(I am a customer service manager in a grocery store. I come in to work one day after a couple days off to find two milk crates full of markdown Halloween merchandise behind my customer service desk. As a general rule, we only hold merchandise for 24 hours, and then it’s returned to the shelf, but we do not hold markdown merchandise at all. The cashier tells me the merchandise has been there for at least three days, so I instruct the cashier to return the markdown stuff to the appropriate area, and go about my duties. Sure enough, I am called up to customer service to handle the upset customer who asked for the markdown stuff to be held. The customer turns out to be my crazy ex-sister-in-law’s twin sister, who is also crazy.)

Ex-Sister-In-Law’s Sister: “Why did you tell her to put my stuff back?”

Me: “We don’t hold markdown merchandise. It’s first come, first serve.”

Ex-Sister-In-Law’s Sister: “But you hold stuff all the time for me.”

Me: “Not markdown merchandise. We’ve had this discussion before, so you know that.”

Ex-Sister-In-Law’s Sister: “But I couldn’t afford it the other day. I want to buy it now.”

Me: “It was just returned a bit ago, so it might still be back there. You can go look.”

Ex-Sister-In-Law’s Sister: “I can’t believe you put my stuff back. I even had them put your name on it!”

Me: “I could be fired for holding merchandise for myself, especially markdown merchandise. Do not ever use my name again.”

Ex-Sister-In-Law’s Sister: “That’s not how you treat family!”

Me: *taking a step back* “We—” *pointing to her, then to me* ‘”—were never family. And whatever family we were ended when your sister served my brother with divorce papers and a restraining order on Father’s Day.”

(With that, I turned and walked away. She had the cashier call the store manager on me, but he backed me up and told her we would no longer hold any merchandise for her. For a while, she would get stuff from the food bank and try to return it for cash, including private label stuff from other chains. My niece recently told me that the food bank banned her.)

(I’m one of the few female patrons of my local comic shop, and while the staff is awesome, the other patrons can be less so. I’ve just paid for my comics when the guy ahead of me pipes up.)

Customer: “Arrow? That’s not a real comic book. You need someone to tell you about real comics.”

Me: “Who’s Zatanna?”

Customer: “Who?”

Me: “Zatanna Zatara. Who is she?”

Customer: “I don’t know—”

Me: “She’s a magician, an extremely powerful logomancer, arguably the most powerful person in the DCU, and my favorite comic character. Sadly, she’s only ever appeared in an episode of Batman TAS and a couple of minor spots in Justice League, so only serious comic geeks know about her. And you didn’t buy anything but Marvel tie-ins.”

(Our theater sends out letters reminding our members to book the remainder of their season tickets, a quarter of the way through the season. We often get calls from people who think we’ve deactivated or lost their membership because they booked the first three shows but received a you-haven’t-booked letter.)

Caller: “Hello, I got a you-haven’t-booked letter, but I saw Pete the Cat!” *first show of our season* “So I have booked, and you guys lied! I SAW PETE THE CAT!“

Me: “Yes, ma’am, you did see Pete The Cat; that letter just means that you haven’t booked the remainder of your season tickets. I’d be happy to help you with that now, if you’re ready.”

Caller: “I saw Pete The Cat, though! I’ve booked, and you guys lied!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. You did book tickets for Pete The Cat. Would you like to see Sherlock Holmes?”

Caller: “Yes. But I wanted to come see it on opening night, and you guys never called me to let me reserve!”

(I explain that we don’t call every member when they don’t book a show. She doesn’t understand that, and wants us to call her before every show to see if she’s ready to book.)

Me: “So, would you like to see Sherlock Holmes? This is the last weekend, and I have plenty of space to get you in this Friday at seven.”

Caller: “Yes. Although, I still think you guys should have called me on opening night to see if I wanted to come.”

Me: “Sorry about that, ma’am. While I have you on the phone, would you like to book the rest of your season? I’d be happy to help you with that.”

Caller: “Yes. I want to come on all the opening nights!”

Me: “Perfect. I’ll book those for you and send you a confirmation email so you have something for your records.”

Caller: “Will you guys call to remind me? I don’t want to waste space in my calendar by writing these down.”

(I am now pulling my hair out.)

Me: “No, ma’am; that’s why I’m sending you the email with the dates and times you’ve booked for.”

Caller: “Well, I guess I’ll write them down. You guys should have a better notification system, though! I can’t be expected to remember the dates I booked!”

Me: “Sorry about that, ma’am. Have a great day.”

Several years ago, I started to receive bills at my home in Nebraska, from an insurance agency on a policy that I no longer had, denying payment for psychiatric care/services. When I got the first bill, I called the number listed for the practice — in North Carolina. It turns out that they had a patient with the same name, down to the middle initial, and the same birthday. The doctor’s office agreed that I was not their patient, but said that it was up to the insurance carrier to sort out.

Three weeks after I contacted the insurance company letting them know I was not the right person, I got a letter in the mail telling me that according to their records, I *was* the right person, and could I please pay the bill. So I contacted them again. I was assured that it would be straightened out.

Sure enough, I got another letter in the mail from the insurance company telling me that their “investigation” is complete, and that I am the “right” person after all, in spite of living half-way across the country.

This back and forth with the insurance company went on for SIX MONTHS, each time the insurance people coming back telling me that I had made these appointments for psychiatric care, and increasingly nasty demands for payment.

Finally, I contacted a college buddy who was a lawyer for [Insurance Company], where upon he taught me the magic words: Violation of HIPAA.

Finally after nearly seven months, the magic words did the trick. I later found out that the insurance billing department was looking up patient information by name and birth date instead of social security number, and that my name was apparently the first one listed, in spite of the fact that my policy had been cancelled over four years prior due to a job change.

Related:
It Takes More Than Money To Clear A Bill

(This story begins in my English class when we are reading the Odyssey. We are at the part when they are getting ready to stab the cyclops, and run a staff over a fire to harden it.)

Teacher: “So, Odysseus will do what he has to do, to harden his wood.”

(Class bursts out laughing.)

Teacher: “Oh, my god, I just realized what I said.”

(Calls another teacher to tell what she just said, then laughs hysterically.)

Teacher: “He said that you need wood to be hard before you poke someone in the eye.”

Classmate: “You should never poke anyone with hard wood.”