(I work for a company that services big trucks, among other things, in multiple states. Before we transfer the callers to the service locations, we’re required to confirm the location they’re needing service — because it isn’t uncommon for people to call a location several hundred miles from where they actually are — and get their name, even if it’s just a first name. Some people apparently don’t like being asked simple questions.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Service Company]. How may I help you?”

Caller: “Service.”

Me: “Certainly, sir. And what—”

Caller: *annoyed sigh* “TRUCK service.”

Me: *mentally bracing myself for one of THOSE calls* “And you’re needing the [City], [State] location, correct? May I tell them who’s calling?”

Caller: “JESUS CHRIST! I’m a f****** DRIVER. I need TRUCK SERVICE!”

Me: “One moment, please.”

(Ordinarily, I would make one more attempt to placate them and get a name, but I had already dealt with numerous rude callers in the thirty minutes I’d been on and was in no mood to be cussed at even more. I put him on hold and call out to that service location, even though it’s actually about ten minutes before their coordinator — a woman who has been with the company for years and has outlasted most of the mechanics and techs at her location — starts her shift. Fortunately, the coordinator is already in and answers her line on the second ring.)

Coordinator: *teasing tone* “What time does your clock say?”

Me: *chuckling, because she always teases and gives us a hard time if we call her right around her shift starting* “Ten to. Sorry to bother you this early, but I’ve got a Grumpy Gus who was not going to want to leave a message with anyone. Someone apparently hasn’t had his coffee yet.”

Coordinator: “Oh, boy. First one of the day, too. What’s his name?”

Me: “Well, he wouldn’t tell me.”

(I quickly relate the exchange to her.)

Coordinator: “Don’t you wish you could ‘accidentally’ hang up on callers like that?”

Me: *laughing* “I would say you have no idea, but I know you do. Hopefully he’ll be nicer to you since you’re actually the service department.”

Coordinator: “Let’s hope so. I think we’ve made him wait long enough; send him on over.”

(I got the guy again when he called back a couple hours later, and he was significantly nicer and sounded almost meek. If the coordinator hadn’t told me it was the same guy, I wouldn’t have thought it was him. Apparently, she took the wind out of his sails really quickly when he started in on her after I first gave her the call. Nothing like a long-time service coordinator to give a truck driver a lesson in manners! We do understand that the drivers can be frustrated when they call — their trucks aren’t working right and it costs them money, not just in repairs but in lost work — but cussing at us and being difficult when we’re trying to do our jobs and help isn’t going to get them anywhere.)

(I work the front desk at what is considered to be one of the more “upscale” hotels in the area. Most people who book with us tend to be on the wealthier end of the financial spectrum, and some are well aware of this fact, to put it kindly. I have just gotten in for my shift at seven am on the fourth of July, and I immediately witness this interaction between a guest and my coworker who has been there since four am.)

Guest: “Do you have any newspapers today?”

Coworker: “I’m sorry, sir, we haven’t received any today. We don’t get papers delivered to us on holidays.”

Guest: *in a very frazzled tone* “Well, can I buy one from you? Is that an option?”

Coworker: “Well, no, we, unfortunately, don’t have any papers anywhere in the hotel today. There are a few places just a block or two away that may be selling newspapers today, though.”

Guest: “This is outrageous! I spend this much money to stay at your hotel and you don’t even give me a newspaper?! It is your patriotic duty to provide me with the news, and you have just failed as an American by not doing this!” *storms away*

(It’s people like this that really make me question the state our society is in. He did, however, becoming the laughing stock of the front desk for a good week or two after, so at least some good news came out of it.)

This story is part of our July 4th roundup!

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(I work apparel at big box store. When someone calls the store, it is the fitting room person’s job to answer it.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Store]. How may I help you today?”

(The caller is a woman with one of those horrible, deep, scratchy, heavy smoker’s voices.)

Caller: “I was in there trying on clothes, and the worker looked under the door at me.”

Me: *looking at the quarter-inch space between the door and the floor* “Ma’am, it’s not possible for someone to look at someone under the door. There’s not enough space.”

Caller: “Yes, they did! They said I had hairy chicken legs!”

Me: “Would you like to speak to a manager? Please hold.”

(I put the call on hold and ask a manager to take the call. Before he can get to a phone, though, she hangs up. Later, I answer the phone again. It’s the same caller as before:)

Caller: “I was in there earlier, and when I got home, there was a box of condoms with my groceries, but I didn’t buy them!”

Me: “Were you charged for them on your receipt?”

Caller: “Yes!”

Me: “All right, just bring them back with your receipt to the service desk, and you should be able to get you money back.”

Caller: “I can’t, because…”

(I can’t make out what she says.)

Me: “Let me transfer you to the service desk.”

(At this point, I’m thinking that this was quite an eventful trip to the store. I tell one of my coworkers about these calls.)

Coworker: “She called earlier, and said she found a pink sex toy in the bathroom.”

(Later, she calls back.)

Caller: “I was in there earlier trying on underwear, and the employee looked under the door and saw me naked!”

Me: “That is not possible for two reasons: one, we do not allow customers to try on underwear, and two, it is not possible to see under the doors. Would you like to speak to a manager?”

(The caller hangs up. The person calls back several times a day for about a week, complaining about one of those three things. As soon as we ask if she wants to speak to a manager, she hangs up. After a while, whenever we see her number on the caller ID, we start answering the phone:)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Store]. Let me transfer you.”

(Some coworkers would transfer her to the service desk, but I would usually transfer her to the deli, because their phone was broken and they couldn’t answer it. She’d usually let it ring a few times before she hung up. I started called her “crazy condom lady.”)

(I am working in the fitting rooms while we are pretty understaffed. My rack is already pretty full. I can hear what sounds like a mother, daughter, and son in a fitting room. After a while the little girl walks out with a cart filled to the brim with clothes.)

Girl: “This is all stuff we don’t want. Can I give it to you?”

(I’m momentarily dumbfounded and can’t believe what I’m seeing.)

Me: “All this?”

Girl: “Yeah.”

(I technically can’t say no, but I’m very angry.)

Me: “I guess.”

(The girl returns back to the fitting room, and the family is in there for another twenty minutes, which is about how long it takes me to empty the cart. Later, the girl approaches me again with another handful.)

Girl: “Here’s a few more.”

(I take them, but I’m too angry to say anything. A little bit later, all three finally leave the fitting room. Technically, we do have a sign that requests customers to only bring five items to the fitting room for this exact reason, so I am allowed to remind people of this.)

Me: “Ma’am, I just want to let you know that we do have a maximum of five items per fitting room visit.”

Mother: *in a clearly agitated tone as if that was such a big inconvenience to her* “Okay, that’s fine.”

(I’m so angry my hands are shaking, as it will take me an hour to put just her clothes away. I go to return their cart to the front of the store, and I run into her again as she is getting another cart. She walks up to me.)

Mother: “I’m sorry for snapping at you. I’ll take five items next time.”

(I really had no choice but to say, “It’s okay,” but it’s not going to help me now.)

(I am working the fitting room at a large store when a customer comes up to me. He has a thick accent, so I’m not exactly sure what he’s saying at first. He shows me some fabric that he had cut and the ticket that was printed off with a barcode to go with it.)

Customer: “It’s too much.”

Me: *looking at the ticket* “That’s the price for that many yards.”

Customer: “One yard!”

Me: “Yes, sir, I see that you got ten yards, and that is the price per yard.”

Customer: “One yard!”

(This repeats a couple of times until I figure out what exactly he is saying.)

Me: “Oh, you only got one yard?”

Customer: “Yes, only one yard.”

Me: “I see what happened. They accidentally typed in ten yards instead of one yard. If you go back to the fabric table, he can make you up a new ticket.”

Customer: “It’s too much! I only got one yard! Can’t you make me up a new ticket here?”

Me: “I’m sorry; I can’t do it here. Just go back to the fabric table and have them print you up a new ticket.” *into my walkie* “Can I get customer assistance to the fabric table?”

Associate #1: *over the walkie* “I’m here right now.”

Me: *to customer* “Okay, he can make you up a new ticket.”

Customer: “Can’t I just take it up like this to the register?”

Me: “If you do, you’ll be charged for ten yards. If you just go back to the fabric table, he can print you up a new ticket.”

(The customer slams it down on the cart I have at the fitting room.)

Customer: “I don’t want it!”

(The customer then storms away.)

Associate #2: *standing next to me the whole time* “Well, that was rude.”