God Acts; Warranties Break

, , , , | Right | December 2, 2018

(About a week or so ago, there was a fairly large earthquake in the region which caused a reasonable amount of damage. I am working at the customer services desk one night when a customer comes in carrying a large TV.)

Customer: “Hi. I bought this TV a few months ago, and it fell over in the earthquake. Now it is no longer working.”

Me: “I’m sorry about that, sir, but there is nothing we can do about that here; you will need to contact your insurance company.”

Customer: “But it has a one-year warranty.”

Me: “Yes… but it is a warranty against manufacturing defects, not against physical damage caused by the earthquake. You will need to contact your insurance company about obtaining a replacement.”

Customer: “But… it’s broken and it has a warranty. Why can’t you fix it?”

Me: “Because the damage is not covered by the warranty. Warranties do not cover Acts of God; that is the job of insurance companies. The manufacturer will not cover damage that is not their fault.”

Customer: “But… there’s a one-year warranty, and the TV is no longer working. Why can’t you fix it?”

Me: *sighs heavily*

(He eventually left with his TV after several more exchanges where I tried to explain that there was no way he would be able to get his TV repaired under the warranty.)

Synergist Of The Year

, , , , | Working | November 21, 2018

(I work for a company that has an external stakeholder who is incredibly high-maintenance. One of my colleagues has just been promoted to head of team, and has asked everyone to give her a short list of “pain points” that we have to deal with on a regular basis so she can raise it with the stakeholder. This conversation happens between her and me the following day.)

Me: “I’m trying to think of a subject line for this email that isn’t ‘Pain Points,’ as you know I’ll get pulled up on it.”

Colleague: *doesn’t even blink, pause, or take a breath* “Use ‘Opportunities for Improvement.'”

Me: *bursts out laughing* “Had to do this a few times, huh?”

Colleague: “Yeah, just a few.”

(Clichéd business language always makes me laugh.)

Unfiltered Story #127545

, | Unfiltered | November 20, 2018

I work in a supermarket as a supervisor and have a lot of customers wanting to be served at the same time as we don’t have enough staff on at certain times but phone calls have to be taken as often as possible as we have a ring called night bells which uses the intercom so its loud and customers are normally fine with us answering just to stop the noise.

This particular time I had a very angry customer yelling at me about being charged extra for his grocery’s on his order and why was I not fixing it. Yelling for the manager. He was getting very abusive towards everybody all the while the phone was ringing at it’s loudest, he then screamed for me to pick the phone up using as many swear words as possible. On the other end of the line was a little old lady with this lovely butterfly broach on. How did I know about that broach she was waiting in line maybe four people back on her cellphone  and said to me “Just thought I might praise you for being so patient with the fool I would have hit him over the head with my basket by now and while your on the phone can you tell me where the dam ice cream cones are for the life of me I can’t find them”.

I swear the only reason I didn’t sock the guy was because the little old lady completely skipped ahead of him in line for ice cream cones.

Turns out the guy forgot to swipe his loyalty card even though he was asked too. In the end he saved 23cents and got banned from the store for being abusive towards customers and the staff. Oh and I’m the night supervisor for the store. The only store open past 9pm at night and where he can only shop before he starts night shift at his work at 1am. Guess he will just have to do his shopping after work when he’s tired and grumpier. Maybe he will be too tired to abuse the staff and won’t get kicked out of their stores.

Can’t Handle Your Logical Argument

, , | Working | November 15, 2018

(I finally complete a job that has taken weeks to complete due to other work being of higher importance, and due to the fact that the manager pulled some of my work apart because she couldn’t understand the written instructions. I spend five hours completing the final stage. Our company has strict display regulations; everything has to be exactly how they specify. My manager seems to have it in for me, usually degrading my work after she’s given me the wrong instructions, and then telling me off for not doing it exactly to company standards. I get back in after a few days off work.)

Manager: *takes me to the section I had been working on* “I didn’t like what you did here; it’s not logical so I pulled it apart. I’ve had to start rearranging it, which was a complete waste of my time, because you don’t think about what you do. I should have been completing my work for [inspection visit].”

Me: *shrugging* “I know it’s not logical.”

Manager: “You know it’s not logical, so why did you do it this way?”

Me: “Because… you realise it was done exactly to [Her Superior]’s specifications?”

Manager: *deer-in-headlights look* “Are you sure?”

Me: “Yes, I can show you the paperwork.”

Manager: “Oh.”

Me: “Yeah, I was going to wait until after the company inspection in two days to put it in a more logical order.”

Loopholes In The Law Open Up Anyone To Be Accused Of Stalking

, , , , | Learning | November 11, 2018

(Over the past two years at my high school, thanks to some rumours, I have found myself with the reputation of a stalker. This has seen different groups of people at different points in time follow me around, steal my property, burn it, and continue to spread word of my supposed misdeeds. One morning, I am reading text messages on my mobile phone and standing out in a courtyard. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice a boy who is particularly short, looking quite angry. As I finish my messages and turn to leave, he and his group of friends approach me.)

Short Boy: *calling out from the other side of the courtyard* “Stop taking photos!”

Me: *knowing what to expect* “Pardon?”

Short Boy: “Why were you taking photos of me?”

Me: “I was not taking photos of you.”

Short Boy: “Yes, you were! I saw you!”

Me: “No, I wasn’t. I was messaging my friends.”

(The short boy looks to his own friends for backup. They start murmuring amongst themselves to provide a nice background ambiance.)

Short Boy: *with renewed vigor* “You were taking photos of me; I know it!”

(This goes back and forth for a while, with me asking why I would bother to take photos in the first place, and him and his friends interrupting with the same sentence. Eventually, he switches it up.)

Short Boy: “Show me your camera roll!”

Me: “No, it’s my phone, and it’s private information.”

Short Boy: “That settles it! You took the photos and you’re not letting me look!”

(I walk away from them, and they don’t follow but shout insults from a safe distance. Now, I need to talk to friends about this, because my dealings with the popular kids always end well for them, and I’d like to tell someone my side of the story. I have my phone to my ear and someone on the line when they walk through the doorway.)

Me: “Oh, there they are now.”

Short Boy: “He’s deleting the photos!”

Me: *on phone* “As you’ve just heard, they’re giving chase.”

(They realise that I’m actually on the phone and back off, giving me an opportunity to end the call and run away… right into another friend. We move into a corridor and I explain exactly what happened, and we agree to see the dean as soon as we can, which is different from our usual tactic of ignoring and trying to keep a moral high ground. The doors open and in walk several people. It turns out that this kid is a part of a big clique at school, the same clique that tried to call me out for “stalking” at the start of the year, and also the same clique that bullied my special needs brother on the bus home both this and last year. This could not get any worse.)

Girl: “There he is; look!”

(They look. I am holding my phone.)

Short Boy: “I saw you taking photos! You’re deleting them right now!”

Me: “I’m telling you, I have not taken any photos of you! You’re all vain p***ks who are so paranoid that–“

(My friend pulls my arm and together we walk away.)

Friend: *hurried* “Don’t bother with them. Come on.”

(They follow, obviously. I see that one of them, the ringleader of the previous accusers, is pointing his phone at me. It does, in fact, get worse; I hate having my face recorded.)

Boy With Phone: “Why’d you take photos of him, huh? That’s called a breach of privacy!”

(I’m fuming at their hypocrisy, but remain silent. My friend makes a daring move and yanks the phone right out of the kid’s hands. It is recording on a popular messaging app that deletes messages after they’re sent, so she stops it, but before she can delete it the phone is swiped back and we scamper away. The bell rings and two classes go by, and in my interval period I take it straight to the dean. I’m asked to identify who the students are, and relay the names of some people, but I cannot name the short boy. By lunchtime, they’ve figured out who he is by association and the dean reaches a decision.)

Dean: “I’m going to come up with what’s basically a contract that says that you can’t talk to him and he can’t talk to you. I’m doing this early on so that it doesn’t escalate.”

Me: “That sounds a lot better than what’s happened in the past. Thank you so much.”

(I left, and found the nine-strong group waiting at my corridor, having turfed my group out. We moved constantly and they followed until classes ended. By the following day’s lunchtime, the “contract” had been drafted and the short boy had confessed and signed it. There were next to no loopholes: Neither of us could go near each other, or send our friends after each other, or discuss each other; the contract would no longer be in effect at the end of the school year. I happily signed, and Short Boy and I stayed well away. Unfortunately, they’ve been exploiting as many loopholes as they can; while Short Boy is not allowed to send his friend over, there was nothing saying that his friends couldn’t do it of their own accord. There wasn’t anything saying that the friends couldn’t talk about me of their own volition, either, leading most of that sort of population to go into a frenzy whenever I so much as hold my mobile. One of the new outcomes of the two-year-long saga is that I now become really anxious when I hear a [Popular Phone] camera. On the flip side, school’s ending soon and hopefully, after the exams and school holidays, by next year people will have forgotten about this particular incident.)

 

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