I was promoted about a year ago to be general manager for all of our branches in the city. One of my duties is to chair a supervisors’ meeting twice a year. These are usually long and tedious affairs, so to make them bearable, I have all the supervisors over to my house and feed them lunch before having the meeting. This way, everybody gets a good meal, and the meeting can be done on comfortable couches, instead of hard boardroom chairs.

Most of my supervisors are great, or at least good at their jobs, but one of them I have constantly had to speak with about her lousy customer service and basic lack of people skills.

A few weeks after I have had to have another talk with my shoddy supervisor, I receive an email from the union. The email says that they have received an “anonymous” complaint from a member that the supervisors’ meetings are held at my house. They can’t give any reasons for the complaint beyond that it makes the complainant uncomfortable.

So, from now on, all supervisors’ meetings will be held in the windowless boardroom, on hard chairs, and with no food. All in the name of making one supervisor “comfortable.”

(My parents always made a big deal about swearing when I was little. I was also a stickler for the rules, and hated breaking them, even by accident. I am about four when this happens:)

Me: “Mom, I know what the F-word is!”

Mom: “We do not say that word in this house! That is a very rude word, and I don’t ever want to hear you say it.”

(Later that night, as Mom is tucking me into bed:)

Me: “I am sorry, Mom; I didn’t know ‘fart’ was a swear word.”

Mom: *after a moment’s pause* “Yes. Yes it is. Good night, dear.”

(I work for my parents in a family-run restaurant. Our debit machine is printing out faded receipts. My dad likes for me to call the bank who services the machine, because he doesn’t speak English too well, and I can translate for him after. We usually have small problems with this machine, so I’m used to the voice of the recorded messages and the choices that come from calling the bank. I am currently waiting for the next representative to help me.)

Phone Representative: “Hello, this is [Bank]’s Merchant Support Services and Supplies. How may I help you?”

(I’m thinking this is the same recorded message and that I should wait until the actual representative picks up to respond.)

Phone Representative: “Hmm, seems to be another pocket dial.”

Me: “Oh, my gosh! I’m so sorry; I thought you were a robot!” *facepalm*

Phone Representative: *starts laughing* “No, no, you’re talking to a real person. I’ve been around longer than all those robots. How can I help you?”

(He helped me with my problem smoothly, but during the call I felt so embarrassed. In my defence, he sounded just like the recording! He probably is the one who recorded the company’s phone greeting.)

(A customer is purchasing a computer chair.)

Me: “What kind of floor is it going on?”

Customer: *all proud-sounding* “Hardwood!”

Me: “All right. Can I suggest some rubber casters, or a hardwood chair mat to put on your floor?”

Customer: “Why?”

Me: “Because without one of those, your floor will get wrecked.”

Customer: “Why? What are the wheels that it comes with made of?”

Me: “Plastic. They’ll definitely scratch your floor.”

Customer: “Oh. No. I don’t care about my floor.”

(I am the manager of a chain bookstore location. Customers who purchase items on our website can return online purchases to any store location; we simply enter the order number into the register and the computer takes care of the rest by processing the refund amount to the original method of payment — credit card, gift card, etc. The customer gets a print-out to show that the return has been processed. On this particular day, I am on the floor when a cashier at the cash desk has just processed an online return for a customer.)

Cashier: “[My Name], can you help out with this?”

(I approach the cash desk.)

Me: “What can I help with?”

Customer: “I returned this online order, but the computer isn’t refunding the correct amount!”

(I look at the return print-out and see that the original purchase was $53.21, and the refund amount processed is $53.20. Starting to wonder if the customer is really upset over a difference of ONE CENT, I speak with the customer.)

Me: “I apologize. The computer must have rounded off the tax differently when it did the original purchase to when it calculated the refund amount.”

Customer: “So? It charged the one cent to my credit card! What are you going to do about it?!”

(Canada stopped using pennies a few years ago, so now our lowest coin in circulation is five cents. Realizing it’s pointless to even begin to argue with a customer over ONE CENT, I open the till and give the customer a nickel.)

Me: “Here’s five cents.”

Customer: *suddenly happy* “Thank you!” *she walks off*

(Over 15 years in retail and over five years as a manager, and that was the first time I ever had somebody upset over ONE PENNY!)