After my desk fell apart, I purchased a new desk online from a major office supply retailer and had it delivered. The delivery was set for a Thursday, so I arranged my schedule to stay home and wait for the delivery.

It did not come. Instead, at one point in the late afternoon, the tracking suddenly said my delivery was delayed until Friday for the cryptic reason, “Unable to leave box(es)”. I found this more than a little perplexing. I live in an ordinary apartment building on an ordinary street. I get stuff delivered all the time, especially since the health crisis started, and no one — including this retailer, from whom I had ordered many times in the past — has ever had the slightest trouble delivering to me before. And there was definitely no attempt made at delivery, either. My buzzer did not ring. My phone number was not called. The driver simply passed my building and decided not to try to deliver my desk.

On Friday, the same thing happened. “Out for delivery” inexplicably became “Unable to leave box(es).” I called the retailer to find out why the drivers were refusing to deliver my desk. The agent took my information and transferred me to their third-party logistics carrier. I gave them my story and the agent there took my number and promised to call me back after they consulted with dispatch.

I was not called back.

On Monday, the same thing happened again. “Out for delivery” once again became “Unable to leave box(es).” Because I work nights and sleep during the day, this meant that I had stayed awake an entire day — the third successive proposed delivery day — for nothing, and now I had to do a ten-hour night shift on a couple of hours of sleep.

At this point I was livid, practically hulking out. I called up the retailer and canceled my order. The agent took my formal complaint and my number so that someone from the retailer could follow up. Of course, no one followed up. The tracking was then adjusted to falsely state that the item was undeliverable due to “incorrect address,” even though the address was, in fact, correct and was the same one the retailer had used every time I’d ordered from them in the past.

Here’s my favorite part. The next day, I got an automated email asking me to take a survey rating my recent transaction with this retailer. I smiled when I saw it. I may even have cackled.

I opened the link and filled out the survey, rating the entire experience with ones (except for the agent I’d canceled my order with, who was polite and helpful) and assuring them most emphatically that I would not be recommending the retailer to my friends, acquaintances, and hangers-on. In the comment box, I detailed every stage of how the retailer and the logistics company had turned a simple sale into a recurring pain that shouldn’t have happened, and then, I submitted the survey.

That finally got me a call from a member of the retailer’s customer service team, who apologized, promised an investigation into my complaint, gave me a $30 credit, and changed my delivery preferences to exclude the logistics company that had refused to deliver to me.

I’m deeply skeptical that anything will actually happen at either company as a result of my complaint, and I intend to solemnly adhere to the rage-sworn oath I made that day never to order from that retailer again. But if you have a bad experience, don’t ignore the surveys. It’s one more chance to be heard, and maybe that’s one more chance that something stupid that happened to you might not happen to someone else. I know it’s unlikely, but stranger things have happened.

I work in a call center for a popular luxury brand line of vehicles. Most of our customers, being business owners and executives, are polite and cordial to us, but there is one persistent jerkoff who constantly feels the need to condescend any one of our agents unlucky enough to take his call, i.e. “That’s why I command a $1.2 million salary while you get paid nine bucks an hour to drive to work in a 1997 Honda Something and take my calls!”

Another favorite antic of his is to threaten to sue the company over petty issues such as a service being down for maintenance.

Our company recently introduced a new service that became instantly popular with our customers, and as a courtesy, we offered an option online to set up a callback appointment so that an agent could get back to them about signing up. Then, we get a call from Mr. Wonderful.

Customer: “I put in a callback request for 4:00 pm. It’s 6:00 pm now. Why wasn’t I called?”

Me: “Sir, I apologize. We’ve been overwhelmed with an unexpected volume of calls—”

Customer: “That’s not my problem! I asked you to call me at 4:00 pm. Why was I not called?”

Me: “Again, we are experiencing a high volume of calls regarding this service, and there were not any available agents to call you regarding this. I apologize—”

Customer: “Your apology is not accepted.”

He starts ranting about his money, respect for elite customers, this is a premium brand and premium treatment is expected, blah blah blah.

Me: “Okay, well, were you interested in signing up for the service? I can get registered right now.”

Customer: “No, that’s not how this works. I’m the customer. You will call me when I tell you to, you understand me, young man?”

I’m thirty-five years old.

Customer: “Now, I’m going to hang up. At 4:00 pm tomorrow, you will call me back, and you will give a deep, thorough, heartfelt apology for disrespecting me the way you have, and I expect you to compensate me for this serious inconvenience. And then you will tend to my concern. Do you understand me, young man?”

I weigh out my options and consequences.

Me: “Is there anything else I can help you with today, Mr. [Customer]?”

Customer: “It’s a simple yes or no question. DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME, YOUNG MAN?”

I decide to take a gamble.

Me: “Have a nice day, sir.” *Hangs up*

Fortunately, that call was never pulled up for review, and no, I did not call him as he demanded. But something ironic happened afterward: he called two days following his disregarded demand callback appointment date and very politely asked for me to sign him up for the service. And from then on, he was polite with every contact he made to our office.

A few years ago, around 2015, I went on a school trip to NYC with my classmates. While I was out shopping, I went into a department store and decided to buy some clothes and a new watch. I went up to the cashier and paid for my purchases. Then, things got a little weird.

Me: “And could I also have a bag, please?”

The cashier looks at me in shock.

Cashier: “A bag? Like for your shopping?”

Me: “Um, yes.”

Cashier: *Relieved* “Of course, you can have a bag, sir. You don’t have to ask for one. You always get a bag for your purchases.”

Me: “Okay, thanks. It’s just that, in Canada, you usually ask for a bag because they cost five cents each.”

Cashier: “That’s crazy. They charge you for bags? Why?”

Me: “I guess it’s for the environment.”

Cashier: “Well, we don’t do that here.”

I am staying at a hotel with my husband. There are a couple of kids running around, and their mother is gossiping away on her cell phone and letting them get away with murder. As I’m walking out of the breakfast area with a hot coffee, suddenly I feel something hit the back of my legs, hard. I stumble and hot coffee slops over my hands, and then I hear a scream.

Mother: “You b****! You hurt my baby!”

She slaps the coffee out of my hand and starts screaming in my face incoherently. I’m confused and offended, but then another woman comes to my rescue.

The other woman spins the mother around.

Other Woman: “[Mother]! Mom raised you better than that! I wish I’d said something sooner. I’m sorry, ma’am, I’ll buy you another coffee. [Mother], call your kids over right now! They’re being menaces!”

The mother blushed and called her kids over.

The second woman did buy me another coffee and alerted an employee to the spill. I could hear her raving at her sister all the way down the hall.

My family and I are visiting the USA for a family holiday. Before this trip, my sister and I have never been to North America before in our lives. We live in the UAE, which is located in the middle east. My family is biracial; my dad is German/Brazilian and my mum is Indian. I’m bisexual, and the rest of my family is straight.

We are in the streets of New York, our final destination. This trip has simultaneously been the best and worst we have ever been on. It’s about 12:00 pm and some drag queens avidly speaking in Spanish walk by us, and a nearby man turns to speak to my father.

Man: “Can you believe those f****** [gay slur] [Mexican slur]s? This is why we need the walls — to keep the immigrants out of here.”

Dad: *Smiling* “That’s exactly my thought; the indigenous people need to finally take a stance. I mean, after what your ancestors did to them, it’s only common courtesy for you to go back to Europe.”

Man: “How f****** dare you?! My family built this country! Take your [Mexican slur] wife and kids and get out of here.”

Mum: “I’m from India.”

Man: *Pissed* “Whatever. You’re probably both [gay slur]s.”

I finally speak up.

Me: “No, that’s me.”

Surprisingly, he did not want to talk to us any longer, but the drag queens, who had heard everything, came up to us after and thanked us for standing up to him. They even bought my sister and me a hotdog!