Unfiltered Story #154723

, , , | | Unfiltered | June 11, 2019

(At my store, like most, we have impulse buys at our registers: lotions, candy, small toys, etc. Among these items are individually wrapped caramels.)

Customer: What’s this?
Me: Caramel.
Customer: Chocolate?
Me: No… It’s caramel.

They Paid What They Deserved

, , , , , , | Working | March 13, 2019

(My team acquires five members. All of them are people in their late teens or early twenties who often go out drinking and clubbing together. As one of the more senior members of the team, I’m not so fussed about this and I prefer hanging with friends than going out on the town. Because of this, I don’t socialize with them outside of work and a couple of them seem to really dislike me for this. Two of them are guys who come across as rather arrogant and boorish along with being rather shifty. The younger team members seem to be following their lead on most things and it’s been causing issues. Often they show up to work hungover or occasionally still drunk from the night before. I casually warn them not to do this as management has zero tolerance against this kind of thing. Soon after, some of my colleagues tell me that these kids have begun to mock me behind my back and are making comments about boring they think I am. Not bothered with them, I shrug these off as they are a bunch of immature kids. One day, one of the two shifty guys asks me to come out to dinner with them after work. Immediately, I’m suspicious as they wouldn’t normally wouldn’t give me the time of day. However, he is insistent and claims they want to get to know me better. At dinner, it becomes pretty clear they don’t mean to pay me any attention, and whenever I try talking they just ignore more or talk over me. Fed up, I get up to go to the toilet, and the group doesn’t seem to notice. While I’m in one of the stalls in there I hear the two shifty guys plus one other come in, laughing loudly.)

Guy #1: “F*** me, did you see Captain Boring’s face? Mate, he just sits there with a stick up his a**!”

Guy #3: “Why the f*** did you invite that guy? He’s so bloody dull! Rice pudding is more exciting than him!”

(All three of burst out laughing. I just roll my eyes.)

Guy #2: “Well, someone has the pay the bill for us, don’t they?”

Guy #3: “You what?”

Guy #2: “In a while, we’re going to sneak off for a cig, then ditch him with the bill!”

Guy #3: “NO F****** WAY! MATE, THAT’S F****** COLD!”

(Again, they burst into fits of laughter and I can hear them high-fiving and commenting on how hilarious my face will look.)

Guy #1: “Well, that’ll teach the c*** for being such a f****** wet blanket, won’t it?!”

(I am incensed, but rather than rushing back to the table and confronting them, I decide to give them a dose of their own medicine and sneak out a back exit. Later, I get several angry texts, insisting that I owe people money and calling me derogatory names. On Monday, I get into work early and give my boss a heads up about this. Soon after, the two ringleaders come in, looking furious.)

Guy #1: “Oi! C***!” *shoves me* “You f****** owe us money, you mugging little s***!”

Guy #2: “Yeah, what the f***, mate?!”

(Immediately, our manager pulled us into a team meeting. Here, I told the team that I’d overheard their plan to ditch me with the bill and that I thought they were all pathetic morons for sinking so low. Initially, they tried to play it off as a “misunderstanding,” but my manager dismissed it, and after some back and forth the two ringleaders eventually confessed that they were going to do it. Apparently, it was to teach me “not to be so boring.” My manager then proceeded to angrily chew them out and told them they’d acted like immature morons and got what they deserved. I informed the group that I certainly wouldn’t be paying them back after that stunt. For the rest of the day, it was very awkward. However, a day or so later, the dream team was broken up and sent to different departments and were strongly advised that any revenge acts would be severely punished. A few weeks afterward, I saw the two shifty guys being escorted out in handcuffs by the police. They had been selling drugs to different staff members through the company’s instant messaging system. They are apparently facing prison time for their actions. A few of the other members of that gang did actually apologize to me, and they told me that they weren’t aware of the plot until after I left and they felt guilty about the way those two had mocked me. I accepted their apology, but I can’t feel too sorry for the two shifty guys.)

 

Can’t Help Those Who Cannot Help Themselves

, , , , , | Legal Right | January 30, 2019

(My department deals with taking the details of potential new clients, which we then take to a partner of the firm to decide if we’d like to take their claim on or not. We work mostly on the phone.)

Me: “Hello, [Solicitors], [My Name] speaking. How can I help you?”

Caller: “Can I make a claim?”

Me: “That’s certainly possible. Can I take some details from you?”

Caller: “Why would I do that? Just tell me if I can make a claim!”

Me: “I will need to take a few details about what has happened, and some contact details from you; then, I can speak with a partner of the firm to see if we can assist you with a claim.”

Caller: “I’ve had an accident; I just want to know if I can get compensation!”

Me: “What kind of accident have you had?”

Caller: “One that wasn’t my fault.”

Me: “Okay, was it a car accident, or a trip on paving, or an accident at work?”

Caller: “I told you, it was an accident that wasn’t my fault. Why are you wasting my time? Just speak to your boss and see if I can make a claim!”

Me: “I need a bit more information before we know if we can help you. I can speak to a partner, but they will ask me to get more information before we can make a decision.”

Caller: “Fine, it was a car accident.”

Me: “Thank you. Were you driving, or were you a passenger?”

Caller: “Why does that matter? I already told you it was a car accident and it wasn’t my fault.”

Me: “Can you talk me through what happened?”

Caller: “No. I don’t have time to give you the full information. Just talk to your boss and tell me if I can claim. I don’t know why you need so much information from me. I already told you I had an accident and that it wasn’t my fault. How hard is it to see if I have a claim?”

Me: “When did the accident happen?”

Caller: “A couple of years ago, I think.”

Me: “Okay, can you narrow it down a bit, to a month or a season?”

Caller: “No! I told you, it was a couple of years ago.”

Me: *seeing I’m not going to get much more information* “Can I take a few personal details? Can I take your full name and address?”

Caller: “You can have my first name, but no address.” *gives name*

Me: *sees they’re calling in on a withheld number* “Can I also take a contact number to call you on?”

Caller: “No. I don’t want cold calls.”

Me: “All the information we take from you is confidential, and we don’t pass people’s details on to anyone else. I also need the number to call you back once I’ve spoken to the partner.”

Caller: “You mean you can’t just put me on hold and ask the partner now? This is ridiculous; you’re wasting my time! I just wanted to know if I have a claim, and you’re making me give you all this information I don’t want to!”

Me: “I’m sorry to you feel that way, but yes, I would need to call you back later in the day, as we have set times to have meetings with the partners.”

Caller: “I don’t care; I want to know now if I can make a claim! Either ask them now, or I’ll take my business elsewhere!”

Me: “I’ll just pop you on hold and see if I can get in touch with a partner now.”

(I place the call on hold, and try to get in touch with a partner, but they’re all busy or out of the office, so I go back to the caller.)

Me: “I’m sorry, but all of the partners are busy at the moment, I—“

Caller: “This is f****** stupid. F*** you for not helping me.” *hangs up*

The Key To Getting Your Lost Property Back

, , , , , | Right | December 4, 2018

(I’m the idiot in this story. My husband and I have had a rare night out drinking, and we are making our way home in a private hire taxi we called and booked in advance. My husband decides to stop the taxi early, so we can get out and buy supper at a fish-and-chips shop before walking the last 250 yards to our house. It has stopped raining, thankfully, so it is quite a nice walk — aka “slight stagger.” I decide I don’t want supper, so I walk down the road on my own in order to get the fire going, put the kettle on, and so forth. I reach our front door, only to realise I’ve lost my house keys. I check my pockets and my bag — even emptying both onto the floor — but no keys. I am getting stressed by now — my husband has left his keys at home. I call the taxi office.)

Me: “Hello! My name is Mrs. [My Name] and I just got out of the taxi at [Street]. I dropped my keys in the cab! Could you ask him to look for them, please? I’m so sorry; I know you’re busy.”

Dispatcher: “Okay, one moment.”

(I hear the dispatcher radioing my taxi driver, and several moments later I hear the reply.)

Dispatcher: “Sorry, Mrs. [My Name], but the driver said there are no keys in the cab at all.”

Me: *explodes* “They must be! I’ve just got out of the cab, not five minutes ago!”

Dispatcher: “Mrs. [My Name], please, he’s a very honest driver! Only this afternoon, he handed in a wallet that—”

Me:I don’t care about a wallet! My keys are in his cab! There’s nowhere else they can be! I had them in my hand, and now I don’t have them! I bet he didn’t even look, did he?”

Dispatcher: “Mrs. [My Name], he’s back at the office, and he’s had another look. Another driver helped, and there’s nothing there—”

(My husband walks up to the door, eating his supper. I quickly and angrily explain what happened.)

Me: “Are you calling me a liar? Do you realise we are standing here in the rain, at nearly midnight, outside our locked door because your driver won’t search his car properly?”

(I fumble for my automatic umbrella, pressing the button to open it, and raise it above our heads. And hear a slight “tinkle” noise as my keys hit the concrete floor.)

Me: *speechless*

Husband: *laughing hysterically*

Dispatcher: “Mrs. [My Name]? Are you still there?”

Me: *calmer now* “Yes. I’m… um… still here. I found my keys, and I’m so, so very sorry. I somehow dropped them into my umbrella. I am so, so very sorry. Please apologise to the driver for me. Oh, God, I am so embarrassed. Oh, my word.”

Husband: *still laughing*

Dispatcher: *trying to answer me without obviously laughing* “It’s… ahem… okay, Mrs. [My Name].” *cough* “No, really, I’ll explain to the driver. You have a good sleep now, eh?”

(I apologised a lot more, and then let the poor man go and do his job. I vowed to — and did — pop into the taxi office the next day to leave a £20 tip for that driver, to try to apologise for practically calling him lazy and a thief. For the next six or so months, however, it was my husband who booked the taxis for us, and each time, I heard him say, “Yes, of course I’ll take my keys. I won’t let her be in charge of them. Yes, I promise. Thanks, bye!” He got a lot of mileage out of that one, with family and friends.)

He Is His Own Flight Risk

, , , , , , | Right | November 14, 2018

(I am going on holiday with my friend, and a man runs up to us and grabs me.)

Man: “Hey, tell me where I go for my flight.”

Me: “I do not work here, so I can’t tell you.”

Man: “You screw-up! I’ll call [Airline]’s manager and tell them you aren’t prepared to help me, and therefore you should be fired!”

Me: “But I don’t work for [Airline].”

Friend: “No, he doesn’t.”

Man: “Well, if I miss my flight, it’s thanks to [Airline] for hiring you two idiots!”

Friend: “Likely, and tell me when security arrive!”

(My friend and I are both laughing now, and the man storms off, muttering rude things under his breath.)

Man: *across from terminal exit* “WHY? I MISSED MY FLIGHT BECAUSE YOU DIDN’T TELL ME WHERE IT WAS! I HATE YOUR AIRLINE!”

(I walk up to him and ask him which was his flight.)

Man: “[Flight number] at [time of departure].”

Me: “That flight leaves at 18:55, and it’s 12:04. It leaves from Gate 12, Terminal 1, and we were at Gate 54, Terminal 3.”

Man: “Oh.” *walks off*

Me: *to friend* “And he was calling me a screw-up!”

(We laughed until we figured out we were about to miss our flight!)

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