As a manager and editor at a newspaper press, part of my responsibility is attending to customer complaints regarding our carriers on their motor routes.

One gentleman started a motor route with us, and after a week, numerous complaints of all varieties began to pour in about papers being significantly late or not being delivered at all, papers being delivered without a plastic weather bag and being rained on, and so forth.

After asking the team leader to speak with him, he reported that the carrier sincerely denied the accusations and was genuinely confused as to why these complaints consistently arose.

I became more perplexed when the team leader later reported to me:

Team Leader: “Okay, [Customer #1] and [Customer #2] said they never got their paper and I personally drove over there to bring them one. It was right there on the porch, nicely rolled up right in front of their door! [Customer #3] said she never got hers, but it was right in the freaking newspaper tube on her mailbox! You said [Customer #4] got his four hours past the deadline? I was at [Donut Shop] having a quick bite to eat, and I saw the carrier delivering papers right across the street where this customer lives, at 8:00 am!”

The deadline is 3:00 pm.

I was scratching my head as to why all these people seemed to be picking on this particular carrier, and why it seemed to be the same customers.

After I started receiving more serious complaints of property missing from some customer’s yards (with people claiming to have witnesses observing the carrier stealing it) and other complaints of instances such as the carrier allegedly kicking a customer’s dog and flipping off another customer, I called him into my office to have a talk with him.

When the door opened and he stepped inside, I immediately discovered the “problem”: this gentleman was an African American. Our town was notorious for being “melanin intolerant”.

Game on.

Me: *With a huge smile* “I just wanted to let you know you’re doing a great job and I appreciate your hard work.”

Carrier: “Thank you so much!”

Me: “Friday is a special edition, and people will be expecting their papers from 9:00 to 11:00 because of [some made-up excuse about a local event on TV]. On that day, I need you to start at 9:00 and be done by 11:00.”

Carrier: “Sure, no problem.”

That Friday, the gentleman picked up his stack from our warehouse. However, unbeknownst to him, I stealthily followed him through his route and had three other employees strategically posted at different points in his route to observe him. That young man delivered to each and every subscribing house on that route, and in the manner as instructed.

After he finished, we returned to the press office and waited. Lo and behold, here came the emails:

Email #1: “Customer complained he hasn’t received his paper.”

Email #2: “Customer complained carrier threw his paper unrolled on the porch and it blew everywhere.”

Email #3: “Customer complained he observed the carrier urinating on the customer’s hedges. When confronted, the carrier said, ‘F*** you, cracker!'”

Email #4: “Customer did not receive paper until 7:00 pm.”

Email #5: “Customer said carrier kicked his dog again.”

I wish you could have seen the smile on my face as I began typing the following letter.

Letter: “[Usual business greeting]. On [date], you complained that [fictitious complaint]. We would like to kindly bring to your attention the fact that we personally shadowed this particular carrier on the day in question and visually confirmed that he delivered your paper in a timely and orderly fashion and that no further actions were committed by the carrier while present at your residence. Because it appears that you have a personal issue with our carrier that is beyond our control, we have decided to terminate your subscription and refund your remaining balance. We regret having to take such an extreme measure, but we hope that you understand that we at [Business] value our hard-working staff as much as we value our customers.”

And to Mr. “Dog Kicker”, I added:

Letter: “PS: You don’t have a dog. We’re the ones who reported the story in which seventeen dogs had been removed from your squalid house and you were subsequently banned from owning another pet for the next three years, remember? Or should we alert your probation officer that you just admitted to violating a direct court order?”

Surprise, surprise, the complaints against this carrier dropped down next to zero, and he happily stayed on board with us for the next three years.

It still sickens me how bigotry will cause people to harm a total stranger who is doing nothing but simply doing his job and not bothering anyone. But at the same time, I am elated that we got to the root of the problem and snuffed it out.

All of our utilities are in my husband’s name, but I am an authorized user. We have had the same utility companies for the last twelve years.

Recently, I made a payment through the online portal of our water company, but it showed that the payment had not been processed, even though it was taken out of our bank account. I called the company.

Agent: “What is the name on the account?”

Me: “[Husband], but I am an authorized user.”

Agent: “I don’t show you on the account.”

Me: “I’ve been on the account for twelve years. I’ve called in before and never had a problem. I just need to know if the payment was posted.”

Agent: “I can’t tell you that.”

Me: “What if I give you all of the information that you would need? I have our address, his Social Security number, and his birthdate.”

Agent: “We don’t use any of that information. Have him call and add you. I’m not talking to you until then.”

The agent hangs up, and I call my husband at work. He calls the company and then calls me back.

Husband: “You won’t believe this. I called to add you, and a different person answered. When I asked them to put you on the account, she wanted to know why I was adding someone already listed. Her exact words were, ‘She’s been an authorized user for twelve years.’”

One night, I stopped by a diner after work at about 10:00 pm. I was seated at the table and the waitress had taken my order. I heard a strange sound overhead, and the next thing I knew, I was covered in crumbled ceiling tile and pissed-off raccoons.

I screamed and started flailing. The raccoons screamed back. I got a lot of little claw marks and a few bites as they tried to get safely off of me without letting me pry them off.

I managed to get them off of me, and one of the chefs and the waitress chased them out the front door.

Nervously, the chef asked me if I still wanted my order and offered to comp it. I ate, and it was okay.

I got a rabies vaccine after, just in case.

I am a shift supervisor at the world’s largest coffeehouse chain. This employer grants employees stock that turns into shares after an allotted period of employment.

One day, the barista at the cash register asks me to come over to help a customer reload their account balance so that they can earn membership benefits on their transaction. 

Me: “Hey there! How can I assist you today? I heard that you’re trying to reload money onto your account?”

Customer: “Yes! I have been trying to get your cashier to understand that I can’t get into the app since I don’t remember my password. Can’t you just put my phone number or email into your register to pull up my account?!”

Me: “I totally understand the frustration there. Unfortunately, there isn’t currently a way for us to pull up your account information on our registers. Do you happen to know if your account is tied to a physical [Coffee Shop] card? If you have that physical card today, we can reload money and use it now.”

Customer: “I don’t know where that thing is!”

Me: “That makes sense! When the majority of retailers allow you to make an account on an app, it sure does feel like physical cards go obsolete. Have you tried clicking the ‘forgot password’ link on the app?”

The customer then shoves their phone toward me.

Customer: “Can’t you do it? I shouldn’t have to do all of this just to give you business.” 

Wary of holding the irritated customer’s phone, and wanting to free up the register so the cafe line can start moving again, I gesture for my coworker to come back over. I comp the customer’s drink that’s already on the screen.

Me: “What do you think about taking a step over from the register with me so I can walk you through it? I see that we already had your order queued up, so I went ahead and pushed it through so it will be made for you while we are chatting.”

The customer huffs and reluctantly agrees. I walk into the cafe to guide them through the password recovery process. My coworker hand-delivers the customer’s drink as the next part occurs.

Me: “Now you need to open the email account associated with your [Coffee Shop] account to see if the password recovery link has been delivered. The only thing that you’ll need to do is click the recovery link and reset your password so that you can get into the app!”

Customer: “Wait, what?! I don’t know my email password! It’s on a sticky note at my house!”

The customer’s voice is getting louder by the sentence. Other customers have been watching, but now my coworkers are all starting to stare. I try to think of the best way to defuse the situation, but I’m out of options.

Me: “Aw, man. Well, if we can’t access the recovery link right now, I’m afraid I won’t be able to help reset your password. The good news is that you have a free drink in hand, and I can get the customer service center’s phone number written down for you so you can get this resolved before your next visit!”

Customer: “I cannot believe the steps I have had to take to order a coffee as a loyal customer. I am a shareholder of this company. Is this how you treat the people who fund your future?”

Me: “Trust me, as a shareholder myself, I wish this were easier and that we had the power to resolve your issue here. Would you still like that customer service center number?”

The customer appeared speechless and, after a few seconds of processing time, stormed out.

CONTENT WARNING: Bloody Injury

We’re a tax office. We have a special stapler that was originally designed to staple corrugated cardboard sheets together, but we’ve repurposed it to staple particularly large tax returns together.

One day, I’m working on some clients’ taxes. The clients have brought their thirteen-year-old boy with them. The boy is a little rambunctious and, eventually, asks permission to leave the office and wander around outside, which his parents grant.

A little later, we hear a very loud scream.

We walk out to see that the boy has used our massive stapler to drive a staple through the back of his hand.

The clients grab their son and leave for the hospital pretty much immediately, but that leaves us with quite a lot of blood to clean up.

After that, we set up a locking cage around the massive stapler.

We later come to an agreement with the clients: they won’t attempt to sue us for medical expenses from their son’s stupidity, and we won’t attempt to sue them for the expenses associated with shutting down the office and hiring an emergency cleaning company to clean up the blood. 

Honestly, I make it seem more dire than it was. They didn’t blame us, and they were actually more worried about us suing them for cleanup expenses than anything else, which we didn’t plan on doing in the first place.