Unfiltered Story #139393

, , , | Unfiltered | February 8, 2019

I worked as a server for a catering business. We primarily catered weddings and rehearsal dinners for upper class clients, our venue and menu were pretty pricey. At the time, I was also in high school, as was many of my coworkers. One particular wedding was a younger wedding and they were partying pretty hard. It was the end of the night and people were leaving or going back to their rooms. There were a few stragglers who were all pretty drunk. One guy approached me and invited my friend and I back to their room to party. I politely told him that that wasn’t possible because we still had a lot of work left to do. I did not mention that it was also against our company policy to party or stay with guests. This is how the conversation proceeded;

Guest, “Well let me help so you guys can get out faster, like collect the linens.”

Me, “No, that’s alright we have 15 year olds for that.”

Guest, “I’m 15 years old… Below the waist.”

Me, “Uhhh…”

I had no idea what to even say to this. I mean, what does that even mean? Either way you look at it, it was NOT a compliment. His buddies proceeded to laugh hysterically. So, I awkwardly just walk away. I take the full glass tray that I was holding to our break down room. I turn around and the same guy has followed me in there.

Me, “Uh, what are you doing?”

Guest, “I thought we were going to the bathroom.”

I assume to hook up.

Me, “No, definitely not. You need to leave.”

He left, I hope quite embarrassed. I later told my  boss about it and we had quite a good laugh about it.

It is still one of my favorite stories to tell.

The Thirteenth Lobster

, , , , | Romantic | February 5, 2019

(My mother is reading in bed while my father sleeps, when he abruptly sits up.)

Dad: “How many are there?”

Mom: “…how many what?”

Dad: “Lobsters.”

Mom: *realizing he’s asleep and knowing how much he loves lobster* “Thirteen.”

Dad: “Well, get them off!”

Mom: “What?”

Dad: “Get. Them off. The BED!”

(He then lay down and went back to sleep. This was one of my mother’s favorite stories for years.)

Needs Some Transfer Of Knowledge

, , , , | Right | February 3, 2019

(The following exchange happens to my coworker, but I am less than ten feet away and have no customers of my own, so I hear everything firsthand.)

Coworker: “Good morning. Can I help you?”

Customer: “Yes, I want you to explain something to me.” *pulls out bank statement* “You charged me an overdraft fee on my checking account, and I want it reversed. I’ve never had a zero balance. I’ve been close, but it’s never been zero.”

Coworker: “Let me take a look at this.”

Customer: “See here?” *points* “You charged me a $12.47 overdraft fee. It shouldn’t have happened. You transferred $500 out of my account on [date], when it should have been $400. I’m trying to balance my account, and I’m $100 short. You took my money, and I need it back.”

Coworker: “Well, first of all, the overdraft fee is $29.00, not $12.47. What you’re seeing here is an overdraft transfer. You are signed up for overdraft protection, so when your balance gets to zero, it pulls from your savings account. This is just taking $12.47 from your savings and putting it into your checking. We didn’t take any money from you.”

Customer: “Well, it shouldn’t have happened in the first place! What about the $100? Where did that go?”

Coworker: “Again, we didn’t take any money. The $500 was transferred from your checking to your savings, so it was always in one of your accounts.”

Customer: “But it was supposed to be $400, not $500! One of you screwed up!”

Coworker: “I can just transfer $100 back if you want. And… wait a minute… Let me look at this for a sec… This says the transfer was done online.”

Customer: “No, one of you did it.”

Coworker: “Ma’am, it shows right here. The transfer was done online through home banking. We don’t have any access to your account online, so there is no way we could have done anything.”

Me: *cutting in* “You should have received an email confirming the transfer. I know I get one every time I do a transfer online. And you can check your transaction history online, too.”

Customer: *realizing she made a mistake* “Oh… Maybe I did do that… Okay, yes, please transfer the $100 back into the account. Thanks. Bye.” *leaves*

Me: “And this is why we can’t do telephone transfers anymore…”

Clipping The Wings Of That Complaint Before It Can Fly

, , , , , | Right | February 2, 2019

(It’s our policy at our pet store to clip the wings and nails of the birds that go home. We are advocates of keeping bird wings clipped, as we receive so many calls of people who lost their birds because they were fully-flighted and flew right out the door. I’m working by myself and have a store full of people first thing in the morning while I’m trying to clean the cages. One woman is here to pick up two birds she bought over the weekend when I was not working. She’s rather strange and seems to think I should know who she is and what she’s here for without telling me. When I finally gather from her which birds she’s here for, I start to get them ready to go home. The birds are nervous because of the chaos in the store, so I take them into the office to clip them. As I’m finishing, the woman opens the office door.)

Customer: “What are you doing?”

Me: “I’m clipping their wings and nails.”

Customer: “Oh, well, don’t clip too much.”

(I’ve already clipped them, but we never clip enough for the birds to plummet to the floor when they try to take off, just enough so that they don’t fly around the room and smash into window or mirrors. In the craziness, one of them snagged its nail. It bled very little, but the nail is loose and will probably fall off. My boss tells me over the phone that if it seems like the bird needs to be seen by a vet to bring him down to the vet next door.)

Me: “I just wanted to let you know that the bird snagged its nail a bit. It’s not bleeding, but the nail will probably fall off. It doesn’t look all that damaged, though, and I’m sure it’s going to grow back. However, if you’re worried about it, I can bring him down to the vet next door.”

Customer: “No, I’ve got birds; it’s not a problem. I can handle it.”

(Since the woman doesn’t seem fazed by it and says she can handle it, I send the birds home with her. Later that afternoon, my boss suggests that I call her to be sure the bird was all right when it got home.)

Me: *on the phone with the woman* “I just wanted to be sure the little bird’s toe was all right and it hadn’t started bleeding.”

Customer: “Yes, it’s fine, but I’m very upset about that whole fiasco while I was there. I intend to talk to [Owner] about it.”

Me: “What fiasco?”

Customer: “I am an experienced bird owner, and I did not want my birds’ wings clipped.”

(The birds’ wings were actually already clipped before she bought them, and I just trimmed the very ends of them. Mind you, the feathers grow back in a short period of time.)

Me: “I’m very sorry, but that’s our policy when we send birds home.”

Customer: “It should have been discussed with me beforehand.”

Me: “Again, I’m sorry, but that is our policy. The owner will sometimes make exceptions, but no one told me that you didn’t want it done.”

Customer: “I’ll be talking to [Owner] about it.”

Me: “Again, I’m sorry for the confusion. I’m happy that the little bird’s toe is all right, though.”

Customer: “Yes, it’s fine.”

(After that conversation, I called my boss to give her a heads-up. She said the woman was ridiculous and that it was our policy to clip. I know I had nothing to worry about, as the owner is very good about backing up her employees, but I like to let her know when she should be expecting a crazy customer to phone her.)

It’s Not Plane Sailing

, , , , | Working | February 1, 2019

(I’m at work, on the phone with a courier to determine the status of an international shipment.)

Me: “I’m calling about the status of a shipment.”

Courier: “Okay… okay… Tracking number?”

Me: *provides number*

Courier: “Okay… okay… okay… International shipment.”

Me: “Yes.” *thinking to myself that I called the international support number*

Courier: “Okay… okay… okay… It’s getting there by air… on a plane.”

Me: “That would be correct.”

(He kept saying, “Okay,” over and over again for another minute or two. At that point, I couldn’t take it anymore and just told him to forget it. I waited a minute, called back, and got someone who didn’t have to tell me that my air freight shipment is getting there by airplane.)

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