’s the same shade as a popular type of ginger hair dye. The following exchange happens between me, my mother, and an elderly woman when I am seven years old.)

Stranger: *looks at my hair* “Oh, gosh, honey. How old are you?”

Me: “I’m seven years old, miss!”

Stranger: *to my mother* “How dare you?!”

Mother: “Excuse me?”

Stranger: “Letting your daughter dye her hair at such a young age! It’s despicable!”

Me: *confused* “But—”

Stranger: *ignoring me* “It’s almost as bad as putting makeup on her or letting her get strange piercings!”

Mother: “Actually, that’s her natural hair color.”

Me: “Yeah, it—”

Stranger: *still ignoring me* “And you have the audacity to lie to my face about it! What sort of role model are you trying to be to your children?!”

Me: “MISS!”

Stranger: *finally looking at me* “There’s no need to yell, dear.”

Me: “But this is my natural hair color. My mum had ginger hair before she dyed it blonde, and both my grandmas had ginger hair. I’ve never had any other hair color than ginger, and I think you’re being very rude!”

(The woman was obviously shocked and proceeded to move as far away from us as possible. My mother was relieved, and I ended up getting ice cream later for “scaring the nasty lady away!”)


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Really Tee’d Off Over Closing Time

, , , | Right | September 1, 2014

(I work in a bar at my local golf club. We have closed at 7:00 pm for years now. I’ve just collected the last glasses and pulled the shutters down over the bar apart from the one which allows me to get in and out. I’m in the middle of cashing down the day’s takings.)

Customer: *at 7:30* “Are you open?”

Me: *dumbfounded* “No, sir. We closed about half an hour ago and I’m just finishing the last of my tasks behind the bar.”

Customer: “Well, you should be open for people like me who like to be the last to tee off on the course in the day!” *walks off in a huff*


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