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Postman 1, Preemptive Strike 0

, , , , | Right | July 4, 2008

(I’m waiting in line and overhear a conversation between the customer in front of me and the postman at the front counter.)

Customer: “I need to ship this package out.”

Postman: “Okay. Would you like to upgrade this to priority shipping?”

Customer: “No, I just want to send this by regular mail. I don’t need anything else or any other services.”

Postman: “Okay, that’ll be $10.00 for the shipping. Do you need any stamps today?”

Customer: “No! No stamps, no certified mail, no post office box, no passport. I just need to ship this package out–that’s it. Did I miss anything?!”

Postman: *without skipping a beat* “Do you need any money orders today, ma’am?”

Full Of Sound And Fury, Signifying Nothing

, , , , , | Right | July 2, 2008

(It is in between Halloween and Christmas and we are changing the promotional aisle and switching stuff out. There is literally nothing in the aisle but folded down cardboard boxes, and signs are up saying “temporary out of order.”)

Customer: “I want to speak to your manager!”

Me: “Okay, is everything all right?”

Customer: “No! I was walking down the aisle with cardboard and I fell. I am blaming you!”

Me: “I didn’t make you walk down the aisle… Didn’t you see the sign?”

Customer: “I needed something down that aisle! I am going to have you fired for your rude attitude!”

(I call the manager on the PA system.)

Customer: “You’re going to be in trouble!”

Manager: “What seems to be the problem?”

Customer: “I fell down in the aisle with cardboard boxes. It’s all this kid’s fault.”

Manager: “You shouldn’t have walked down the aisle, then. I suggest you leave before I call the police for harassing one of my employees.”

Customer: *faking she’s in pain* “I don’t believe this! I am going to call the corporate office!”

Manager: “Right after I call the police.” *walks away to “call the police”*

Me: “You got him mad. He is a mean one when he is mad.”

Customer: “Really?”

Me: “Oh, yeah!”

Customer: ‘Um… I have to get my cell phone out of the car.” *leaves quickly*

(She never returned.)

Caught Brown Handed

, , , , , , | Right | June 30, 2008

(In the Chinese restaurant where I work, we have little bottles of soy sauce on every table. They look like they’re tightly closed, but the top actually doesn’t close at all. A lady and her daughter finish dinner and are leaving.)

Me: “Excuse me, madam, but I’m afraid the soy sauce is restaurant property. You can’t take it.”

Mother: “You calling me a thief? I want to speak to the manager! This will cost you your job, you little b****!”

Daughter: “Um, mum…”

Me: “The manager is not in right now, but if you want the sauce, it’s on sale at the front of the restaurant.”

Mother: “You’ve got some nerve! I never even touched your stinking sauce, you c***! Call the manager now!”

(Several customers are starting to giggle and the daughter looks like she’s about to die.)

Me: “Maybe you have taken the sauce without noticing? Because I’m sure you touched it at some point.”

Mother: “You’re sure? I tell you I didn’t touch it! You can’t treat your customers that way! You telling me you’ve been spying on me or something?”

Me: “Certainly not. But the huge brown stain on your purse is hard to ignore.”

(Her daughter dragged her by the arm and they stormed out the front door, leaving a sticky trail of soy sauce from the mother’s cloth purse. I laughed so hard I didn’t even mind them stealing the sauce.)


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Okay, That Was A Little Mean

, , , , , | Right | June 14, 2008

(Our store was pretty dead on this night; no one came in for at least half an hour before closing, but like good employees we kept the doors unlocked until our registers read 8 o’clock on the dot. I lock the doors, and five minutes later, a woman walks up to the door.)

Customer: *pulls on door, notices it’s locked, pulls harder*

Me: “I’m sorry, we’re closed. But we’ll be open at nine tomorrow.”

Customer: “What the h***?”

Me: “Ma’am, we closed five minutes ago. I’m sorry, but our hours are posted.”

Customer: “This is insane, it’s 7:59! You shouldn’t lock the doors so early.”

Me: “Our registers show that it’s 8:07–” (I look at my watch and my cell phone) “–and I’ve got 8:08. I’m sorry, we open at nine tomorrow.”

Customer: “I just need a few things! It won’t take long.”

Me: “Our registers are closed, so there’s no money in them. You can come back tomorrow at nine. Even if it was 7:59, it takes more than one minute to shop and check out.”

Customer: “This is ridiculous! I just need a few things.”

Me: “Fine.”

(I unlock the doors to let her in; my coworker finishes closing the registers. The woman runs around the store for ten minutes, grabbing several things that probably could have waited until morning, and plops them down on the register.)

Coworker: *smiles* “Did you find everything you needed?”

Customer: “Yes, thanks.”

Coworker: “Unfortunately, our registers have been closed for 20 minutes and I can’t ring the sale after hours. Would you like me to hold it for you until tomorrow?”

(The customer’s jaw drops. I go to hold the door open for her.)

Me: “We open at nine.”

(Coworker and I high-fived.)


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… And They Say The Post Office Is Slow

, , , , | Right | June 11, 2008

(A customer is buying a stamp for a letter shortly after the 2007 price increase.)

Customer: “Why can’t I get a 39 cent stamp? You still have them.”

Me: “We still have them in stock, but we have to make up the difference with 2 cent stamps. Don’t worry, we’ll stick the right amount on for you.”

Customer: “I just want a 39 cent stamp.”

Me: “Okay, but your letter will not get there.”

Customer: “Just give me it!”

(The customer takes the stamp, affixes it, and tosses the letter into the slot. I promptly pick up the letter from the bin and stamp it “Insufficient Postage, Return To Sender”.)


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