(I work at a popular clothing company. I am almost finished with a seven-hour shift, after one of those crazy one-day sales, when a customer comes up to me and demands to return a jacket that was on sale. We have a policy that if it’s a manufacturing defect, we can exchange the item with no problem.)

Customer: “I’d like to get a new jacket because this jacket has a huge hole under the arm!”

Me: “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that. May I please take a look at the jacket?”

(She hands over the jacket. I quickly find the tear, but the tear is obviously manmade with a pair of scissors. Of course, I’m supposed to give her the benefit of the doubt.)

Me: “Let me just check our systems to see if we have the same jacket in the same colour in stock.”

Customer: “Fine. Just be quick, though.”

(Unfortunately, we don’t have it in the same colour, but we do have the same jacket in a different colour.)

Me: “I’m so sorry to inform you that we currently don’t have the same colour of jacket in stock, but we do have it in the grey.”

Customer: “That’s fine, I guess, but can you bring it up? I want my new jacket, and then I’m going to go get my mom to deal with the broken one.”

Me: “I’m sorry? I can only process this jacket as an exchange or return. If you are planning on fixing the jacket, then I can’t authorize any returns or exchanges.”

Customer: “But it’s broken! I want to speak to a manager!”

(I call up my manager, who repeats exactly what I told the lady. She obviously doesn’t like what she’s hearing.)

Manager: “So, what you’re telling me is that you want to exchange the broken jacket for a new one, and still keep the old jacket?”

Customer: “Yes! Why is that so hard to understand?!”

Manager: “Uh… no. You can either exchange or return the jacket, not both.”

(The customer then left in a huff. I turned to talk to my manager who just rolled his eyes. Sadly, that wasn’t even the worst customer we had that day.)

(I work at a clothing store in Canada that’s fairly popular in the USA, too. We get a fair amount of American customers, as well. Each country has a different version of the website and different sales. One afternoon, two women approach me at the cash with their shopping and I quickly begin ringing them up.)

Customer #1: “Oh! Those jeans aren’t the right price.”

Me: “Oh, that’s no good. Did the sale sign in the section say something different?” *thinking it’s a signing error*

Customer #2: “No, no, it’s the website price that’s different.”

(She then pulls out her phone to show me the website. I can see from the web address that she’s looking at the American website.)

Me: “Miss, that’s the wrong website; also, we don’t price match to our web prices.”

Customer #1: “What do you mean? We’re at the [Store] website!”

Me: “Miss, you’re in Canada, and even if you were using the Canadian website, I still can’t price match the jeans to that price. If you want the jeans at that price, you’ll have to buy them in the States.”

Customer #2: “But we’re American! I want to pay the American prices with American money!”

Me: “Then, please, go back to the States and purchase the jeans there. While you’re in Canada, you have to pay the Canadian prices. I’m sorry.”

(They left in a huff and I thankfully didn’t see them for the rest of my shift.)

Related:
Blame Canada!
Blame Canada! (Day)
Blame Canada!

(I am a professional photographer. I am photographing a wedding at a large local basilica, located in the downtown area of my city, waiting on the front steps for the bride to arrive. Some of the guests are already arriving. As one goes to head in, a person walking on the street walks up to the guests.)

Stranger: “Hey, do you think you could help me?”

Guest: “Sure thing. Is everything all right?”

Stranger: “Yeah, go see if your god has a trash can.”

(The random guy shoves an empty coffee cup into the guest’s hands, then walks away.)

Guest: “Um… okay?”

(I felt so bad for the guest that I took the cup to a trash can inside for him. I am not religious myself, but I was still very peeved at the random guy. Have some respect!)

My mother and soon-to-be step-father were getting married, and we were all out looking for a cake. We asked around and tried to find the best place to buy one, and wound up in a rather nice neighborhood at a fancy bakery.

We walked in and oohed and ahhed at all the good-looking cakes, and went to get ours custom-made.

As my parents ordered the cake, I wandered around until I reached a door in the back and looked through its window. Inside was the kitchen, and two men were baking. As I watched, one started to apply some icing, and when he ran out, he ran his fingers down and then LICKED the tool! Then, without washing it, he started putting more on.

Horrified, I went back to my parents and told them what happened. We quickly canceled the order, left, and didn’t go back.

A caller had no Internet service. She had a big power outage and her modem wasn’t getting any power. She said she needed Internet ASAP because she was a doctor and needed it for her “practice.”

To determine whether a breaker jumped or if it was our modem that was fried, I asked her to plug in a lamp or anything else to the plug to see if it lights up. Pretty straight forward, I thought. To which she replied, and I quote, “I’m just a woman. I can’t be expected to know how to do this. Just send a tech.”

Seeing as how feminism had just taken it on the chin by one of their own, I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from replying, “Okay, I’ll send a big strong man to fix that right up for you. Just have a sandwich waiting for him when he gets there.”