Calculated To The Last Decimal Of Pie

, , , , , | Working | November 2, 2017

(During a Saturday full of errands, the roommate and I decide to treat ourselves to lunch out. The waitress gets our drinks right, but the food is where the fun begins…)

Me: “The taco salad looks good, but it comes in that big fried tortilla bowl. No bueno.”

Roommate: “They have the [menu item]. Same stuff as the taco salad, but no bowl, and it’s even a dollar cheaper.”

Me: “Perfect!”

(When the waitress arrives, I order the [menu item] by name, even pointing it out on the page to be sure I’m talking about the right thing. My roommate orders a sandwich, with no mayo, which she doesn’t care for. A few minutes later, when the food arrives…)

Me: “Well, hello there, giant tortilla bowl. I could’ve sworn…”

Roommate: “And there’s mayo on my sandwich.”

(We flag down the waitress.)

Me: “Excuse me, but I ordered—”

Waitress: “That’s what you ordered, hon.” *walks away*

Roommate: “Okay, then. Not even going to bring mine up.”

(The salad is good, most of the mayo wipes off the sandwich, and we think all is well. Until, foolish people that we are, we decide to have dessert…)

Me: *to waitress, pointing at the tabletop ad for the pie-of-the-month special* “This strawberry pie looks good. Can I have a slice, please? And that’s going to be everything, so if you can bring the check, too, that’s great.”

(My pie and the check come together, and I am just enjoying my first bite when…)

Roommate: “They charged us for the wrong pie.”

Me: “Seriously?!”

Roommate: “Yep. Look right there. Strawberry cream pie.”

Me: “Which this definitely isn’t. At least we were only charged for the salad I ordered, not the one I got?”

(After finishing the pie, we go to the register to pay.)

Me: “Hi, there was actually a mistake on my bill. I ordered the strawberry pie, but I’m being charged for the strawberry cream pie. Can I get that adjusted, please?”

Cashier: “Ugh, really? It’s only 70 cents difference, you know.”

Me: *holding very firmly onto my temper* “I would like it adjusted, please.”

Cashier: “Fine. I’ll need a manager for that. Wait just a moment.”

(The manager arrives, and while keying in his override…)

Manager: “It’s only 70 cents difference, you know.”

(I have had enough.)

Me: “Yes, I’m well aware of that. However, it’s 70 cents difference on an item I didn’t want, didn’t order, and didn’t get. Your waitress also got both our entrees wrong, which was more than a little frustrating. Please just fix the check so that it reflects what I should be paying for what I got.”

Manager: *muttering* “All this fuss over 70 cents…”

(I was incredibly tempted to go back to our table and tip the waitress exactly 70 cents.)

1 Part Bleach To 100 Parts Stupidity, Part 2

, , , | Healthy | October 25, 2017

(I am a pharmacy technician, not qualified to recommend drugs or dispense advice. Any questions about actual medicine, I am required to pass off to a pharmacist, even if I think I know the answer.)

Me: “Hello, how may I help you?”

Customer: *mumbling* “Um, I think I—” *mumbles* “—contact with bleach…”

Me: “I’m sorry, what? Could you repeat that?”

Customer: “I think I might have swallowed some bleach and was wondering if the pharmacist could recommend anything.”

Me: *trying not to look alarmed* “Well, if I were you, I would call the Poison Control Center, but I’ll check with the pharmacist.”

(I go back to the counter where the pharmacist is working.)

Me: “This guy says he might have ingested bleach and wants to know if you can recommend anything. I told him he should call the Poison Control Center.”

Pharmacist: “Yeah, that’s about it.”

(I go up to the front counter and repeat this advice to the customer.)

Customer: “Well, I drank some fluids and I’m feeling better now. I had some [soda], and some water, and some lemonade. My chest was hurting before but now it’s better. Do you know if bleach can make your chest hurt?”

Me: “Um… probably. If you swallowed bleach, it could hurt on the way down. You should probably call the Poison Control Center.”

Customer: “Eh, maybe I’ll call them tomorrow. If I’m not feeling better then, I can go to the emergency room, too.”

Me: “I would call them tonight if I were you, just to be safe. Do you want their number?”

(I write it down on the nearest piece of paper and hand it to him.)

Customer: “Yeah, thanks. I might call them tomorrow.”

(He wanders away, but comes back later. My coworker is an intern, studying to become a pharmacist, and gets to the counter first. I overhear their conversation.)

Customer: “I was wondering about water pills. What do they do?”

Coworker: “Um, they make you urinate.”

Customer: “Can I get some of those?”

Coworker: *realizing why he’s asking* “They don’t flush out your system; they’re used to lower blood pressure. And you would need a prescription.”

Customer: “Can I get one of those?”

Coworker: *bewildered* “We don’t give prescriptions here; we just fill them. You would need to go to a doctor.”

(The customer wanders away, apparently still confused about a lot of things.)

Me: “I hope he’s going to be okay.”

Pharmacist: “If he had really swallowed bleach, his throat would be burned. I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but there’s nothing else we can do.”

1 Part Bleach To 100 Parts Stupidity

Their Vegetarianism Is Total Turkey

, , , , , , | Working | October 16, 2017

(It’s mid-November, and everyone and their cousin is in the store buying food for their Thanksgiving dinner. I’m manning the register, desperately trying to keep up with endless line of people, when a customer comes up with one of our frozen turkeys in his cart.)

Customer: “Hi, can I ask you a question?”

Me: *glances at the five person line* “Sure.”

Customer “Great. I’m having some friends over for Thanksgiving, and two of them are vegetarian.”

Me: “Okay. What’s your question?”

Customer: *he points to the frozen turkey* “Is turkey vegetarian?”

Me: *blinks a few times* “Well, I imagine it WAS vegetarian, sir.”

Customer: “Okay, thanks.”

(He turns and heads back into the store.)

Customer Behind Him: “Did that—?”

Me: “Yes. Now, how can I help you?”

Unfiltered Story #95702

, , | Unfiltered | September 26, 2017

My left hand is all bandaged up since I have a staph infection and due to my eczema, I have open sores all over my hand. After having to answer the same question every single day from customers over what happened to my hand, I start to lose my patience. I have a sign right on my lanyard directly above my name tag stating “Please do not ask about my hand.”
Customer 1: So, what happened to your hand?
Me: I got in a bar fight.
Customer 2: Did you hurt yourself?
Me: I was attacked by a possum.
Customer 3: What did you do?
Me: I fell off a motorcycle during a street race.
This was almost everyday for 8 hours straight. Just FYI, if someone you don’t know is injured, don’t ask.

Four A Few Dollars More

, , , , , | Right | September 14, 2017

(I am an assistant manager. We are located in a suburb, and our clientele tends to be on the affluent side. It is not common for us to have clients from the city branches come out to our area. A customer approaches the counter and asks to withdraw money. I am standing nearby and overhear the conversation, though I am waiting on the phone and cannot interject.)

Customer: “I want to withdraw money, but I have nothing in the account.”

Teller: “Let me look it up… You are correct. We cannot do a withdrawal, because the balance is currently at zero.”

Customer: “It’s just $4! You can withdraw $4!”

Teller: “I am sorry, ma’am, I cannot do a withdrawal if it will take the account negative.”

Customer: “You don’t understand! I drove all around the city looking for these lamps and [Small Chain Store] has them! I’ve already spent $20 in gas going back and forth from the city! They’ll only hold them for one day! I can’t drive back out! It’s just $4!”

(The customer continues to ramble on over how she thought she enough money, but only needs $4 to get the set, and she really needs both lamps.)

Customer: “Well, ask someone else! Get your supervisor! My social security check comes in every month to this bank, you’ll have the money tonight!”

(I have returned to my desk to resume my phone call, but I am directly in front of the teller line. The teller approaches the closest supervisor, and he confirms that they cannot do the transaction, and returns to the customer he is helping.)

Customer: “This is why I hate this bank! You’re awful, horrible people! You have no customer service!”

(The customer has interrupted the supervisor and his customer, making the second customer step away from the window and cover her information and money.)

Supervisor: “Ma’am, we can’t take an account negative. If the money isn’t in the account, there is nothing we can give you.”

Customer: “I see the money there in your drawer! You have it! You just won’t give it to me!”

Supervisor: “So, what you’re saying is you want me to either steal from the bank or give you the money from my own wallet.”

Customer: “Yes! It’s just $4! You can take it from my social security deposit. It comes tonight!”

Supervisor: “We can’t help you until it is in your account. Come back tomorrow.”

Customer: “This is ridiculous! I want to see the manager!”

(I have finished up my phone call at this point, and I know it will inevitably fall upon me to handle the customer, as the branch manager had his own customer. The customer storms into my office and reiterates her lamp story. I look up the account.)

Me: “Well, ma’am, unless you would like to apply for a loan or get a credit card…”

Customer: “Fine! Give me a loan for f******* $4!”

Me: “Unfortunately, neither the loan nor the Visa would be approved today. Additionally, for loans originating in the branch, it’s a $99 fee, so you’ll probably want to reconsider coming back tomorrow.”


(Customer #2, the one who was interrupted earlier, runs up, slams down a $5 bill, then runs to her car.)

Customer: *looking surprised, tries to catch the other woman before running back and jabbing her finger in my face* “You see THAT?! That’s a good person! Not like YOU!

(The customer leaves and I am left in utter shock at the entire situation. My coworker walks over to me.)

Coworker: “You know, you’re going to turn on the TV next week and find yourself on that show ‘What Would You Do’ or whatever it is.”

Me: “Yeah, maybe…”

Supervisor: “It’s Friday. Her social security won’t be in until Sunday night, at the earliest.”

(And that was when I knew I needed to get out of retail banking.)

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