A while back, my office hired a new — somewhat senior — manager. He was a guy in his late forties — quite a nice guy, if I may add — with tons of experience in direct marketing, but quite bad with computers and anything IT. We noticed from day one that it took him an hour to type a few complete sentences, but emailing was mandatory, due to the size of the company. 

A few weeks into the job, he still wasn’t sending any relevant emails. Once in a while, he would send a blank email to the entire team, or a partial email, but that was it. My coworkers and I were getting a bit frustrated at this point; one of us had to go and ask him about his agenda personally, and then someone would put this in an email and send it to the entire team.

A couple of more weeks passed by. The new manager was getting a bit cranky. He was mumbling about people “always resending his words.” He then called us for a short meeting one day, saying how disappointed he was that nobody ever replied to his emails, and that people just ignored his replies.

We were all baffled, as none of us had ever received any sensible reply.

I thought there may be a problem with his email account; he seemed to receive everything, but apparently, whenever he tried to send something, it got “lost.”

I offered to look into his settings to see if I could help and I noticed over 200 items in the draft folder. Long story short, the guy thought that “Save” as in “Save draft” sent an email, and that “Send” meant “Send to trash.” Mystery solved.

Related:
Email Fail, Part 24
Email Fail, Part 23
Email Fail, Part 22

I work in tech support, fixing computers. We have a problem customer who regularly comes in with his virus-infected laptop for us to clean, not bothered about the reams of adult material that we can clearly see have caused the issue.

This guy is vulgar and rude and looks down on us, calling us “geeks” and “tech nerds,” not to mention regularly joking that we’re all virgins and live in our mothers’ basements — the usual stereotypes.

One day, he comes in with an older lady, who I learn is his mother. She needs her older laptop updated, and she is very pleasant to deal with. Her son, however, remains rude and awful.

Completing the paperwork, I note that they have the same address, so I surmise he lives at home with his mother, which is a delicious irony in and of itself. However, the next time he comes in with his infested laptop, I come up with an idea.

I ask him if he is okay with me adding some free software to his browser that will help with his… uh… recurring issues. He nonchalantly agrees, just browsing on his phone.

I install the software, which is designed for less-abled people, and set up the settings to speak aloud, in the loudest volume possible, the name of every site he visits on his browser. I also “accidentally” misplace the volume controls on his user interface and move around some hotkeys. When I am done, I smile as I hand it over.

Surprisingly, we haven’t seen him since. I can’t know for sure if living with his mother presented a problem when every barely-legal website he visited had its name announced at full volume, but I can certainly hope.

My husband and I are laying in bed, awake and on our phones, but too lazy to get up.

Husband: “Oh, I had a weird dream last night.”

Me: “Oh?”

Husband: “Yeah, we got visited by that scientist guy, the one who flies around on the giant aubergine.”

Aubergine is “eggplant,” for our American friends.

Me: “What on earth are you on about?”

Husband: “You know! The science guy! Lemongrass Tyson!”

It clicks.

Me: “You mean Neal DeGrasse-Tyson?!”

Husband: “Yeah!”

(In October 2015, a law was passed that requires any building with a gas boiler or fire to have a carbon monoxide alarm. My store sells a combined alarm and I was just promoting this to a customer. It is worth noting that gas safety and carbon monoxide was part of GCSE chemistry when I sat the exams)
Me: Sir, it would save you around £10 if you bought this combined alarm instead of the two separate units. It’s completely battery powered so you can set it anywhere.
Customer: Oh wow, that sounds really good.
(As I begin to process the order)
Customer: By the way, this is to detect gas right?
Me: No, carbon monoxide is produced when a fuel isn’t getting enough oxygen when being burnt, it’s nicknamed the silent killer because it effectively suffocates you by combining with the part of our blood that carries oxygen 10 times better than carbon dioxide, which is what we breathe out normally.
Customer: I see, the thing is, I just moved and I think I might have a gas leak, but I want to make sure with an alarm. Do you have one for gas?
(Rather worried, I write down the website for the Gas Safe Register, which gas engineers are legally required to be part of.)
Me: If you’re worried about a gas leak, go onto this website and find a local engineer. They’ll have the equipment to tell you and even provide the means to verify the cards all engineers carry. Whatever you do, do not flick your light switches, the possible spark can set off any gas.

(I’ve worked in hospitality for several years. It never ceases to amaze me how people ask for the toilets. I’ve heard all sorts of questions.)

Customer #1: “Where are the facilities?”

Customer #2: “Where can I pee?”

Customer #3: “Do you know where the toilets are?”

(But my favourite of all…)

Customer #4: “Do you have toilets?”

(I normally say:)

Me: “No, sorry, we do our business from the bridge.” *pointing outside*

(Our restaurant is by the river, next to a vintage, pedestrian-only bridge. Normally, people laugh and then I’ll direct them to the restrooms. But not THIS guy. I tell him the line, and he laughs and said:)

Customer #4: “Oh, okay, I got it.”

(I thought he had gotten the joke and had finally seen the huge sign reading, “RESTROOMS – DOWNSTAIRS,” right in front of him. Next thing I knew, I was peeking outside and I saw this guy climbing on the bridge with his pants off.)