In Receipt Of All The Answers

, , , | Right | January 26, 2019

(I work in a women’s clothing store that prides itself on making its customers happy and comfortable in our store. This sometimes requires that we ask questions to customers to make sure we’re doing what is best for them. A woman walks up to the counter and I begin ringing her up.)

Me: “Did you find everything all right?”

Customer: “Yes, thank you. Is this shirt on sale?”

Me: *rings it in* “Yup, it is! Do you have a [Store Credit Card] with us as well? If you don’t and want to open one today, I could give you an additional discount on everything.”

Customer: “No, I’m fine, thanks.”

(I continue ringing up her purchases.)

Me: “Would you like your receipt emailed, printed, or both today?”

Customer: “Jeez, you guys ask so many questions! Just print it already!”

Me: “Absolutely.”

(I print her receipt, put it in her bag, and hand everything to her.)

Me: “Here you are, all set.”

Customer: *upset now* “Why did you put the receipt in the bag? I wanted it with me, not in the bag! You should have asked me!”

A Window Into The Mind Of Those With Special Needs

, , , , , | Related | January 25, 2019

(I have special needs and have run out of my meds. My mother has taken me, a young man of almost twenty-one, and several of my younger siblings with her on a two-hour shopping trip. Before we go home, we go through a drive-thru at a fast food place, given we have been out for two hours. As my mom is paying for the ice cream treats we usually order, I start messing around with the car window, making it go up and down by like, a centimeter at a time. Finally, I turn to her.)

Me: “I need my medication; this is way too entertaining.”

(My mother burst out laughing immediately.)

That Scam Died

, , , , | Right | January 25, 2019

(My dad owned an independent gas station. When he passed away, I ended up taking it over and running it. In comes a man that anyone in retail can identify as a troublemaker. He comes up to my register.)

Customer: “Hey, I’m a good friend of [Dad], and he always gives me a discount on my gas.”

(All professional pleasantry drains from my face and I give him an ice-cold look.)

Me: “You’re a liar. Please leave.”

Customer: “How dare you call me a liar! You just lost your job, little lady!”

Me: “First of all, I own this gas station, so no, I won’t be losing my job. Second of all, [Dad] was my father. Third of all, my father died four years ago, and all of his friends attended his funeral. So, no, you are NOT his friend and you will NOT be getting a discount.”

(He flashed between red and white a few times, and then fled. I haven’t seen him since.)

No Good Deed Slides Unpunished

, , , , , | Right | January 22, 2019

I’ve always loved old machinery, especially old cars and — since I’m a Michigander — snowmobiles. Since I enjoy wrenching, I’ve opened up a shop of my own. I cater mostly to old snowmobiles, the type of thing people usually can’t find a shop willing to work on. They can also be difficult to find parts for. One day, a guy with a cane limps into my place. He explains how he just bought an old sled and it needs work.

He says he doesn’t have much money and is hoping we can work out some kind of trade. He’s got two old machines at his home that he’s willing to put up as payment if I’ll fix the one he just bought. He says he got it for his young son’s birthday, and the kid just can’t wait to go for a ride on it.

My stupid heart of gold takes over and before I know it I’ve agreed, pending a look at his trade. I follow him out to his house and find two machines in pretty sorry shape. The first one is absolute scrap, as in not a single usable part. He is a bit delusional, telling me how it’d be worth “a fortune” to a collector if it was all fixed up. I don’t want to burst this guy’s bubble by saying that I’m a collector, and examples of that model, even in mint condition, can’t even be given away. The second machine isn’t as bad, and I decide I can probably flip it or sell a few parts from it and make my money back. We shake on it.

That’s when he drops the first surprise on me. He doesn’t have a truck or trailer, and the sled he just bought is still at the seller’s house. Since it is on my way home, I agree to pick it up there and then bring it back to his home after repairs are complete. Roughly two hours later, I am home with his sled and have just begun gathering parts. I haven’t turned a single wrench on it when the phone rings. It’s the guy, and he wants to know if I am done yet! I tell him nope, just got started. It’ll be probably four hours before I’m finished.

He reiterates that his kid can’t wait to go riding. I tell him I know, and that I’ll call as soon as it’s done. A half-hour goes by and the phone rings again. It’s him again, wanting a progress report. By now I’m starting to lose patience a little. Most shops have a week to two-week lead time, so the fact that I am getting on his job ASAP is a rare phenomenon in itself. I can’t believe how impatient he is. I tell him I’ll call as soon as it’s done, and that every time I have to answer the phone, the repair takes longer.

He waits maybe 45 minutes and then calls again with the same question. I try to break it down as simply as I can. Every time I have to drop what I’m doing and answer the phone, I lose my place and have to start all over again. It’s far more efficient if he just lets me call him when I’m done.

As I’m tightening the last bolt, he calls again. This time I answer and tell him I’m just finishing up and that since I worked through dinner, I’m going to eat something quick, and then I’ll be right out with it.

He has the gall to sound disappointed, like I should just bring the sled out immediately and eat something on my own time! By now I’m anxious to drop it off, gather my payment, and put this one behind me. After this, no more sympathy deals! A half-hour later I arrive at his house. His kid is going absolutely ballistic, so that makes me feel a little better and eases some of the tension. While the kid buzzes around on the sled, I tell his dad I’m ready to pack up the two machines we agreed on and head home.

He looks at me like I’ve got two heads and says, “Two sleds?” I tell him, “Yes, like we shook on.” He tells me I must have gotten confused, and that the deal was only for one sled, and guess which one? Yup, the absolute junk one. I level with him and tell him it’s not worth anything to me, or anyone else. I’ll be losing if I take it as payment. I want the two that we agreed on.

He keeps trying to backpedal, telling me how it’ll be worth so much money when it’s all fixed up. I tell him, rather heatedly, that he’s not honoring our agreement. I tell him I made a special exception and agreed to a trade with him, went and picked up his sled, fixed it with him looking over my shoulder the entire time, and then dropped it off at his house, and now he’s trying to screw me?

He seems uncomfortable, but just keeps repeating the whole “worth a ton when fixed up” thing. I say, “So, your word is worth nothing? Is that what you want to teach your kid? That you can lie to people and never face consequences?” I tell him to keep the piece of junk if he thinks it’s worth so d*** much, and to never come near my property again.

I know it’s immature, but for a long time after, every time I pass his house and see him in the yard, I honk and give him the single-finger salute, just as a token of my appreciation!

Snow Way You Thought That

, , , , | Related | January 18, 2019

(My mom is a “city girl,” meaning she grew up without the experiences of a rural lifestyle. She has never been on any type of recreational vehicle whatsoever. This day, my mom and dad are driving past the neighbor’s house when she notices a For Sale sign.)

Mom: “Oh, look, the neighbors are selling their… um… water motorcycle!”

Dad: *pauses while considers what she’s trying to describe* “Water motorcycle? Wait, you mean a jet ski?!”

Mom: “Yeah, a jet ski! I couldn’t think of the word.”

Dad: “Honey, that’s a snowmobile.”

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