I work at a massive big box retailer. A woman comes in with something that she has received from our online store that has all our logos on it.

Customer: “I want to return this. I have my confirmation code on my phone.”

Me: “Ma’am, that confirmation code came from eBay. Their seller information isn’t from our company.”

I explain everything to her, but it isn’t close to good enough. She wants me to look it up. That’s fine, and it only takes me a moment to find it. Awesome, I can do the return.

I go over the return with her, including how much will go back and to what card. She affirms everything to me, saying yes, that’s fine, over and over. I think everything is fine and perform the return. I ask her to sign it, and when she looks at the paperwork:

Customer: “This isn’t what I paid… and this isn’t my card! I don’t have an American Express card! I demand that you put the correct amount back to my card this instant!”

Well, the return was already in processing. In other words, the return was already going back to this other card, which seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. Then, it finally hit me what had happened.

This customer went on eBay, found the item they wanted, and purchased it, and the seller went to our website, bought it at a much lower price, and just had it shipped to this woman! I heavily sighed as I realized I was about to get absolutely destroyed.

I explained what must have happened, and then I explained that the return had already been processed, and since she had verified all the information as true, there was nothing I could do.

Cue her yelling at me for ten minutes as I slowly lost my ability to care. I never found out what happened next, but I hope people start looking at what website they are ordering from.

I am in the spare room sorting out some old bits and pieces that we recently tried to sell — pictures, lampshades, etc. — and getting them ready to donate to the local charity shop.

My sister-in-law and her husband happen to pop round and a face appears at the door.

Brother-In-Law: “What you got there?”

Me: “Oh, just some bits for the charity shop.”

Brother-In-Law: “You should sell them, not give them away.”

Me: “This is the stuff that we couldn’t sell. Besides, I don’t mind if it is going to a good cause.”

Brother-In-Law: “I can take them for you!”

My brother-in-law never volunteers to help and typically never even bothers to engage me in conversation, so I find this a little odd.

Me: “Thanks, but that’s okay. I have to drive past the shop anyway.”

He seems to accept this. I leave the sorting until another day and join them for coffee. They end up staying longer than expected and I run out of time.

The next weekend, I get around to sorting the items again, but I notice many of them are missing. I ask my wife.

Wife: “Oh, [Brother-In-Law] took them while you were at work. I thought you arranged it with him?”

Me: “No, I said I would take them.”

Wife: “I did think it was odd. Weren’t you going that way anyway at some point?”

Me: “Yeah, I was. Bit annoying. Why didn’t he take everything? It would have fit. I still have to go there anyway. Whatever, it’s the thought that counts, I guess.”

We thought nothing about it until a few months later. We popped round their house and noticed a number of very familiar items. My sister-in-law told us how her husband found them in a charity shop really cheaply; he wanted to resell them but she made him put some of them up in the house.

We didn’t say anything, but it was clear that those were our things he took, and he never did give them to charity; it takes a few weeks for items to reach the shop floor anyway.

Annoyingly they don’t even need the money, but if he asked, I would have given the items to him as long as he gave some of the money to the charity he stole from.

I am serving a table of regulars whom I’ve known for about four months. It’s two older couples, and they’re normally quite nice, just particular with what they want to eat.

I take their order and bring their food out to them, but one of the men notices his portion is a little smaller than usual. I don’t notice because I am busy and asked one of my coworkers to bring it out. The man becomes slightly angry at my coworker, so I step in to talk to him.

Me: “Sir, I apologize. I can see that it isn’t the right size, either, so I’ll ask the chef to make a half order and I will have it brought straight out.”

Customer: “If this sort of thing happens again, we won’t be coming back.”

I kind of chuckle and don’t take it too seriously, because he makes jokes to me like that all the time.

Customer: “I’m not kidding. If you mess up again, we won’t be coming back here.”

I nervously laugh and apologize again for the mistake and move on with my day.

A few weeks later, the people come again on their normal day. They have been coming in every week and are very pleasant to serve again, but they decide to change up their orders and try different items on our menu.

I take their orders down and put the order in to the chef. When I bring their food out to them, I realize I messed up their order. I wrote down the wrong item. I explain that, the man kind of nods, and I go to the kitchen and have them make up his order correctly.

I apologize profusely to the man and tell him that it was my fault and that I feel very bad. A little bit later, I go to check on the table to make sure everything else is going okay.

Customer: “I found a hair in his food.”

He shows me the hair.

Customer: “Go show the chef the hair and tell him to make sure his hair doesn’t get in the food again.”

The hair was blond-ish grey, same as the customer. Every single person that was working that shift has dark hair, mainly black. My boss made me take the item off the check and as the people left, I heard them talking about me, saying how good of a job they did planting the hair. I told my boss and he said they were not allowed back. Oh, and their tip for the day: $1. Their check: $35.

I used to use a major chain pharmacy to fill my epilepsy medication. I say “used to” as this was the last of many mess-ups on their end.

I call on Monday with a refill request. I am told by the pharmacist that it will be filled Tuesday. I am happy, as I’ll be out by Thursday and I won’t have to panic.

Tuesday, I come in on my way from work to pick up the medication. 

Pharmacist: “I never told you to come today. Go home; your prescription isn’t here.”

I ask if it’ll be in by Thursday as I’ll be out, and she blows me off. I ask for a definitive answer before leaving and am told it is due to come in on Wednesday.

Wednesday, I call first. This is where things go wonky. I explain that I’m simply looking to see if my medication is ready before making the trip to them, and I am told that there are no refills on my prescription and they aren’t filling it.

When I ask why I wasn’t told either of the times I came in, and why they didn’t contact either my neurologist who ordered it, my primary doctor, or even insurance:

Pharmacist: “We don’t have to. It’s your job.”

I call my neurologist as they are the only office open that late, they push refills through, the neurologist verifies it, and I feel a bit less stressed as tomorrow is the day I will be out.

Thursday morning, I go up to the store to grab essentials and head to get my medication. [Pharmacist] is back! I ask for my medication again.

Pharmacist: “It didn’t come in. You have no refills. You’ll have to wait; I’m not in a rush to fill it. It’s not a necessary medication, anyway. If you’re that concerned, check yourself into [Local Hospital].”

At that point, my nice tone goes out the window, though I am rather civil in the response.

Me: “That medication is to prevent seizures, so yes, it is necessary, and you don’t get to decide what is and isn’t necessary for me. I do have refills; they were pushed through yesterday and verified by my neurologist while I was on the phone with him. As for not ordered, you told me Monday it would be ordered, so that’s your fault. Now, I’m out of medication and I’d like both the number to contact whoever is above you, as this is utterly ridiculous, and for you to check with the [Pharmacy] in [Nearby Town] to see if they have any, as I cannot go skipping doses. And no, I’m not checking myself into a hospital to get a prescription you should have filled by now and have bold-faced lied about.”

She glares.

Pharmacist: “I’m not giving you contact numbers; you can’t report me for this.”

Me: “I can, and I will.”

I choose to leave then, and I call my neurologist and my doctor from my cell phone.

My neurologist is stunned by the denial of refills, as his calls are all recorded. He verifies it was  [Pharmacist] he spoke to, ending the call to see what he can do about finding me contacts.

All I wanted was who he’d spoken to. Him going above and beyond that is outstanding.

My doctor tells me to call into the pharmacy and mute my end; she’ll find out where my refills are. I feel like this is probably not legal, but at this point, I don’t much care.

[Pharmacist] answers the phone with the pharmacy greeting and my doctor gives her name and information and asks about my refills, as I’d called her worried and couldn’t be without my medication. She says that a pharmacist had told me my medication wasn’t necessary and she doesn’t appreciate that one bit, nor hearing that her patient was lied to. She wants my refill number and she wants to know who to reach to contest this pharmacist.

[Pharmacist] attempts to cover her a**, sickeningly sweet as she gives the contact number and the name of another pharmacist. She explains that I have four refills and the medication is in, and insists that she knows my medication is necessary and would never say that to anyone!

I’m not sure if it is because she is fed up with the two-faced behavior or because I am on the line, but my doctor asks a question I haven’t forgotten.

Doctor: “Then why were you lying to my patient? Are you so lazy that you need to be relieved from your job, or are you simply too incompetent to do what needs to be done?”

[Pharmacist] disconnected the call at that point, but my doctor had gotten me the information I needed. I couldn’t stop laughing, because my doctor was in her seventies and looked like everyone’s grandma. The fact that I’d never seen her mad, only to hear her so, had made that day suck less.

She promised to call on my behalf, as that wasn’t the first complaint she’d heard about the pharmacist, and she’d see what could be done about my medication.

I ended up going two more days without medication, though work allowed me to stay home so I wouldn’t be a risk in the pottery shop where I worked — seizures and pottery don’t mix, after all — which was both good and bad.

During those two days, I was told by the pharmacy in phone calls that they didn’t believe my account of what happened, and if I didn’t rescind my complaint to their corporate headquarters, I could take my medication elsewhere. Then, I was emailed a customer survey on how my pharmacy visit went. I honestly filled that out, too.

I never took my complaint back, nor did my doctor. My neurologist got my medication in at a family pharmacy who did have to order it overnight it so I could have it, and I wasn’t out for longer than needed.

Occasionally, I still get emails asking if I’d like to be enrolled for [Pharmacy] and save more, and I have to shake my head.

I work in the drive-thru. One day, I have a customer come through early in the day and order three large combos with two milkshakes, which comes out to be a $25 order. When she gets to the window, she has a card. I’m trained to take payment while handing out drinks. I swipe her card on the register and it takes a minute, so I go ahead and hand her food out while I’m waiting.

This particular time, her card declines. I have already given her her food. So I try to swipe again, as we get errors sometimes. It declines once again.

Me: “Sorry, ma’am. Your card has been declined.”

Customer: “It shouldn’t be.”

Me: “Do you have another form of payment?”

Customer: “No, I don’t. Just let me go, since your card machine isn’t working.”

I try to ask for the food back, but she pulls off. I still have her card, as I have explained the situation and handed her both declined slips. She comes in the front and starts accusing me of stealing money from her card.

At this point, I get my managers as I’m supposed to do with irate customers.

Customer: “You stole from me! You just put $120 on my card!”

She starts speaking to our second manager and it switches to $20.

As [Manager #1] starts trying to calm her down and explain the situation, the customer turns her tirade to her.

Customer: “This isn’t any of your f****** business. Why are you f****** talking to me?”

She still has the food in her car with her boyfriend, and at this point, my managers have had enough, so they tell her to leave before they call the police.

This “customer” accused me of stealing from her and ended up getting twenty-five dollars of free food after throwing a fit about money she clearly didn’t have in the first place.

Related:
Don’t Take Declined For An Answer