(I have had the weekend from Hell itself, so I am miserable on a Monday night when this gem of a telemarketing scam comes through. For context, I am in the bathroom with horrible cramps when I hear the phone ring and my son brings me the phone. Also, I have my laptop on my lap, and it is definitely not an Apple product, as we are an Apple-free home due to budget.)

Me: “Hello?” *using an outrageous valley girl voice*

Scammer: *with a thick accent* “Hello, ma’am, I am calling from Apple Support to inform you that your iCloud account has been compromised.”

Me: “O-M-G!” 

(Yes, you got that right; I went SUPER valley girl!)

Scammer: “How many Apple devices do you own?”

Me: “Three!”

Scammer: “And what kind are they?”

(He is speaking slowly like I am the airhead I am pretending to b.)

Me: “An iPhone X, a laptop, and uh… an Apple watch.”

Scammer: “Well, ma’am, it would seem your account is signalling from many places. Yes, someone in Russia, Germany, and other places have accessed your account. Do you have family from there that could have accessed the account?”

Me: “Noooo…”

Scammer: *huffs* “Well, ma’am, have you shared your account with anyone?”

Me: “NOOOOOOO…”

Scammer: “Well, ma’am, I am going to give you a website to go to. What browser do you use?”

Me: *even more excited and outrageous voice* “Safariiiiiiiiiiiiiii!”

Scammer: *huffs LOUDER* “If you will go and type in this address.” *proceeds to give me a complex website to go to while attempting to phonetically spell it to me* “Ma’am, have you typed it in?”

Me: *stifling a giggle* “Yesssssss.”

Scammer: *huffs* “What does it say?”

Me: “1MATOO7.”

Scammer: *pauses* “What? What did you say?”

Me: “1MATOO7.”

Scammer: “Ma’am, did you go away from the website?”

Me: “Noooo! This is what came up!”

Scammer: “Ma’am, you need to type that correctly. I do not understand how you are seeing this message.”

Me: *bursts into laughter because he is clueless and dropping into my real voice with a Southern drawl* “Dude, I’m just f****** with you. I’m a candidate for a PhD in military history, and there ain’t s*** in this house that’s an Apple product! You have a good day, sweetie.”

(I work at a popular retail store known for having brand names at a discount. I’ve been working here for just over a year when this event occurs. I’m on cash and have been having a relatively normal day. A customer comes up, tosses the one shirt he wants to purchase on my counter, and seems pleasant enough as I take the security tags off. I scan the shirt into the computer and get an error message saying the shirt cannot be sold.)

Me: “Sorry, I need to check something really quickly. I’ll be right back.”

(My supervisor is nearby, so I grab her to explain what happened.)

Me: “Hey, [Supervisor]? I scanned in this shirt and got a message saying it can’t be sold? I know that can happen, but do you mind taking a peek, making sure I didn’t just hit a weird button or anything.”

Supervisor: “Of course.”

(She comes over to my till and checks the message. Confirming that the shirts have been flagged, she attempts to explain to my customer.)

Supervisor: “I’m sorry, sir, the computer is telling us we cannot sell you this shirt.”

Customer: “What? Why?”

Supervisor: “It could be a manufacturer’s defect, or a product that [Company] has pulled for whatever reason.”

Customer: “I don’t care. That’s the only thing I found that I wanted.”

Supervisor: “I’m very sorry, but the computer won’t let me sell you this shirt.”

(The customer doesn’t throw a fit, but he leaves very aggravated. I don’t think much of it, give my supervisor the shirt to deal with, and return to my shift. I don’t have any more cash shifts for a while, and I put the event completely out of my mind. One day, as I am leaving from a warehouse shift, I stop to say goodbye to my cash supervisor on my way out.)

Supervisor: “Do you have a minute before you go?”

Me: “Of course!”

(I’m thinking that perhaps something was wrong with one of my tills, so I want to make sure to have this dealt with. This supervisor is one of my favourites.)

Supervisor: “Did any of the managers ask to talk to you?”

Me: *panicking now* “No?”

Supervisor: “No, don’t worry. Remember that customer you had, the one you couldn’t sell the shirt to? It turned out he filed a complaint against me.”

(I’m flabbergasted. This supervisor is one of the sweetest people in the store, and while she can be a bit brusque, I’ve never known her to be impolite and I can’t think of a thing she said out of place during the exchange.)

Supervisor: “Oh, yeah, he said I cussed him out, ‘Don’t ever come back into this f****** store,’ ‘If I ever see you back I’ll call the cops,’ a bunch of nonsense. I had to talk to the managers about it.”

Me: “He’s lucky he didn’t come in to do it, because I would have started a fight!”

(I’ve never seen this customer again, but if that’s how he decides to deal with his problems, then good riddance.)

(I lived in Washington, DC for several years, but don’t live there anymore. Knowing some things about the city gives me great tools when those scammers call.)

Scammer: “Hello, is this [Not Close To My Name]?”

Me: “May I ask who is calling, please?”

Scammer: *heavy foreign accent* “Ma’am, we have an urgent matter. This is the IRS. You owe us $10,000 which must be paid immediately–”

Me: “Oh, my gosh, the IRS? My brother-in-law works there! Are you on [Street]? On the 32nd floor? How’s the new [non-existent] metro station coming along? Do you know Bob? He’s my brother-in-law!”

Scammer: *confused* “Ma’am… this is an… “ *papers shuffling* “…urgent matter.”

Me: “My sister is going to divorce Bob because she saw those photos of him; it’s such a scandal. The kids don’t know the truth, of course, and Bob will lose the Ferrari and the penthouse. Heroin addiction is such a terrible thing–”

Scammer: *click*

(I notice a couple with water cups lingering around the soda fountain and watching me, the manager, waiting for me to get out of sight so they can steal drinks. I recognize the younger woman because she did it before. I walk right up to them.)

Me: “Hi! Do you need help with anything?”

Younger Woman: “Where is the water?”

Me: “Right here underneath the lemonade. Just push the button.”

Younger Woman: “Oh, okay. “

Me: “If you need anything else just let me know.”

(A few minutes later, I pass near their table and see that the older woman has brown soda in her water cup, so I walk over to their table.)

Me: “How is lunch today?”

Older Woman: “It’s fine.”

Me: “Great! I have to ask, though, did you decide to get a soda instead of water?”

Older Woman: “No. What do you mean?”

Me: “I see you have a soda in your water cup. It’s fine if you want to keep it, but I have to ask you to pay for it. If you would rather have water, I can get that for you.”

(They are both silent and look at each other for about ten seconds. Then, the older woman says:)

Older Woman: “How much does a drink cost? I only got one cup.”

Me: “It’s [amount]. I can bring you the larger cup if you want.”

Older Woman: “Naw, just take it and get me a water.”

Me: “I’ll be glad to do that for you.”

(I leave her cup on the table and get another water cup and fill it. I bring it back to the table.)

Me: “Here you go.”

Younger Woman: “I can’t believe you are making a big fuss over a little drink! Her blood sugar is low! She’s sick!”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry! She didn’t tell me that—”

Older Woman: “Fine! I ain’t coming back to this place! This is f****** bulls***! Y’all shouldn’t be treatin’ folks like this!”

Me: “I’m sorry you feel that way, but we can’t just let people take things without paying for them.”

(The older woman begins to cuss me out under her breath. Knowing I can’t win this or make them feel better, I say goodbye and leave their table. They get up to leave but stop at the cash register.)

Younger Woman: “Momma, just calm down. Why’re you getting so mad?!”

Older Woman: “Y’all take this, bunch of motherf*****s! F****** b****es!”

(She throws the money for her drink at the cashier and they both leave. Standing right next to them are two teenage boys with eyes wide open and mouths hanging open.)

Me: “Sorry about that, guys.”

Boy: “That’s okay. I guess someone needs to read their Bible more!”

(My father tells me a story of a time he worked for my maternal grandfather in his video rental store which also offers repair services for VHS players. This is back at a time where said players, as well as the tapes, are quite expensive. While my dad is working, a customer comes in to pick up his repaired player, but is outraged when my dad says the price is $30.)

Customer: “I’ll have you know I’m a good friend of Richard—” *my grandfather* “—and I’ll have you fired!”

(This is a dead giveaway, as nobody who actually knows my grandfather calls him Richard; he is known as “Rip.” My grandfather hears the commotion and steps out of the office.)

Grandfather: “What is going on?”

Customer: *angry* “This a**hole is trying to charge me $30 for my repair!”

Grandfather: *calmly* “Oh, well, that a**hole is my future son-in-law. I’ll tell you what; he says $30, I say $50.”

(The customer angrily left the store without paying — or collecting his repaired VHS player — and vowed never to return. My grandfather ended up selling it as used, as according to store policy. The irony is by refusing to pay, the customer would have had to pay hundreds for a new player!)