Standard Caller On Line F

, , , | Right | October 21, 2019

(I’m currently working the phones at the customer service desk. It’s not uncommon to get prank calls or just angry customers unloading on the caller immediately.)

Me: *answering call* “Hello, thank you for calling [Grocery Store]. How may I help you?”

Caller: “F*** YOU!” 

Me: *in cheery voice* “Why, thank you! You, too, sir!” *click*

The Mother Of All Anxieties, Part 2

, , , , , | Related | October 19, 2019

(My mom has anxiety issues when it comes to things going according to plan, and she loses perspective on the feelings of others and becomes incredibly inflexible. I am 21. I moved out over three years ago, but I rejoin my family for a Christmas trip to visit family in Oregon. I am experiencing increasing mobility issues that I later find out to be a minor form of Muscular Dystrophy, so I have started walking with a cane sometimes and I am not able to run very well by this time. After our visit and celebration are over, we go to the airport to catch our flight back to California. It is late Christmas day, so the airport is not that crowded, but my mom is rushing us with great urgency through the airport despite the fact that we have several hours until our flight.)

Mom: “Come on, come on. Walk faster. We have to hurry up!”

Me: “Seriously? Our flight doesn’t leave until 5:50. Let’s stop and have lunch; all the good restaurants are outside the security gate.”

Mom: “No, no, no! We have to go now! It takes hours to get through the x-ray line.”

Me: “No, it doesn’t! With Dad’s metal plate and my cane, we get priority screening; we’ll be done in five minutes.”

(This is very true, and it never takes me very long to get through airport lines because of my disability. We had an easy time leaving California despite the huge crowds of holiday travelers. It’s also true that every time my parents fly out together, they don’t have to wait in the line because of the plate in my dad’s leg.)

Mom: *sees me lagging behind the three of them and gets more anxious* “Walk faster! Why are you slowing down?”

Me: “I’m walking with a cane and you’re surprised that I’m not fast?”

(What isn’t a surprise is how fast we get through the security screening. That does not seem to put her at ease, though. She continues urging us to move at a near-running pace with me hobbling as fast as I can while trying not to trip and fall. We don’t get a chance to rest until we reach our gate.)

Me: *looks at watch* “Whew! We made it with only four hours and thirty-seven minutes to spare. We would never have made it without you keeping us organized, Mom. Woo-hoo!”

Related:
The Mother Of All Anxieties

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Going From Black To Blue To Red

, , | Right | October 17, 2019

(I work as a receptionist in the first floor of city hall.)

Me: “Hello, how may I help you?”

Customer: “I want to renew my passport.”

Me: “Okay, no problem. Do you have the application and is it filled out in black ink?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: “Do you have your old passport?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: “Do you have checks or money orders?”

(The customer starts to doubt himself and pulls everything out while saying “yes, yes yes, I have everything.” He places all the documents in front of me and starts looking through his stuff. As he is flipping, I notice his documents in blue ink.)

Me: *reaching for his application* “Can I look at your application, I want to make sure it’s in black ink and not blue.”

(I check it.)

Me: “Sir, you are going to have to do it again because it’s in blue ink, and is supposed to be black.”

Customer: “Where does it say that?”

Me: *I point to the top of the page* “Right there.”

(The customer mumbles and shakes his head.)

Me: “Do you want and pen and a clipboard?”

Customer: *with attitude* “Not unless you want me to do it in front of you.”

Me: *handing him a pen and clipboard* “Here you go.”

Customer: *takes pen and gives me back the clipboard* “I don’t need that.” *he starts to fill out the application in front of me, while annoyingly starts making weird huffing noises*

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Unfiltered Story #169002

, , | Unfiltered | October 8, 2019

(The craft store I work at sells leather cord by the foot. The customers cut it themselves and fill out a sheet saying how much they cut. These sheets are in the same basket as the cutters, with a sign that says the price per foot, that it is sold by the foot, and how to measure. There is also a ruler with a sign that says to cut whole feet lengths only. It is not possible to touch the cutters without reaching behind this sign. A girl comes up to my checkstand with several items, including a few lengths of leather)

Me: Do you have the sheet for this?
Customer: *blank stare*
Me: That you wrote the measurements on?
Customer: Oh, I didn’t measure it.
Me: *blank stare* I’m not sure how to…sell it…without the sheet.

(I called a more experienced coworker over to help. The lengths she cut weren’t full feet, so we had to do a complicated inventory adjustment, and in the end she had 8 feet at almost $3 a foot. She paid and left. Twenty minutes pass and then she’s back)

Customer: Can I return this? It was a lot more than I thought it’d be.

(It took everything I had to ask how much she thought it’d be, based on how many signs she had to ignore)

Baking Up A Fiendish Scheme

, , , , , | Right | October 7, 2019

Me: “Hi, [Regular]! Are you finding things okay?”

Regular: “No! Where is that bread I like? You’re always moving things around. I’m an old lady. I shouldn’t have to look for things. You people should do more to help the elderly.”

Me: “I would be happy to help you look. Remind me which bread you like?”

Regular: “You know which one. It’s the one with the man on it!”

(I look at the bread section and see two different brands with a man on the package. I pick one and ask her of this is the one.)

Regular: “No! I hate that man! Don’t even show him to me!”

(It is a cartoon-like drawing of a happy baker. The other brand also has a drawing of a baker.)

Me: “Wow, I’m sorry. The only other bread we have with a man on the package is this other one. Is this the bread you were looking for?”

Regular: “No! I hate that man, too! They are all criminals who don’t know about bread!”

Me: “Okay. Well, these are the only two kinds of bread we carry that have men on the package.”

Regular: *angrily* “I know you. I know your type. You Greeks are always trying to rip me off. You look me in the eye when you are lying to me!”

(Yup. You got me, lady. I am the one who hides bread with cartoon drawings of bakers on the package from old ladies. Busted!)

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