Unfiltered Story #120919

, , | Unfiltered | September 13, 2018

(I work in a leisure centre that has a pool, a gym, squash, bowls, fun-play, roller-skating, classes and a cafe. Most of our locals are members so they just swipe in when they come in the building. We do not always know new members, hence…)

Customer: *just thrusts his card at me and glares*

Me: “Hello! What is that for?”

Customer: *he just glares at me as if I have just asked him to kill a puppy* “TO LOG IN!”

Me: “And what are you doing?”

Customer: *glares again* “LOGGING IN!”

Me: “To do what?”

Customer: “GYM!”

(Okay, I purposely look all innocent sometimes when we get an arrogant but it is so much fun watching them getting all ‘me’.)

Banking On Getting The Right Number

, , , , , , , | Right | September 12, 2018

(When I moved into my first home, I got a phone line installed. However, after a few months, I kept coming home to messages on my answering machine with customers leaving their account numbers and all sorts of sensitive information, sometimes even PINs! I deleted them all right away, but eventually one customer mentioned the bank name in their message. I reported this to the bank, and it turned out that my phone number was one digit different from a new one they had just gotten, so lots of customers were simply misdialing. Horrified, the bank put up notices in the bank and sent out letters reminding customers not to leave such sensitive details in messages, but also about how many had been leaving this information on the answering machine of a personal residence and to be extra careful when dialing. They were in the process of changing their number, but they said it would take a while. Because I had only recently gotten my own number, my phone provider wouldn’t change it without charging, so I decided to wait for the bank to change their number, instead; after all, I had gotten mine first. All the while, I kept receiving the messages, which I always deleted, but occasionally I would be home when somebody called. This is one such occasion.)

Me: *answering the phone not long after waking up* “Hello?”

Customer: “Well, that’s not a very professional way to answer the phone.”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “Ugh. You’re new. In my day, we trained staff to be respectful to customers whether they phoned or came into the branch in person. Young people are always so disrespectful; you really don’t deserve your jobs.”

Me: *finally clicking* “Oh. You’re looking for [Bank].”

Customer: “Yes, dearie, or is that too taxing for you? Get me your manager; I will not tolerate this.”

Me: “Oh. Sorry, this isn’t the bank—”

Customer: “Oh, trying to wiggle out of this, are you? Well, it won’t work! You’ll be lucky to get hired to scrub toilets after I’m done talking to your manager! Get him immediately!”

Me: “You’re calling a private residence. This is not the bank.”

Customer: “Wait, are you hacking their phone line? I’m phoning the police! You’re going to steal all my money—”

Me: “No, the bank’s new number is one digit different from mine. I have told them, and they’ve sent out letters to all their customers. They’ve also put notices up in branch. It’s the last digit. A lot of people accidentally misdial it. The banks are going to change their number, but they said it will take a while. Hopefully it’ll be sorted soon.”

(There is a long pause.)

Customer: “I don’t believe you. You’re a thief trying to steal my money! I am going to go to the bank and tell them right away! I hope you enjoy prison! They won’t tolerate your rudeness, either.”

Me: “Sure. Go to the branch. You might see the bright yellow notices up there telling you about this.”

(I hung up. I never heard anything after that, but a few weeks later, all the calls stopped. I guess the bank finally sorted it out.)

My Mother The Spaghetti Monster

, , , , , | Related | September 7, 2018

(I have lived as the person who did the cooking and cleaning for several years, before having to move back in with my mum due to circumstances. I’m in my late 20s. My mum is going out for dinner tonight.)

Mum: “I’ve put a single portion of Bolognese in the fridge for you for tea.”

Me: *used to her not allowing me to cook for myself* “Okay.”

Mum: “You just need to heat it up.”

Me: “Okay.”

Mum: “You need to heat it up slowly. Put it on a low heat, add a little water—”

Me: “Mum, I’ve heated Bolognese before.”

Mum: “Yes, well, you need to add a little—”

Me: “Mum. I’ve reheated it before. I’ve been reheating it since the age of fourteen, as it’s your go-to ‘I’m going to be out this evening; food is in the fridge’ item. You don’t need to tell me.”

(There is a pause.)

Mum: “There’s spaghetti in the cupboard. If you boil the kettle—”

Me: “I know how to do that, too! I AM AN ADULT!”

Mum: “But you’ll always be my little girl!”

(She proceeded to tell me how to cook spaghetti.)

All Doctors To Procreation Stations!

, , , , , | Healthy | August 2, 2018

(I’ve been having stabbing pains in my abdomen and eventually go, by myself, to the doctor surgery. I am also a “Miss,” as in, not married.)

Doctor: “I see you have PCOS. This pain could just be that.”

Me: “I know there’s pain related to that, but it’s not in the right places and does not feel the same.”

Doctor: “Okay.”

(He’s reading my notes, which surprises me, as other doctors at this surgery don’t.)

Doctor:  “You know, it’s not as bad as you may think. There’s a lot we can do now to make sure you can have children now.” *goes on a really long spiel about getting pregnant and having kids, etc.* “Do you want me to arrange an appointment to discuss it with [Doctor]? Or would you like to discuss it with your partner first?”

Me: *thoroughly bewildered* “Um… No, thanks.”

Doctor: “You should talk to your partner about it. He might want kids whilst you’re both young.”

(He went on about PCOS more and having kids, before going back to the reason I was there in the first place. I get making sure I knew that there were options for kids in the future, but I don’t have a partner, and don’t want kids –which he didn’t check before going on about it — and that wasn’t the reason why I was there.)

The Demands Fell Right In His Lap

, , , , , , | Right | July 20, 2018

(I am a customer in this one, at a popular pizza chain with a friend. We have spent the day shopping and are getting a bite for dinner. There is a family at the next table across from us, and the husband is kicking off at everything. When they order drinks he screams at the waitress because he says she got his order wrong. He keeps saying they got things wrong or that they’ve had to wait for a long time — it is Friday night and it is the dinner time rush — and he just keeps being really rude. It is obvious he is just trying to eat for free, because he keeps saying he ordered something different when we and his wife know they’ve brought exactly what he ordered. The wife is sitting there, just getting so pissed off, begging him to be quiet. She keeps trying to correct him, saying, “But that’s what you ordered,” but he keeps telling her to shut up.)

Wife: “Will you stop making a scene? I just wanted a nice family dinner.”

Husband: “Shut up! When I come for a meal and pay this much for a bit of bread with some cheese and tomato on it, which probably only cost them a few pennies, I demand nothing less than perfection!”

(The waitress heads over with refills the husband ordered. She looks close to tears; the guy has gotten nastier as the night progresses, and has begun to call her names. Even the manager is keeping close by, ready to chuck him out, but he waits. The waitress is in such a rush to get him his drink so he can finish and go that she trips just as she gets to the table, and the glasses clatter over on the table near the husband. Luckily, most of the liquid misses him and he only gets a few splotches on his knee, but that is it. He explodes in a fit of rage. The manager comes over when he starts shouting obscenities. The wife looks so fed up, angry, and embarrassed.)

Manager: “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m going to have to ask you to keep it down and watch your language; this is a family restaurant. I’ll make sure all your drinks are free, and throw in free desserts for everyone. Just please keep calm. If you have any problems I’ll be happy to help.”

Husband: “The service has been s*** all night. I want all my meal for free! I shouldn’t have to pay for this s***!”

Manager: “I can’t promise that, but I’ll see what I can do.”

(The husband seems calmer, and he smiles as the waitress and the manager bustle off to get him new drinks and desserts. The wife is just steaming.)

Husband: “You wait; I’ll get our entire meal for free.”

(The wife just sits there fuming. Their poor kids just look unhappy because everyone in the restaurant is staring and muttering about their dad. The waitress comes over with drinks and very carefully sets them down. The husband says nothing. Then, the wife takes his soda with lots of ice in it and just tips it into his lap, very slowly. The poor waitress looks horrified, but everyone in the restaurant cheers.)

Wife: “Bring us the bill; we’ll pay for it all. I’m really sorry.”

(The wife reaches into her purse and hands the waitress a £20 note.)

Wife: “That’s for you. Hardly enough for putting up with his s*** all evening, but at least you only have to put up with it tonight. I’ve had to live with this a**hole for ten years now.”

(I’ve always hated creeps who go to a restaurant angling to get a free meal. It was nice to see one get his comeuppance. I just hope the wife divorced him. I know I would have.)

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