Just Plain Jane

, , , , | Right | January 10, 2019

(I am working at an international call center, which, though located in the middle of continental Europe, mostly receives calls from various places on the British Isles. Names in the story have been changed.)

Me: “Hello. My name’s Charlie; how can I help you?”

Caller: “What? You’re a woman!”

Me: “Yes, how can I help you, sir?”

Caller: “What was your name again?”

Me: “Charlie. Oh, I get the confusion. It’s short for Charlotte, sir.”

Caller: “That’s a man’s name! You’re a woman! You’re lying to me!”

Me: “I’m sorry you feel that way, sir. Now, how can I help you?”

Caller: “This is ridiculous! You’re trying to be a man. I demand to speak to your manager!”

(I sigh, but I ask the guy to wait while I go to get my supervisor. She has a very low voice that still sounds female in real life, but over the phone, it can sometimes sound a bit masculine. I’m sure everyone can see where this is going. I only hear the following because the guy is so loud it bleeds out of the headset.)

Supervisor: “Hello, sir, I’m the supervisor. My name’s Jane. How can I–“

Caller: “What is this?!”

Supervisor: “Sorry?”

Caller: “Where the f*** did I call?! You’re all liars!”

Supervisor: “I’m not sure I follow.”

Caller: “You’re a man!”

Supervisor: “Sir, my name’s Jane, and I’m the supervisor you asked for. How can I–“

Caller: “You are all f***** up! What is this bulls***!?”

Supervisor: “Sir, if you insult me or any employee one more time, I have to inform you that according to policy, I am allowed to hang up on you.”

Caller: “Shut the f*** up, you [gay slur]!”

(The supervisor hangs up, rolling her eyes, and summarizes him thusly:)

Supervisor: “Well, here’s one for the training team…”

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Unfiltered Story #135090

, , | Unfiltered | December 27, 2018

(It was late one night and me and two other co-workers were in the shop alone, a gentleman holding a bottle of vodka came swaggering into the shop)

Me: Hello sir can I help you?

Customer: Do you sell any lucozade in the shop

(I stood there a bit baffled)

Me: Um, no I’m afraid not sir but they do sell lucozade in the shop that you’ve just come out of

(Customer waddles out of the store mumbling, a couple of hours later I tell my co-worker this and she looked at me kind of confused)

Co-worker: Lucozade? What was he on?

Me: Well he had a battle of vodka in his hand when he came in so probably that

I Smell A Rat…

, , , , | Right | December 16, 2018

(I am approached by a shifty-looking, female customer. She slinks up to me and gets in close so she can speak in a low voice.)

Customer: “Excuse me, young man! The rat poison you have on sale there — is it harmful to people?”

Me: “Yes, madam, I’m almost certain it will be harmful to most living creatures. You need to keep it out of reach of children and pets.”

Customer: “So, if I gave some to a person, would it kill them?”

Me: “Well, yes, I suppose it would.”

Customer: “Definitely?”

Me: “I can’t say for sure, madam, but I’m 99% certain that it would kill a person if they took enough of it.”

Customer: “Do you know how much you would need to kill a person?”

Me: “Unfortunately, I really can’t say, madam; it depends on the person.”

Customer: “Oh, okay, thanks!” *nods conspiratorially and walks off*

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They Wanted Skinny Fries

, , , , | Right | November 6, 2018

(I work in a bar and restaurant chain with a pretty diverse menu. We have many meals that are listed twice — one normal that comes with fries, or a “skinny” option with salad, instead. This happens far too often.)

Customer: “I’d like a skinny chicken burger, please.”

Me: “That’s the burger and salad, right?”

Customer: “Yeah, the skinny chicken burger.”

(Transaction completed, we deliver the food.)

Customer: “Where are my fries?!”

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The Barking Mad Policeman Is Worse Than The Bite

, , , , , , | Legal | October 31, 2018

(I am attacked by a dog when I am cycling home from work. A huge mastiff jumps, and his claw slices into my arm, so I’m losing a lot of blood and I will need stitches. I need to get to hospital immediately. It is rush hour, and my car is only twenty metres away. I decide to drive myself, instead of calling an ambulance. Just outside the hospital, I see blue lights behind me. I pull over, get out of the car, and start speaking immediately.)

Me: “I’ve been mauled by a dog. I’m going to Accident & Emergency.”

Officer: “Why are you driving in the bus lane?”

Me: “Seriously? I need to get seen immediately. That’s more important than driving a bus lane. Really, now is not the time.”

Officer: “When did this happen? Where? Was anyone with you?”

Me: “Ten minutes ago on [Street], by myself. Why? Are you investigating the dog?”

Officer: “You should have called an ambulance. You shouldn’t be driving like that.”

(I’m livid at this point. The cop can see a huge wound on my arm, but he is arguing about this right literally in front of the hospital. I have had enough. Technically, he could ticket me for this, but I take my chances.)

Me: “What exactly did you observe about my driving that makes you think I can’t drive with an injured arm?”

Officer: “Nothing in particular. You can’t concentrate properly with—”

Me: “So, you have no evidence that my driving is impaired. Look at my arm. I will need stitches. Would I get stitches in an ambulance?”

Officer: “No, you—”

Me: “Exactly; an ambulance would be no better than a taxi. Also, it’s rush hour. A tiny car like this–” *points at my Smart car* “–gets me through the traffic. Now, I have more urgent matters to attend to in the hospital over there.” *points 300 yards away* “If you have any more questions, ask me during triage.”

Officer: “You can go now. This time only, you can use the bus lane for turning into the hospital.”

Me: “You don’t need to tell me.”

(In the hospital, I am given six stitches immediately. Then, the following happens:)

Me: “The cop tried to tell me I should have waited on an ambulance. You’re the medic. Would it have made any difference if I got an ambulance?”

Nurse: “Not in the slightest.”

Me: “And was I in a fit state to drive?”

Nurse: “Perfectly. Keep it dry, and the stitches out in two weeks.”

Me: “Thank you, sir.”

(Police later told me they don’t investigate dog attacks at all, even though I was hospitalised and I have the name and address. Where do these people get their priorities from?)

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