Scarier Than Cabin In The Woods

, , , , | Right | January 14, 2020

(The resort I work for has many rental units from campsites to deluxe cabins open year-round. I’m currently taking phone calls.)

Me: “Thanks for calling [Company]. My name is [My Name]; how may I help you?”

Customer: “You got any cabins available?”

Me: “For when? For tonight?”

(When people ask this and give no date, it’s for “tonight” 90% of the time, but not this guy:)

Customer: “Ah, no. For [two days from now].”

Me: “It looks like most of our cabins are still open that day.”

(I try to further help him find the cabin that’s right for him, because we have 50+ cabins, and a dozen different layouts and sizes.)

Me: “Do you know which cabin you wanted to rent? Or about what size you needed, like how many bedrooms you need, or how many people you’ll have?”

Customer: “Well, uh, nah. I just wanted to… Hey, how much are they?”

Me: “It would depend on what size cabin you wanted; they range from $160 a night to $600 per night.”

Customer: “Wow, okay, so you can’t tell me how much they are?”

Me: “We have several different sizes of cabins that are all a different cost; it would depend on what size cabin you needed.”

Customer: “I mean, I just wanted to know how much the cabins were.”

(I’m starting to get frustrated at this point; he’s not giving me any information to help him.)

Me: “If you don’t know what size cabin you need, all I can say is that they range from $160 to $600 per night.”

Customer: “Ah, okay, well, tell me what cabin you would like.”

(There’s a very noticeable pause here, because I just can’t fathom how he thinks that will help. I’m thinking I’ll either recommend a one-bedroom cabin that’s too small, or a five-bedroom cabin that costs too much.)

Me: “We have a lot of different options; if you can tell me about how many people you have I can give you a better idea of cost. Do you think it will be two or three people?”

Customer: “Nah, nah, not that many. Uh, um. Well, let me see. So, it may be like eight or ten people.”

(At the lack of basic math skills, I start to suspect prank call, then realize that’s just what I wish it was. My gut tells me he’s just this dumb, but I’m relieved I finally have something to go off of and can start selling.)

Me: “Okay, so, a lot of our cabins can hold six people maximum, and we have just a couple that can hold ten people. A good cabin that would fit your group is the [Cabin #1]; it has [lists all it includes], plus a hot tub outside on the deck. This cabin is $529 per night for one to six people, and $20 more per person after that. So, ten people is $609 per night.”

Customer: “Wow, so really, $600?”

Me: “If you had ten people, yes.”

Customer: “What if I had two people?”

(With most people, I’d suggest a smaller cabin if they only have two people, but this guy seems to be deliberately ignorant, so he’s losing my sympathy.)

Me: “Then it would be $529 per night.”

Customer: “What if I had four people?”

Me: “$529 per night.”

Customer: “Okay, what if the cabin had a hot tub?”

Me: “This cabin does have a hot tub.”

Customer: “Okay, nice, how much is that cabin?”

Me: “That’s the cabin we’re talking about, the [Cabin #1]; it’s $529 per night for one to six people, $609 per night for ten people.”

(Then, his most genuinely insightful line of dialogue is delivered:)

Customer: “Hmm, well, you know, I think I might do a bit more research before deciding. I’ll call you back.”

Me: “Okay, have a nice day.”

​​Customer: *click*

(Every one of our cabins is listed on our website, including photos of inside and out, floor plans, and prices. I also noticed the phone number he dialed to reach us is only listed on the website, so he’d already been to the site once, and decided to call instead of finding the answers for himself.)

1 Thumbs
418

On A Scale Of One To Ten, How Much Of An A** Are You?

, , , , | Right | December 30, 2019

(I work at a ski resort. My coworker is a surveyor on the mountain asking questions of guests and how they like the mountain. The questions are on a one-to-ten scale.)

Coworker: “Excuse me, may I ask you a few questions while you’re riding the chair?”

Skier:Oh, no! Not another survey. I’ve already answered all those long-a** questions and I am not doing it again!”

Coworker: “Okay, well, do you mind if I ask the man sitting next to you?”

Skier:No! I don’t even want to hear them all over again.”

(A few moments pass by, as it’s a long chair.)

Skier: “So, on a scale of one to ten, how pissed are you that I didn’t answer your questions?”

1 Thumbs
364

I Hope It’s Not A Yellow Flavor

, , , , , | Working | December 15, 2019

(I’m working the register for our golf course with another coworker. We’ve hired a new assistant for our greenskeeper. He comes in with a golf club in one hand and half a Gatorade in the other.)

Assistant: “Hey, I found this outside. Can I have it?”

Me: *thinking he’s talking about the golf club* “If no one calls or asks about it in a month, we usually add it to our rentals.”

Assistant: “Oh, no, the Gatorade. I found it outside and wanted to know if I can have it.”

(I look at my coworker, whose jaw is practically on the floor.)

Me: “Uh, I wouldn’t recommend drinking it, but you can if you want to, I guess.”

Assistant: “Okay, great, thanks!”

1 Thumbs
288

A Long Wait Un-Till

, , , | Right | November 15, 2019

(I sell tickets in a booth at a ski resort. The mic is not working very well and even when we speak loudly, the customers have trouble hearing us. Because of this and the sun’s reflection on the glass, they often have trouble even acknowledging our presence at the till and we have to call them multiple times before they realize there’s a cashier behind the glass. I’m at till #4. One day, my coworker at till #3 gets up and leaves for her lunch break. I see a customer approaching till #3 to get a ticket. I call him a few times so that he can come to my till, instead. He’s not coming and I don’t see him anymore so I assume he went to till #2 or #1, instead. A few minutes later, I see him coming to me to get a ticket:)

Customer: “I was waiting at that till but the cashier left and she didn’t come back!”

(This customer really kept waiting five minutes for her to come back instead of just going to another till like anyone would! Besides, we have to put a sign to indicate that the till is closed when we leave for lunch break, and there was no one else in the queue so he could have gone to another till very quickly. I tried hard not to laugh!)

1 Thumbs
247

You Are Entitled To Your Opinion, But Not To Our Service

, , , , , | Right | July 24, 2019

(As a night porter, I am expected to help out anywhere I might need to do so. This often means assisting the restaurant staff when they get super busy or have an angry or difficult customer that they need help with. This particular night, it is just after nine, and I get a call from one of the waiters saying that they have a particularly awkward lady who is refusing service from her waitress, and as there are no supervisors or senior staff present — the manager has gone to clean the beer lines — they wonder if I can come and deal with her. I agree, used to this by now, as a lot of our waiters are young, easily spooked, and inexperienced when dealing with obstinate people. I think nothing of it and take up a docket pad and pen to go and take her order. I was a waitress before I was a night porter, so I am quite accustomed to the procedure. I arrive at her table, and this middle-aged woman with an embarrassed-looking teenage daughter gives me a look up and down, as if she is judging whether I deserve to be spoken to or not. After drawing this out, she speaks.)

Customer: “Ah. A manager. I am glad they’ve seen fit to give me someone worth my while.”

(I am wearing a tailored, three-piece suit, and the required front-of-house purple silk scarf, so clearly she concludes that I am “senior” to the other waiters, and seems pleased with herself, judging from the smug look on her face. The uniform for the restaurant is a white shirt and apron, so any staff wearing suit-like paraphernalia are easily identified as management or supervisors. I smile sweetly at her, choosing not to respond to her statement.)

Me: “I hear that you had some trouble with one of our waiters?”

Customer: “I MOST CERTAINLY DID!” *snaps, sounding unnecessarily angry*

(At this point, I am hoping that one of them hasn’t actually done something to offend her.)

Customer: “The little idiot you sent out before was too young to even be in a restaurant with a bar, let alone know how to look after customers.”

(I am about to respond with the spiel about all of our staff being of appropriate legal age, etc., but she cuts me off.)

Customer: “Little s*** had an earring. At the top of his ear. Probably a [gay slur]. I can’t believe somewhere like this would employ someone like that.”

(My jaw is, at this point, a little open, and her teenager is clearly desperate to sink under the table and hide. I straighten up a bit and respond in a calm, measured, and polite voice. As a night porter, I am considered security, and therefore, am allowed to deal as I see fit — within guidelines, of course — with disruptive customers, which I definitely consider her to be from her blatant homophobic language and loud behaviour.)

Me: “Ma’am. Our staff are all highly trained and hard working. If you have a valid complaint about the service you have received, I will be glad to hear it. However, if you are merely here to supply us with insults, I am going to have to ask you to leave.”

Customer: “WHAT?!”

(She gives me a closer look now and finally notices my ears. I have not one, but six piercings in each. Our uniform code states that the service staff can have almost any number of ear piercings, as long as they are only fitted with small, unobtrusive studs, or flesh-coloured cover studs, as long as they are fitted in place very securely. The woman turns red; I am pretty sure that it is with fury at this point, and that an explosion is brewing. After a moment, she lets loose a torrent of hateful expletives and shrieks, aimed at me and the staff behind the bar, presumably the ones she blames for sending “someone like me” to deal with her. I allow her to do this for a few seconds before I interrupt her.)

Me: “Ma’am. You are now causing a disruption, and I am going to ask you to leave the restaurant at this point.”

(Her explosion of rage intensifies, now assuring me that I will lose my job, that I cannot do this to her, that she spends a lot of money here, and all of the other clichés.)

Me: “Ma’am, you are disrupting the other diners. If you do not leave, I am going to have to have you removed.”

(She is clearly expecting me to back down, because she begins to run out of steam and insults, and realises she is not going to be getting dinner. She lowers her tone slightly.)

Customer: “No. I’m not going until I have eaten.” 

Me: “I am very sorry, ma’am, but we are refusing service to you. We are still happy to serve your companion, but if you wish to have some food, you will have to order room service and eat in your hotel room.”

Customer: “I WANT TO TALK TO A MANAGER!” *folds her arms and sits like an infant with the “I won’t budge” face*

Me: “I promise you, ma’am, that this entire incident is going to be reported to the duty manager, and I am sure he will be happy to discuss your complaint with you in the morning.”

Customer: “You [slur], get me a manager now!”

Me: “I am sorry, ma’am, there is no manager available. You will be able to speak to someone first thing in the morning.”

(I give her an expectant look, and her teenager tugs on her arm.)

Teenager: “Mom… let’s just go… She said we could order room service…”

(The woman then proceeds to have a staring contest with me that lasts probably a full two minutes before she stands up, scraping her chair on the floor violently and knocking over the chair on the table behind theirs.)

Customer: “FINE.”

(She screeches and all but drags her daughter out of the restaurant. I stand the chair up, inform the rest of the restaurant how very sorry we are for the disruption, and go to the back of the house, where I find the waiter with the ear piercing and the one who had called me down, all but dying of laughter. I give them both looks. Turns out that the one who phoned me thought it would be funny to send in the person with the most possible ear piercings available to deal with her. After giving them a very understanding telling off — I mean, she DID call the lad with the piercing several pretty serious slurs — about how unprofessional their reasons were, I return to reception. As I take my seat and continue my paperwork, the phone rings, and as I pick it up, I am greeted with a now-familiar shrieking.)

Customer: “I WANT A MANAGER ON THE PHONE THIS INSTANT! I AM MAKING A COMPLAINT ABOUT YOUR RESTAURANT STAFF! I WAS INSULTED AND THROWN OUT UNDER THREAT OF VIOLENCE AND I WANT COMPENSATION!” 

(I smile a smile that one only gets to enjoy when things line up so nicely.)

Me: “Ma’am. As I informed you before, you are free to talk to the manager in the morning.” 

(There is an awkward silence on the other end of the line before she speaks up again.)

Customer: “Why is it you? I did not call the restaurant.”

Me: “I am on the front desk, as well.”

(I resist the urge to tell her that I am everywhere in a creepy voice. There is another awkward silence before she resentfully snaps.)

Customer: “Can we still get room service?”

Me: *glancing at the clock* “As it is now a quarter to ten, the kitchens have closed, and we are only offering a range of cold food such as sandwiches.”

(It has LITERALLY only turned quarter to ten this second, and I know full well I could still ask the chef to make something… but it is my opinion that this woman does not deserve the trouble.)

Customer: “OH, F*** YOU!” *screams and slams the phone down*

(I wrote up the incident and sent it to the duty manager for the morning, warning him that she would want to speak to him. The following day, I got an email from the morning duty manager, informing me that the “explosively angry woman” had been escorted from the premises in the early morning for — and I quote — “screaming her head off and threatening violence if he did not call me RIGHT THEN and fire me whilst she listened.” Needless to say, her “complaint” was not taken seriously, I still continue to enjoy my job, and she has been barred from ever returning. Some people know when they’re beaten, and they sure don’t like it. I just feel bad for her daughter. Poor girl was SO embarrassed by it all.)

1 Thumbs
1,086