Billed Them As A Scammer Before They Presented A Bill

, , , , , , | Right | August 22, 2019

(It’s Saturday and I’m on my till along with my other five coworkers trying to get the rush of customers down. It is about one o’clock and the line keeps at a steady thirty or forty customers. I only have about ten minutes until my shift was over. I decide that the young woman next in line will be my last for the day.) 

Me: “Hi. How are you?” 

Customer: “I’m great! Thank you!” 

(She places three small items on my counter and is already holding a fifty-dollar bill, prepared to pay. I scan each item and tell her her total.) 

Me: “Your total is $23.52. Cash?” 

(The lady nods and presents me with the fifty-dollar bill. I type in the amount and give her her change of $26.48. She smiles and leaves as I flick off my till light and begin to clean. I hear a knock on my register counter about five minutes later. It is the same lady, holding her change with an angry look.) 

Me: “Everything okay?” 

Customer: “I gave you a hundred-dollar bill. You didn’t give me all my change.” 

(Here we go. Either she honestly didn’t realize she was holding a fifty-dollar bill the entire time or it’s a scamming act I’ve seen many times before.) 

Me: “All right, I’m pretty sure you gave me a fifty-dollar bill, but I’ll print my till totals and count my drawer real quick.” 

Customer: “I don’t time for you to do that. Just give me my correct change. I know I gave you a hundred-dollar bill.” 

Me: “Oh, don’t worry; it will take less than two minutes. You see, I also work in our change office in the mornings as an emergency backup when our regular coworker doesn’t show up. I’ve had to get all the tills out in about ten minutes before we open.” 

(She sits there arms crossed and getting kind of nervous. Scam alert.) 

Me: “All right, my cash came to $1,678.77. Will you read me that top number on the total slip that printed in front of you?”

(The customer hesitates but grabs the totals and looks at the top number in bold.) 

Customer: “$1678.77…” 

(She ends balling it up and throwing it at me and storming off.) 

Me: “Have a great day!” 

(I took this particular customer because she is known for doing this and didn’t want any of my other newer coworkers to deal with her, because if your drawer is short five or more dollars it’s an automatic write-up. I ended up texting the manager of the store next to us and, sure enough, the same lady did the same thing after leaving my store.)

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About A Fifty-Twenty Chance Of Working Again

, , , , , | Right | August 20, 2019

(I’m working at a popular discount retail store on a busy Saturday. I am a front end supervisor and my line is currently going to the back of the store. I call the next customer and she comes forward with very few things.)

Me: “Hi! How are you doing?” 

Customer: “Fine.”

(I ring up her two items.) 

Me: “That will be $6.75!” 

Customer: *hands me a ten-dollar bill*

Me: “$3.25 is your change! have a great day!” 

(The customer happily walks off as I call the next customer. After a few customers, she comes back, awkwardly staring at me.) 

Me: “Was there a problem?”

Customer: “I gave you a twenty, you didn’t give me ten dollars back.”

Me: “I can reassure you that you gave me a ten-dollar bill, ma’am.” 

(The customer starts violently shaking her head “no.” I call a manager and they are unable to get into the security cameras at the time. I am given the okay to give her the supposed ten dollars out of my till. The following day I am notified my register till was short ten dollars. The same lady comes up to my register to purchase more items.) 

Me: “How are you doing?”

Customer: “Fine.”

(I ring up her four items in total.)

Me: “That will be $47.74.” 

(The customer hands me a fifty-dollar bill, and I politely flash it in front of her.) 

Me: “Okay, so, out of $50?!”

Customer: “I obviously gave you a $50, so yes!”

Me: “Oh, I was just making sure you understood what you gave me! The other day when you checked out, you said you gave me a twenty-dollar bill when you actually gave me a ten-dollar bill! My till was ten dollars short, so I was written up the next day!” 

Customer: “I need to speak to someone that is in charge.”

(I politely point to my “Front End Supervisor” name tag.)

Me: “That would be me!” 

(She ended up storming off in anger and didn’t return for several weeks.)

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No Hungry For Old Men

, , , , | Working | August 17, 2019

(I work delivery for one of the most used delivery services. I have to train new hires. It’s my least favorite part. They’re obnoxious, clumsy, and disrespectful. One day, I get a fifty-something-year-old man. He seems okay. At first. After four hours working, I stop.)

Me: “You want to get something to eat?”

New Hire: “No!”

Me: “You sure? I can keep going, but you’d better eat now so you don’t get hungry later.”

New Hire: “I’m good! Let’s keep going!”

(Soon after, he kept complaining how hungry he was. Again, I offered to stop. Then he would say no. Fed up, I told him to stop complaining, then. He started grumbling. When we got back to the center, he told my boss that he’d begged me to stop and I refused! I don’t know how a 50-year-old man gets to act like a toddler.)

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You Definitely Want Him More Than Fifty Miles Away

, , , | Right | August 15, 2019

(I work the front desk of an inexpensive hostel. It’s a travelers hostel, so we don’t accept residents of the city. All guests have to show proof of address on their ID that shows they live at least fifty miles outside of the city limits. The rule exists mainly because displaced residents of the city will try to live at the hostel for extended periods of time, and criminals will use it as a place to conduct their business because it’s so inexpensive. Because of that, we don’t accept US passports and can only take state IDs for US citizens. It is around 9:40 at night, and a man who is notorious for sneaking into the hostel to use the facilities without paying has a reservation under his name. He walks in, messily eating a mango, and brings a middle-aged man in with him.)

Me: “Hi, how are y’all?”

Mango-Eating Man: “I brought my friend in here to get him checked in under my name.”

Me: *addressing the friend* “Okay, no problem. I’ll just need your ID so we can go ahead and change the reservation to your name.”

Middle-Aged Man: *annoyed* “Okay, here.”

(He puts some old, tattered US passport on the desk about a foot from me.)

Me: “Do you have a state ID? We’re a travelers hostel, so we have to see an address on your ID that shows you live at least fifty miles outside of the city.”

Middle-Aged Man: *still annoyed and hardly listening* “What?”

Me: “We can’t take a US passport. We need a state ID to verify you aren’t a local resident.”

Middle-Aged Man: “Ugh. Here.”

(He pulls out some card that only has his photo, his name, and the words “The State of Commonwealth of Massachusetts” on it. It doesn’t have his date of birth, an ID number, an issue date, or an expiration date. It looks like a job ID badge. I’m not terribly familiar with out-of-state IDs, and I don’t get a chance to get a good look at it. He briefly flashes it and begins to put it back in his wallet.)

Me: “Is that a state ID?”

Middle-Aged Man: *getting angry* “Yes, what more do you want?”

Me: “Well, I have to input your name as it shows on your ID, your date of birth, your ID number, and the expiration date of your ID.”

Middle-Aged Man: “Well, mine doesn’t have all that.”

Me: “Then it’s not a valid ID. We have several people check in from all over the country and the world every day, and that looks nothing like the other Massachusetts IDs I’ve seen. Can I see it?”

Middle-Aged Man: “I’ll just write all that information down.”

Me: “The card you showed me has none of that. Is that what you would present to a police officer if they asked for identification?”

Middle-Aged Man: “This is what I have.”

(At this point, I’m willing to just take the passport, and his friend has all the while been slurping on the mango and licking the juice off his fingers.)

Me: “Is your passport expired?”

Middle-Aged Man: *very angry* “Yes.”

Me: “Okay, well, we can’t take it because it has to be valid and not expired. Can I see the ID you have so I can input the information?”

Middle-Aged Man: *glares at me* “You don’t need to see it.”

Me: “If you’re unwilling to show me your ID, then I can’t check you in.”

Middle-Aged Man: “You know what you are? You’re a Nazi.”

Me: “I’m going to have to ask both of you to leave. You’re being very rude. I’ve been nothing but nice, and you’re being insulting.”

Middle-Aged Man: *loses it* “I’m not being insulting! You’re a Nazi! You want all this information! And for no reason!”

Me: “You need to go.”

Middle-Aged Man: *walks away in a huff*

(His friend who brought him in and who has been eating the mango the whole time speaks up.)

Mango-Eating Man: “Can I still use the reservation?” 

Me: “As long as you have a valid ID that does not have a local address, then yes. But you can’t sneak your friend back in here.”

Mango-Eating Man: *squinting and giving me a look like he’s got the last laugh* “I’ll be back later.”

(He emphasized “later” as if to mean after I got off. It’s nights like that one that make me eager to graduate college and get the heck out of customer service!)

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Goat Ya To Admit It!

, , , , , | Right | August 14, 2019

(Every Saturday for eight weeks, a friend and I sell knitted and crocheted animals that we made at a craft fair. Most of the proceeds go towards a children’s cancer charity and the rest go toward covering the cost of materials. It’s the last week of the craft fair and I’m approached by an irate lady while my friend is taking a moment to browse the rest of the fair.)

Lady: “I bought a stuffed rabbit from you a month ago for my children and I’m completely appalled! The entire thing unraveled a few days ago!”

(All rabbits we had for sale were made by me, so I’m horrified that I might have made and sold an inferior product.)

Me: “Oh, no! I’m sorry! I must not have tied the ends off as well as I thought I did!”

Lady: “I expect a full refund for it for the trouble it caused me!”

Me: “Normally, I don’t accept refunds, but if it really did just unravel for no reason, I’ll be able to make an exception just this once, provided you have it with you.”

Lady: “Of course. It’s right here.”

(She reaches into her purse and removes what once was a realistic Dutch rabbit, and I’m horrified by its condition. It clearly didn’t “just unravel,” as it’s completely filthy and looks like it was chewed apart by an animal.)

Me: “Ma’am, I’m afraid I can’t offer you a refund since this clearly didn’t unravel for no reason. It looks like your dog ate it. Did your kids maybe leave it where it could get a hold of it?”

Lady: “She’s not a dog; she’s a goat!”

(There’s a beat as she realized what she just said.)

Lady: “Right. Do you maybe have another one I can buy to replace it with?”

(Later, when my friend returned to the table, I got to tell her all about the crazy lady who tried to scam us out of the $25 she paid for a rabbit and had her top my story with one about a man who complained that his tarantula wouldn’t play with the cat toy that he had bought from her.)

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