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A collection of stories curated from different subreddits, adapted for NAR.

No ID, No Idea, Part 45

, , , , | Right | CREDIT: jordwn | September 15, 2021

I am working in the money center of a large retail store. A lady comes up and asks for a $1,000 money order. The system comes up with the screen for me to scan her ID, because any money order that is $1,000 or more requires it, so I ask the lady for her ID.

Customer: “Since when do I need an ID for a money order?”

Me: “Well, since the money order is for $1,000, our system requires we have your ID in order to proceed with the transaction.”

Customer: “But my ID is in the car.”

Me: “I can’t continue the transaction without your ID.”

Customer: “But my picture is on my debit card!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but that doesn’t count. I have to have an actual ID.”

Customer: “We can just do two separate money orders for $500 each.”

Me: “No, ma’am, we can’t do that, either. Our policy states that all money orders for the same person must be done in a single transaction, so I would still need your ID.”

The woman storms out. I go back to the service desk and help get the line down over there. The woman comes back in and asks my manager what the most she can get on a money order is without her ID, and my manager tells her $999. Someone else needs a money order so I head back to the money center to help them, and the woman follows shortly behind. I finish up with the other customer and the woman comes back to the counter.

Customer: “I need a money order for $1,000.”

Me: “Okay, can I see your ID?”

Customer: “Here!”

She slams her ID down on the counter.

Customer: “I can’t believe you made me walk all the way out to my car over one f****** dollar.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, that’s just the policy.”

She continues talking about me to herself. I just ignore her and finish up the money order.

Me: “All right, there you go. Thank you and have a great night!”

She starts to walk off but decides to be a complete a**hole, instead. She slams the money order down on the counter and begins yelling at me.

Customer: “Put it in my hand! Put it in my f****** hand since you wanna sit there and treat me like a dog!”

What?! I just decide it would be best to just ignore her and keep walking back to the service desk. Wrong.

Customer: “That’s right, walk away, you nasty white b****!”

Me: “Excuse me? Let me go grab my manager really quick.”

The customer ran out of the store before I could make it around the corner to my manager. I went and told my manager, and she tried to chase her down because she’s not afraid of getting fired for talking back to a customer and she doesn’t let anyone treat her employees like that. Unfortunately, she didn’t catch her. All of that over having to walk out to your car in the parking lot because YOU didn’t have your ID? I will never understand people.

Related:
No ID, No Idea, Part 44
No ID, No Idea, Part 43
No ID, No Idea, Part 42
No ID, No Idea, Part 41
No ID, No Idea, Part 40

All Signs Point To Rude As Heck

, , , , | Right | CREDIT: ExaminationOk7013 | September 15, 2021

I work in a deli where we make an assortment of food. We have screens to tell us how people want it made. We also have a screen to let us know what has been paid for and still needs payment. There is a policy that we have signs up for basically saying you need to pay first.

Toward the beginning of our shift, we started getting busy and hit with orders. We took orders for two ladies.

Me: *In a cheerful customer service tone* “If you’re waiting on food, please head up under the big sign up front to pay and your food should be up shortly.”

They looked, and I thought they heard me. They walked away a bit to go stand and talk and wait. We didn’t even see them standing there until we handed out the next order.

At least ten more orders went out, and I repeated my line between every. Single. Order. I made it sound like a general announcement to everyone around us, so I didn’t get turned on for calling them out. They were standing close enough to hear for their order number but ignored the announcement every. Single. Time.

After the tenth order was called, one of the ladies went off.

Lady #1: “Where is our food?! Order sixty-six and seventy-one?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, if you just go up under that sign and pay, your food will be right out.”

Lady #1: “I don’t want to go up there. I want my food first!”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but due to policy—”

Lady #1: “I don’t care about that. I want my food!”

My manager had been making orders with me and heard every announcement.

Manager: “Ma’am, we can’t give out food until it’s paid for.”

Lady #2: “We can just go pay for it first so we can get it.”

Lady #1: “I don’t want to! I come here all the time!”

First off, no one cares, because we are in that building more than you will ever be; that doesn’t mean we can change policy. My manager tried to explain again, and this is where I started to laugh.

Lady #1: “I WANT TO SPEAK TO YOUR MANAGER!”

Manager: “I am the manager.”

Lady #1: “Whatever. Who cares?”

She was clearly still angry, but her friend eventually persuaded her up front.

Then, she came back.

Lady #1: “There should be signs up if you’re going to change your policies!”

Me: “We do have signs up. And I made several announcements, as well.”

Lady #1: “I’m not arguing with a child!”

I’m in my mid-twenties and normally have people overshoot my age. How nice of her, right?

Me: “Have a great night!”

Lady #1: *Sarcastically* “You, too.”

Me: “And have a safe trip!”

Lady #1: *Super angry* “You have a super nice night!”

Those two ladies are regulars, so I’m sure they will be back, but they know they have to pay first.

Thirty-Two Ounces Of Stupid Trouble

, , , , , , | Right | CREDIT: hypnos1214 | September 14, 2021

I used to be a cashier at a warehouse store — one of those members-only places. We had this policy — which a lot of cashiers hated — stating that everything had to be transferred from one cart/flatbed to another when customers checked out. I didn’t mind as I was able to lift and move things with ease. A lot of the cashiers, including myself, didn’t fully understand the policy — that is, until this fateful day.

It was a day just like any other, filled with constant mundane, “Did you find everything okay?” and, “Thank you, have a nice day.” It was coming to the end of my shift and I’d had it with doing the correct thing.

A member — it was a sin to call them customers — came up with a flatbed. He had a few small items and one box of thirty-two-ounce Styrofoam cups. I saw this and thought, “If it were something heavier, I wouldn’t transfer it.” I put all of his little items on the belt and then got a flatbed, as we only kept an empty cart at our registers.

When I came back, I grabbed the box of cups, and as soon as I lifted it, the bottom fell out and two computers were left on the cart while I was holding this big empty box. I looked at the member, and I was about to say something along the lines of an apology and that someone else must have done this. (We were trained not to directly accuse members of such behavior). Before I could say a word, he was gone. He ran out the door and almost plowed over the older lady who checks receipts.

Here’s what makes this funny. All he had to do was play stupid and pay for the other things and he’d have been in the clear.

At the beginning of interactions, we take the members’ membership cards and hand them back with the receipt, so his membership card was sitting on my register. Since he scared the elderly employee and left the cups from the box all over the aisle, my manager decided to call the police. Now, I know this isn’t theft, but there is a crime in my state called “concealment of goods”. It’s basically a way to catch shoplifters before they legally shoplift. So, the police came and all the member’s info was in the system. I had to verify that the member did indeed match the picture. They looked at security cameras and the police left to get a warrant for his arrest.

This is only a misdemeanor, but still, all he had to do was stay put and nothing would have happened to him.

Beggars Are Always Trying To Be Choosers

, , , , , | Right | CREDIT: 20Sumting | September 14, 2021

I’m selling a smartwatch for £50 online, and I have this exchange with a potential buyer.

Buyer: “Can you possibly deliver to [Town]?”

Me: “Uh, possibly. It depends where in [Town]. It would be my partner delivering it, so it would be up to him.”

Buyer: “[Neighbourhood], and any discount, please?”

Me: “Probably not if you want us to deliver it, too?”

Buyer: “Sorry, I will pay £30.”

Me: “Uh, no. You want to take £20 off and have us deliver it?”

I never heard back.

If You Can’t Be On Time, Be Obscenely Early

, , , , , | Working | CREDIT: theoryofrelativetea | September 13, 2021

I get a summer job at my university working for professors that I have worked with before, and they ask me last-minute to teach a summer workshop to ninth- and tenth-graders.

So, with less than two weeks before the camp starts, I have a bunch of paperwork to do first, including “clearances” that say I can work with kids. One of these is an official FBI check, for which they need my fingerprints. I need to do the physical fingerprinting right away in order to get the result in time. Luckily, I am able to book a fingerprinting appointment for that Friday — booked twenty-four hours in advance, as required — which will be just barely enough time to get the result.

That Friday, I catch the subway to campus and it’s atrociously slow. I’ll admit that I should have planned for this; the subway here is always behind. I end up slightly late getting to campus, so I literally run to the police station and enter the front room exactly five minutes after my appointment time. I know this because, as I step through the door, I feel my phone buzz with what I later learn to be a “Your appointment has been cancelled” email.

I speak to the cop behind bulletproof glass inside and I learn that my appointment was cancelled; apparently, they are automatically cancelled if you’re not checked in within five minutes. Obviously, this is outrageous, but I’m usually a patient guy. I ask if I can book a new appointment. That’s no good, since it would have to be Monday or later.

I grab a coffee from across the street and return to sit inside the police station. I try and solve this with some Googling while I slip into a more and more frantic state of frustration. I can’t find anywhere in the city that can fingerprint me before Monday.

But here’s what really pushes me over the edge. While I’m sitting there, at this point thirty minutes past my appointment time, someone else comes in for fingerprints. She shows up five minutes early. They take her in immediately and she’s out before her appointment was even scheduled to begin. The entire thing took her about two minutes. I point out to the cop behind the glass, as politely as I can, that clearly someone could see me right now because her appointment is already over. Why can’t I have the current slot? But the cop insists that since my appointment was cancelled, my registration info is “no longer in the system” and I can’t be seen today.

That’s when the idea comes to me and I confirm with him that showing up early is not a problem, because they would have my appointment and registration info in the system. You see where I’m going with this.

I quietly sit back down and take out my phone. About ten minutes later, I calmly approach him again and say, “Hello, I have a new appointment to be fingerprinted. I’m about seventy-two hours early.”

I have never seen such an exasperated sigh in my life. But the cop checked my new confirmation number and everything was in order. Within ten minutes, I was walking back out after getting fingerprinted.


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