While working at a newspaper in a medium-sized town, we ran a story about a pastor at a Lutheran church. I am going to call him “Reverend John Smith”.
We got multiple calls that our information was wrong.
It turned out that the town had at least three Lutheran churches with pastors named “Reverend John Smith”.
I work for a newspaper that has a copy center and gift shop attached. We are not yet ready to open the copy shop door, so people usually only use the main one.
The air conditioning recently broke and flooded our floors so, this week, the new floors are being laid, the baseboards are being painted and put in, etc. Naturally, we have a sign up in front of the main door that says, “Use Copy Door To Left,” complete with a bright red arrow.
Reactions to this sign mostly involve people completely ignoring it, but these are the most memorable reactions.
Old Man: “I saw the sign. I just didn’t know what it meant.”
Later, while one of the workers is on a ladder painting door trim, the door swings open and smacks him.
Old Woman: “Why are you in front of the door? It’s a work day!”
Sigh. I’ll be so glad when the remodel is done.
To combat a sudden and unexpected enormous debt, I decided to take up a small second job at a newspaper printing press.
The job was incredibly flexible and straightforward. Someone in a forklift would drop off several large pallets of junk advertisements in a small warehouse owned by the printing press. The junk mail would be bundled in small stacks according to the postal codes. My job was to unwrap the pallets, get a dozen empty carts, sort out the bundles into the carts according to the postal codes, and then put the carts outside for the delivery people to pick up and deliver.
Pallets were dropped off at 3:00 am and they wanted them sorted and put out by 3:00 pm. I could come any time I wanted between then, and it took me about three hours on average to sort. It was perfect because, with my work schedule, I could drop in at 8:00 or 9:00 and be done by noon at the latest.
After four months, the printing press contacted me and asked me to transfer over to another warehouse. I obliged without question.
I arrived and, to my surprise, I discovered someone already working on the pallets.
Coworker: “Why are you so late?”
Me: “Huh? I don’t have a set schedule, and the deadline is 3:00 pm.”
Coworker: “I know that, but these drivers here are really picky. They want it out by 8:00 am! I’m just about wrapping up now. You need to be here by 5:00 am — 4:00 am if you can manage it.”
Me: *Pauses* “Four in the morning. I don’t even know my name at four in the morning, let alone work!”
Coworker: *Almost pleading* “Please?”
Me: *Reluctantly* “Okay, then.”
That following morning, I showed up at 4:00 am — much to the delight of my coworker — and quickly found myself overwhelmed by how meticulous these drivers were. Not only did we have to sort it out by postal code, but we further had to sort it out by street name and write those names down on cards and attach them to the carts. Beyond that, the bundles all had to be facing the same direction and stacked in picture-perfect rows. It took us nearly twice as long as when I would normally sort it simply according to postal code.
After a week, I received an email stating that my coworker had resigned and that I’d have to handle that warehouse myself for now. As I was doing my task, a manager strolled by, gave me a quizzical look, and asked, “What are you doing?” while pointing to the cards I was recording the information on. When I explained, the manager’s face darkened to a seriously pissed expression.
He grabbed the cards off of the completed carts, ripped them up, and then proceeded to furiously slam the contents of the carts into empty carts — with the street names out of order and the bundles facing any direction.
Manager: “I was wondering what was taking that girl so long to get it all done. That’s why I transferred you over here to help her! Those drivers don’t run the show here. We do! We said sort according to postal code. They can further sort it out however they want. We said to have it done by 3:00 pm. They can pick it up anytime before then, just as long as it’s not any later! Their delivery deadline is 3:00 pm on the next day. You can come in at 2:45 pm if you can sort it that fast. If they don’t like it, tell them to come see me!”
And with that, he walked off, slamming the door behind him so hard that the windows shook. I felt a sense of relief.
The next morning, I deliberately showed up at 8:00 am and, as I expected, there were several angry delivery drivers standing in front of the building and yelling at each other.
Driver #1: *Inches from my face* “WHERE ARE MY CARTS?”
Me: “I’m starting right now.”
Driver #1: “No! I start my work now! Every day! 8:00 am… 8:00 am… 8:00 am… 8:00 am!”
Me: “You start when I’m finished sorting.”
Driver #2: “My area, [postal code] — start mine now! Go!”
Me: “If that’s on top and on the first pallet, then yes, of course, I will.”
Driver #2: “How long will it take?”
Me: “The deadline is at 3:00 pm. You know that already.”
Driver #1: “When is everything done? What time?”
Me: “Sometime before 3:00 pm.”
Driver #1: “WHEN?”
Me: “When it’s finished.”
Repeat the last two lines above about ten times.
Then, the manager suddenly appeared from behind.
Manager: *At top volume* “WHEN HE’S FINISHED!”
This caused the drivers to get an uncomfortable look on their faces and quietly disperse.
Manager: “And if you keep throwing your cigarette butts and coffee cups in the parking lot, the wages we pay to have someone clean it up is gonna come out of your pay!”
They all drove away. As I was sorting, they would individually return and ask, “Are you finished with [postal code]?”, to which I would respond, “Finished carts are outside where we always put them. If yours is not there, it’s not finished.”
Later, someone returned and angrily rolled a cart at me.
Driver #1: “NOT SORTED AND NO CARDS WITH STREET NAMES! I DO NOT ACCEPT! DO IT AGAIN!”
As he stomped off, I simply returned the cart right back to the area with completed carts.
The following morning, I showed up and noticed the manager standing in front of the warehouse with his hands on his hips. Next to him were about half of the completed carts I’d done the day before.
Me: “Hey! What—”
Manager: “I’m handling this. Your pallets for today are inside. Start sorting. You did nothing wrong.”
As I passed by the completed carts, I noticed large signs had been taped to them: “NO!”, “SLOPPY! DO AGAIN!”, “WRONG! SORT BY STREET NAME!”, “SORT! YOU ARE VERY LAZY!”, etc.
The drivers appeared eventually to see what carts had been completed, and I heard the manager say to three of them:
Manager: “You were given a job to do, and you outright refused to do it. You are terminated as of today. Leave the property.”
They tried to protest, only for him to repeat:
Manager: “Leave the property!”
The other drivers quickly got the message and became MUCH more polite. Meanwhile, the manager was able to convince my coworker to return, and I was moved back to the previous warehouse I’d started at. She hasn’t had any problems since then.
I work at a local newspaper, running the classified ads for our town. A woman calls wanting to place an ad to rent an apartment. She seems unable to understand that our paper, “The [Town] News”, does not distribute to the neighboring city.
Client: “Does this go to [City]?”
Me: “No, ma’am. [City] has their own paper: The [City] Times.”
Client: “Oh. But will these be on the Internet, too?”
Me: “Yes, ma’am, all of our ads are placed online, as well.”
Client: “And how far does the Internet reach?”
Me: “…”
After a serious head injury in an accident permanently put me out of commission as far as working was concerned, I had to go on disability. It covered my rent and expenses, but that was about it. For anything extra I needed, such as new clothes or repairs on my car, I was just out of luck.
I was then told about working “motor routes” for the local newspaper. The way it worked was that subscribers who wanted their paper delivered would put their cash payment in special envelopes and leave them in a dropbox at the main office. (Alternatively, they could pay it directly to the delivery person.) The money was given to the delivery person, who then delivered the paper regularly to all the addresses from which they were paid.
At the end of the month, the delivery person received a bill from the main office for all of the papers they took and delivered that month. They paid the bill using the money they received from the subscribers. In the end, their profits came to about $1.50 per customer every month. They were essentially their own boss, save a few “customer service” rules that must be respected such as prompt and regular delivery by 4:00 pm.
It sounded like something I could do, and I took over a few routes with a total of about 200 customers.
Most (if not all) of the subscribers were friendly, but there was one woman who was determined to be a persistent pain in my rear.
When I would go to pick up my stacks of papers from the office, I would constantly find a complaint notice attached to the stack, to the tune of:
Complaint: “[Customer] called and was angry because she wants her paper in the morning, not noon. We’re not obligated to do special requests, but could you just do it as a favor so she will stop harassing the administrative staff?”
Complaint: “[Customer] called. She was mad that you delivered it at 8:00 am. She wants it at 6:00. You don’t have to, but… please? As a favor for [Employee that I’d now become friendly with]?”
Since I wasn’t going to wake up at 5:00 in the morning to go deliver ONE paper, everyone started getting their papers by sunrise. Then…
Complaint: “[Customer] called. She was mad because you tracked mud footprints up the steps to her porch.”
Complaint: “[Customer] called. She didn’t like the way you rolled her newspaper up. We asked if it was damaged, but she said it just looked shoddy.”
Complaint: “[Customer] called and screamed at [Employee] because you delivered the paper at 7:00 rather than 6:00.”
Complaint: “[Customer] says to stop ‘baby talking’ to her dog when he runs up to you.”
Complaint: “[Customer] called. She said it was extremely rude of you not to greet her when she stepped out to get the paper you’d just delivered.”
Then, one month, I was given my stack of subscriber payments, and what do you know — [Customer] was not amongst them!
Cue Handel’s “Hallelujah” chorus.
That month was the quietest with next to zero complaints, save the occasional dork who’d think his paper was never delivered but couldn’t be bothered to take a few steps out on his porch to see it sitting in plain view.
Then came the following month. I was handed my stack of payment envelopes… and there it was: [Customer]. I squeezed my eyes shut and just stood there for a moment. When I opened the envelope, attached to her money was a note.
Customer’s Note: “Next time, I’ll stop my subscription for three months! I want my paper at 6:00 am sharp, neatly folded, and if we see each other, you will show some respect, come up to me, and greet me!”
Enough was enough. Not knowing how much trouble it would land me in, the following morning, I left her payment envelope taped to the inside of her screendoor with a note of my own.
My Note: “For your information, I receive $1.50 a month per customer. For the proxied abuse I’ve had to tolerate from you over a three-month period of time, I would say that your withholding of $1.50 as a ‘punishment’ is a negligible loss. You buy your paper from the vending machine on [Street #1] from now on, or pick one up from the [Convenience Store] on [Street #2].”
She did call and complain, but she was told that the business has the right to refuse service to abusive customers — which had been extensively documented.
