There’s No Patching This One Up

, , , , , , | Working | September 10, 2020

On a major roadway, I drive over something in the middle of the lane that looks like a piece of ribbon at first, but I feel a bump when I go over it. A couple of kilometers later, other drivers start yelling out their windows that I’m leaking gas, so I pull into the next gas station.

I call my roadside assistance company and they tow me to one of their recommended mechanics. They’re closed when we arrive, so my sister drives me home and I phone first thing the next morning.

Me: “Hi there. Something punctured my gas tank so my truck was leaking gas everywhere last night. My truck is on your lot; I was wondering if you could take a look and tell me how much you think it will cost to fix.”

They agree but I don’t hear anything, so I phone again the next day.

Me: “Hi. I called yesterday about the red truck?”

Representative: “Oh, yeah! That one! Yeah, it’s the fuel tank. It’s punctured.”

Me: “Yeah, I know. How much will it cost to fix?”

Representative: “Well, I’ll have to look into it and get back to you.”

I wait for a few hours and call again that afternoon.

Me: “Hi. I’m looking for a quote on my truck.”

Representative: “Well, I told you. You need a new fuel tank.”

Me: “Okay, but do you know how much it will cost?”

Representative: “Let me take a look here and see how much that part would cost… plus labour… You’re looking at about $600 for a new tank with a one-year warranty.”

I take a few hours to talk to people close to me who know more about this stuff than I do and call them to tell them to go ahead with the new tank. Two or three days later, they leave a message on my phone late in the afternoon.

Message: “We’re calling to tell you that the tank we ordered arrived but it is the wrong tank for your truck and we can’t find one that fits, so our next step is to use a special material to patch the hole in your fuel tank.”

It’s too late to phone them when I hear this message, so I plan to phone them the next day after talking to the same people as before. This is a rough week, because I lose my phone that evening. After two days of searching with no luck and being advised by my boss and dad that the patch job will be too temporary to be worth it, I ask my mom to phone the mechanic to tell them to forget about it. To our horror, they inform her they’ve patched it up and are waiting for me to come get it.

Mom: “Well, how much are you going to charge?”

Representative: “We agreed on $600.”

Mom: “The $600 was for a new tank. Why did you go ahead with the work? We never consented.”

Representative: “It doesn’t matter; we’ve done the work so now you need to pay.”

Mom: “But you didn’t have a work order! She agreed to a new tank.”

Representative: “How about we do $500?”

Mom: “That’s too much money for a patch job! We never would have agreed to that and you didn’t have a work order!”

Representative: “Listen, the truck costs us money every day it’s up on the hoist. We can rip the patch off and you come get the truck, but it’s still gonna cost you a few hundred dollars.”

Mom: “Why didn’t you just put it back on the lot? We’re not paying $500 for a patch.”

Eventually, we managed to negotiate that they would fix a vandalized keyhole which I had been working around for months, and I would pay them $500 total. When I signed the paperwork, we learned that the patch job only had a six-month warranty instead of the original twelve months. 

Seven months later, the patch started falling off and I tried to submit a complaint about the mechanic to my roadside assistance company, as I was reminded of the terrible service and as frustrated as ever. They reached out to the mechanic, who claimed that they had never even heard of me or my little red truck.

We decided to pick our battles and just sold the truck for parts and bought a different one.

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So THAT’S How It Is In That Family, Part 2

, , , , , | Right | September 8, 2020

I’m working a twenty-items-or-less line at a large retail store. It’s very busy, and out of the corner of my eye, I notice a young couple with a huge jug of wine. As they approach me, the male walks away. We must card every member of a group at my store.

Me: “Hi, how are you? I’ll need to see your ID as well as your friend’s.”

Customer: “You don’t need his ID! He’s my older brother and is only here to carry the bottle.”

Me: “My hands are tied; store policy states I must have both your IDs or I cannot sell this to you.”

The customer then throws a fit and demands a manager.

Customer: *To the manager* “Your f****** cashier here won’t sell me my wine because my younger brother doesn’t have his ID. He’s just carrying the bottle for me!”

Me: “You told me he was your older brother.” *To my manager* “I would have thought they were dating by the way they were hugging on each other in line.”

Manager: “My cashier already denied the sale. I’m behind her in that.”

She walks off so no one can argue. The customer stands there, dumbfounded and fuming.

Customer: “You racist! I oughta smack the s*** out of you!”

She stared me down until she stormed off.

Related:
So THAT’S How It Is In That Family

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Everyone’s A Lawyer Until You Present Them With The Law

, , , | Right | September 8, 2020

A customer calls to ask if she can return some makeup.

Customer: “I purchased it from your website and just want to change the colors out quickly.”

I confirm with my manager and say yes. When she gets here, her makeup is not, in fact, from our website at all! She then changes her story at least three times over the course of an hour-long scream fest.

Some of the best arguments are…

Customer: “I recorded the phone conversation, so you are going to eat this cost as a company or as employees themselves.”

Customer: “[Company] customer support said I could just return it to you because you sell the same makeup.” 

And my personal favorite…

Customer: “My husband is a cop! If two people agree to the same thing, you have to honor it!”

She demanded to talk to our manager, then our manager’s manager, and then the owner of the company. My manager let her talk to one of the managers above her on the phone to try and appease her. This only succeeded in angering EVERYONE else shopping in the store as she proceeded to scream into the phone for fifteen minutes at the top of her lungs about how she was wronged.

By this point, I was getting curious about the package she brought in. Not only was the name on the package not hers, but the “thirty miles” she claimed she had to drive to get to our store was incorrect, as well. The address on the package was practically down the street!

She somehow got wind of the fact that we’d called the cops and suddenly became the most understanding and peaceful customer ever.

She left a few minutes later. Unfortunately, we noticed too late that her silent friend with the big purse had been secreting away product during the whole temper tantrum.

Consider it the price of getting her out of our store!

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Surcharged With Anger

, , , | Right | September 7, 2020

I work in an office taking orders for medical equipment. Our brochures advertise free shipping with a note that a fuel surcharge may apply.

Me: “Okay, sir, we will be covering the shipping. However, [Courier Service] has a fuel surcharge in place, so there is a one-time fee of $8.”

Caller: “But it says free shipping; this is fraud!”

Me: “It is an additional charge the courier has put in place.”

Caller: “I am a lawyer! And this is fraud! You will waive this fee immediately! If you don’t, I will sue! You’ll have a huge lawsuit and I will bankrupt you!”

Me: “Sir, only the owner has the authorization to waive the fee and he is not in the office at the moment. I only enforce the policies he puts in place and he has said to charge the courier’s fuel surcharge.”

Caller: “Well, you have been misled, missy! I deal with [Courier Service] every day for my job and they have never charged for fuel!”

Me: “Sir, may I ask, what kind of lawyer has to ship through [Courier Service] every day?”

Caller: “Uh… never mind. I’ll pay the d*** $8.” *Hangs up*

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Colora-d’oh!

, , , | Right | September 4, 2020

A customer comes to the counter with a return.

Me: “All right, that was 50% off, and you now have $4.19 in store credit.”

Customer: “I can’t spend store credit; I don’t live around here!”

Me: “Well, we’re a state-wide company. Where do you live?”

Customer: “California.”

Me: “Er, yeah, we might make an exception for that.”

I page a supervisor.

Me: “Could I see your driver’s license, just to be sure?”

It’s a Colorado license issued six months ago. It is also probationary.

Customer: “Sorry, I don’t have a California driver’s license yet.”

Supervisor: “What’s going on?”

I am still giving this customer the benefit of the doubt.

Me: “This lady wants a refund because she, er, just moved to California and is about to go back there? When were you leaving, ma’am?”

Customer: “Late tonight. Or maybe tomorrow morning. But for your information, I’ve lived in California for three years!”

Me: “Then why on earth did you get a Colorado driver’s license this year?”

Customer: “I visit a lot. I have to help my mother run errands.”

Supervisor: *Alighting on the receipt* “Hmm, it seems you paid for the last purchase partially by gift card.”

Me: “As you visit so frequently, I’m sure you’ll find time to use the gift card; it’s good for the next nine years.”

Customer: “Oh, fine.”

The supervisor, barely concealing a derisive snort, leaves.

Customer: “By the way, who can I talk to about doing community service this week?”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. You’ll have to ask [Supervisor] about that one, too.”

The customer slunk away in humiliation.

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