Isn’t Really Selling Their Innocence

, , , , , , | Working | January 1, 2018

(I’ve been searching for a job for a while and have gotten hired at a place that does at-home presentations. It’s my first day, and I’m paired with one of the senior trainers who’s been told to take me around his assigned territory.)

Trainer: “So, just to let you know, I got a DUI last week, so forgive me that I have to do the stupid breathalyzer thing every time I start my car up.”

(We get into his car, which is overloaded with trash, and the trainer grumbles about how it wasn’t his fault, his friend spiked his drinks, the police were bullying him, and so on, as he blows into the ignition interlock that’s been fitted. I try to ignore this, telling myself I need this job, I’m a good salesman, and once I get the gist of this I can drive my own car from place to place. For most of the day, the trainer just runs me through the gauntlet of what to say for each presentation, how we receive calls from potential customers, the sheets we have to fill out for each house we visit, etc. Every so often he brings up again how he’s not to blame for the DUI, and curses the police whenever he has to blow into the ignition interlock; however, things don’t go south until later in the afternoon, when the trainer suddenly stops in the middle of telling me something and looks at his rear-view mirror.)

Trainer: “D*** it! No, please, not now!”

(I look behind us and notice a cop car with their lights flashing. The trainer keeps cursing as he pulls over and turns to me.)

Trainer: “Okay, look. I need you to do me a favor. Tell the officer this is your car and you’re just letting me drive it!”

Me: “What?”

Trainer: “I have expired license plates! I can’t let that be added to my record, too!”

Me: “Wait, what about your registration?”

Trainer: “It’s expired, too! So is my license! Look, just tell this guy it’s your car! I’m begging you!”

Me: “I can’t do that!”

Trainer: “You don’t understand! I can’t go back to jail again!”

(The cop knocks on the window.)

Trainer: “Remember, this is your car!”

(He rolls the window down and repeats the same thing he just told me. The cop looks at me questioningly.)

Me: “This isn’t my car.”

(The trainer ended up being arrested on the spot, because his expired license meant he shouldn’t have been on the road at all. The cop let me go after confirming my identity and my statement that I did not own the car, and I ended up having to catch the bus back to the office, since I’d left my own vehicle there. I quit that job shortly after.)

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Shattered Glass And A Shattered Lie

, , , | Right | December 30, 2017

(I work at a fast food restaurant. We have had to close our play area for a few days because a customer opened a door too hard and shattered one of the glass walls. Most customers have been understanding, even though many of their children are disappointed. I see a woman walk up to the signs on the door explaining why it is closed, then turn and storm up to my register. I mentally prepare myself for a tirade.)

Customer: “How can you close the play area on a weekend?!”

Me: “I’m very sorry about that. We had a bit of an incident with one of the walls getting broken a couple days ago. It’ll be open again first thing Monday morning.”

(It’s Saturday at this point, so Monday isn’t far off.)

Customer: “I hope you’re happy with yourself. You see my daughter over there?” *she points to a little girl cheerfully playing with a doll at a nearby table* “It’s her birthday, and all she wanted was to come play here. She’s so upset; you ruined her birthday!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s not anything I can do to reopen it. Maybe she’d be okay with coming back next week?”

Customer: “NO! YOU RUINED HER BIRTHDAY!” *storms off and disappears into the bathroom*

(I feel a little bad, even though the girl doesn’t seem upset at all, so I grab a cookie from the kitchen and approach her table.)

Me: “Hi! I’m really sorry you couldn’t play here today; your mom told me you wanted to for your birthday.” *I set the cookie in front of her* “Hopefully, this will help make up for it!”

Girl: *confused but excited by the appearance of the cookie* “It’s not my birthday; my birthday’s in March. But, okay! Thanks!”

(I chuckled to myself; it was the middle of August. I wasn’t overly annoyed by the customer lying for sympathy, since the girl seemed delighted by the treat, but a couple of minutes later I looked over and saw the mom happily chowing down on the cookie. NOW the girl looked upset.)

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Maybe They Have 10/20 Vision

, , , , , | Working | December 29, 2017

(My fiancé and I are in a national chain that sells craft and sewing supplies. We get our items and go to the cash register. The total is under $10. I hand the cashier a $20. I watch as she puts the $20 into the cash drawer, pulls out a ten, and puts it on top of the drawer, then counts out the rest of my change. She hands me the change, all but the $10.)

Cashier: “Here’s your change.”

Me: “No, I paid you a twenty. That ten is part of my change.”

Cashier: “No, you gave me a ten. I put it there.”

Me: “No, I just came from the ATM; it only gives twenties. I gave you a twenty. That ten is part of my change.”

Cashier: “No, it isn’t.”

(At this point I look at my fiancé, look at the cashier, and take a deep breath.)

Me: “Okay, then, call the manager. I need the right change.”

Cashier: *with some attitude* “Fine.”

(Ten minutes later, the cashier and the manager came out from the back room, and the cashier handed me my change. Out of a twenty. I don’t think the manager remembered this, but a few years later, my wife ended up working at that same shop! And, being very poor college students, neither of us felt too bad about making the cashier count her drawer. We needed that $10!)

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Returner Burner: On Location

, , , , , | Right | December 29, 2017

(I start off my shift at my main store, where I am called over when an angry customer requests the manager on duty. I look over the receipt.)

Me: “The cashier is correct. You’re well outside the 90-day return policy, and formal wear has to be unworn to be returned. You can see that here.”

Customer: “Bulls***! I paid $250 for this; you have to take it back! Do you know who I am? I’m Mrs. [Customer]!”

Me: “I’m afraid the final answer is no.”

Customer: “We’ll see!”

(Almost immediately afterwards, I have to run to a meeting held at our next closest location, which is about an hour drive away. I get there, and I am talking to another manager when I see a familiar, angry face at the returns desk. I can’t help myself, and walk up behind the counter.)

Me: “Hi there, Mrs. [Customer]! As I told you in [Home Store Location], we can’t return formal wear, and you’re outside the return date.”

Customer: “I, uh… I mean… Give me that receipt!”

(At this point I take a wild guess, as there is another store location only a twenty-minute drive away.)

Me: “I’ll give it to you, if you promise I won’t see you at [Third Store Location] trying to return this again.”

(The customer’s eyes go wide and she stares at me for a few seconds, in shock.)

Customer: “What? How did you know?!”

(She picked up her dress and ran out of the store, leaving the receipt behind.)

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We’ve Run Out Of Prankster Rodentia

, , , , , , | Right | December 28, 2017

(I work at a chain pet store, in the pet care section. Policy states that we can deny the sale of any pet if we believe that it will not be going to a good home. As a company, we also do not sell live feeders, except for crickets, goldfish, and minnows. We do sell frozen feeder mice, but if customers come in asking about live mice for snakes, we direct them to reptile stores in the area that sell live ones. Two customers come up to me. Only one does any talking.)

Customer: “I want to buy a mouse.”

Me: “Are you looking for a pet or a feeder?”

Customer: “Oh, just a feeder.”

Me: “Okay, we have them right over here in the freezer.”

(I start to lead them over to it.)

Customer: “You don’t have live ones?”

Me: “No, as a company, [Pet Store] doesn’t sell live feeder mice.”

Customer: “Then, what do you feed your snakes?”

Me: “Frozen mice, thawed out.”

Customer: “But we want a live one.”

(At this point, a coworker walks by, having only heard the last couple sentences, and she chimes in, repeating that we don’t sell live feeders.)

Me: *remembering something* “Actually, we don’t have any mice right now, anyway. Just hamsters and guinea pigs.”

Customer: “Okay, we’ll take a hamster, then.”

Me: *suspicious at the switch* “What are you getting it for?”

Customer: “Oh, it’s for a prank.”

Me: “I can’t sell you a pet for a prank.”

Customer: “Why not? I’m paying for it, aren’t I?”

Me: “No, because we won’t sell it. We sell pets, not pranks.”

Customer: “Fine then. I’m buying it for me, for a pet.”

Me: “But you just said you were buying it for a prank. I can’t pretend I didn’t hear that.”

(She glanced at her friend, huffed, and stormed out of the store. The friend followed. My coworker and I stared at each other for a moment, sighed, and got off of the sales floor to decompress. I wish I could say this was the weirdest or worst encounter with someone wanting to buy pets. Just a few weeks before, there was a person who wanted to buy a rat for “religious purposes.” She refused to elaborate, and she was refused the rat, too.)

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