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A Prescription Explosion

, , , , , | Right | August 9, 2021

I work as a pharmacy technician at a well-known pharmacy and convenience store. A man comes up to the counter and asks for a refill on his prescription. The pharmacist informs me the doctor did not call it in yet.

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, the doctor still did not call in your refill.”

Customer: “Can you call him now?”

Me: “Of course!”

I call his doctor, but they have already closed for the day.

Me: “They left for the day. We can give you a few pills to hold you over.”

Customer: “No, I don’t want that! Every time I come here there is a f****** problem!”

Me: “What would you like me to do, sir?”

The customer walks away in a huff. I think this is the end of it until the phone rings thirty minutes later.

Customer #2: “Yes, my husband was just there and told me the doctor did not refill his prescription and you told him, ‘What would you like me to do?’ What kind of s***ty customer service is that? I work all f****** day. I don’t need this s***.”

Me: “Miss, I don’t know what to tell you. I called the doctor and they had left for the day, so I offered your husband a few pills to hold him over and he refused that, as well.”

Customer #2: “There had better be a prescription there tomorrow or I will blow up your f****** store.”

Me: “Miss, that probably would not be a good idea considering I have your name and address right in front of me.” *CLICK*

Some people are not too bright.

You Literally Have To Try To Work This Slowly

, , , , , , | Working | November 10, 2020

In 1951, my mother is a young bride living just off the Air Force Base with my dad. Because she has a background in office work, she is recruited for a job on base. The work is beyond tedious.

I don’t remember the exact nature of the job. Essentially, there is a table with bundles of about twenty-five financial forms that need to be checked against a master list to make sure all information is correct.

Mom is in an office with about five other women who are also doing the checking.

Mom finishes her first bundle of twenty-five and rechecks them, puts a notification that they have been checked and approved, puts them in the collection area, and picks up another bundle. The job is a seven-hour, five-days-a-week position, and by the end of the day, she has finished about half the bundles on the table. When she gets ready to leave, the other wives in the room do not return her “Goodnight” and will not speak with her at all.

The next day, one of the older women catches Mom as she goes to her desk.

Woman: *Bellowing* “YOU! YOU! Are you trying to show the rest of us up?”

Mom: “What do you mean?”

Woman: *Snapping* “You are only supposed to do one bundle a day! One! That’s all any of us are able to handle, so stop making a mess just to show us up. You do one bundle and that’s it!”

So Mom, who wanted to avoid trouble, tried to take all day to do one tiny bundle of forms. She described how she would sit with a single form and match each and every letter to the grand list, then do it again, spending maybe two or three full minutes on each form. She would take a breather between forms. But even doing this, she was still done within two hours.

Meanwhile, she said, the other women in the office were doing their nails, reading magazines, doing crossword puzzles, or just plain gossiping. At the end of the week, no one was talking to her yet and she was planning on quitting.

What saved her was the boss coming into the office and asking if anyone knew steno and touch typing. Mom practically jumped into his arms like an over-eager puppy.

That’s how Mom wound up being a general secretary for all the base big wigs and, happily, making a lot more money than checking financial forms against each other.

I assume that, sixty-plus years later, some of those ladies are still sitting there, checking forms and doing their nails.

Sneaking Into The Kitchen To Cut Some Cheese

, , , , , , , | Related | October 22, 2019

(I am watching television in the living room. It is past my eight-year-old daughter’s bedtime, but for some reason she feels she is able to sneak past me into the kitchen to get a late snack. I am watching her attempt to sneak by, wondering how long I should let this go for, when she trips, falls, and lets out a huge fart. I can’t help myself and burst out laughing.)

Me: “That was hysterical! I’m laughing so hard that I’m crying!”

Daughter: “Just wait until you smell it; you’ll really be crying!”

Tiptoe Through The Blueberries, With Me

, , , , | Right | September 11, 2019

(I’m working in the produce department at our local supermarket when a customer spills several containers of blueberries in the aisle. I’m guarding the aisle while my coworker goes to grab a broom and dustpan. The produce section basically has two aisles with produce displays in between, so there is an easy way to go around the blueberry mess. [Customer #1] approaches me, pushing a shopping cart.)

Me: “We have a bit of a mess right here. If you could just go around–“

Customer #1: “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll be careful!” 

(The customer then proceeds to shove past me and picks up the back of the cart so only the first two wheels are on the ground, and then tip-toes THROUGH the mess of blueberries on the floor, squishing and smearing the mess further as she goes.)

Me: “Or you could do that…”

Cancer And Comas And Cash, Oh My  

, , , , , | Right | August 27, 2019

(My store has a really lenient return policy. We’ll even return things past the return period as long as the customers have their receipt, albeit for the item’s current, often much reduced, price.)

Me: “Hi. How are you doing today?”

Customer: “I need to return this s***.”

Me: “Oh… kay… Do you have your receipt?”

Customer: “Yeah, yeah, right here.”

(She has two bags of kids’ summer clothing. It is April and the receipt is from a year ago, WELL past the full return period of three months.)

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but these are from last summer.”

Customer: “So what? I have my receipt! They’ve never been worn; they have their tags on and everything!

Me: “Yes, but I can’t give you the full refund. It says right at the bottom that returns must be made within ninety days for a full refund. I can return them for you, but only for their current prices.”

Customer: “And how much is that gonna be?”

Me: “Probably not much, to be honest. These items are from last year.”

Customer: “So, how f****** much?!”

Me: “All right, well…”

(I scan a few of the items and they come up about a fifth of their original prices.)


Me: “I’m sorry you feel that way, but this is our policy.”

Customer: “You’re all a bunch of liars and scammers! I didn’t have time to come here before now!”

Me: “That—”

Customer: “My mother has cancer!”

Me: “I’m… sorry about that.”

Customer: “Yeah! I haven’t had any f****** time to do anything! I’m with her twenty-four-f******-seven. I take care of her!”

Me: “I am really sorry, but there isn’t anything I can do. You can talk to a manager, but I don’t even think they can override this.”

Customer: “I can’t believe this. You won’t give me my money back because my mother is in the hospital dying of cancer.”

Me: “…”

Customer: “This is bulls***. You’re bulls***. This place is bulls***. You’re f****** scamming customers and screwing me out of my refund. It isn’t my fault my f****** mother is dying! She has cancer!”

Me: “…”

Customer: “I can’t believe you. You must hate people with cancer, like MY MOTHER IN THE HOSPITAL WHERE I HAVE TO TAKE CARE OF HER DAY AND NIGHT.”

(She crams stuff back into her bags until they rip. I give her new bags but have no idea what to say.)

Customer: “My mother is dying and f****** has cancer and she’s in a coma, and you a**holes won’t refund me even though I have my receipt and had no idea there was a time limit.”

(She walked out, still ranting. To this day, I have a weird suspicion that she was lying about her mother with cancer, just from the way she was talking about it, probably as some kind of sympathy ploy, which frankly makes her behaviour even WORSE.)