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A Catalogue Of Complaints

, , , , , , | Right | March 1, 2026

I work in a large clothing store that sends out catalogs to customers on the mailing list. A woman wheels in two huge bags and a few taped-up boxes on a flat cart. It looks less like a return and more like she’s moving house.

Me: “Hi… there? What can I help you with today?”

Customer: “Returns.”

She starts unloading coats, dresses, shoes, etc. They’re all still in the plastic they were delivered in. It’s obvious these are all items ordered and delivered from the catalog.

Me: “…All of these?”

Customer: “My sister passed. She ordered from you for years. We cleared out a whole bedroom. I want refunds.”

Me: “I’m very sorry for your loss. Let me start scanning and see what’s in the system.”

I begin. A few items pull up instantly. These are recent orders, so easy refunds. Then I hit the older pieces and hit the dreaded error tone.

Me: “Some of these are quite old. If they’re no longer in our catalog or sales history, the system can only issue a nominal credit.”

Customer: “That’s ridiculous. She paid full price. I want full refunds.”

Me: “I understand, but if we don’t have a record or resale value, we can only process the default amount.”

Customer: “Then you’d better find the record.”

For the next hour, I keep scanning. Half the items don’t just predate recent catalogs; they predate the current inventory system. This means some of these go back over a decade. We issue token refunds where that’s all the system allows. 

She watches every line like an auditor.

Customer: “Five dollars? This coat cost over a hundred.”

Me: “I don’t doubt it, but it’s no longer in our system, and it can’t be resold, so the policy is—”

Customer: “—Your policy isn’t my problem.”

My manager has come down to help me scan, as well as take over repeating my lines about why we can’t give her a full refund. She takes what refunds she can on the day, but vows to call our Customer Service line to get this “sorted”.

That Customer Service line also goes through to us, so… yay. Over the next few weeks, she calls us repeatedly. Every time it’s the same demand:

Customer: *On phone.* “I want the rest of my money. You people are stealing from my dead sister!”

She calls so many times that the leadership creates a call script JUST for her account, so every agent gives the exact same explanation.

One afternoon, she calls while I’m on support rotation.

Me: “Thank you for calling Customer Care. How can I help?”

Customer: “I want the remainder of my refund. I’ve been calling for months. Someone here needs to fix this.”

Me: “Ma’am, all eligible refunds have been issued. The remaining items are outside our record retention period and have no resale value, so only the nominal credits apply.”

Customer: “So you’re just keeping the money? That’s unethical.”

Me: “We refunded everything we can verify and resell. The rest were garments that had been stored for years, some for over a decade. At that point, we’re not processing a sale, we’re processing a disposal.”

Silence.

Customer: “I still think you owe me.”

Me: “I understand you feel that way, but our role is to refund documented purchases, not assign new value to items after their lifecycle. There’s nothing further to adjust on this account.”

Another long pause.

Customer: “So that’s it?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am.”

She exhales sharply, clearly gearing up for another round… then stops. For the first time, she has no new angle.

Customer: “Fine.”

She hangs up. It’s finally over!

We never hear from her again, and the script we built just for her stays in the system as a reminder of those long weeks we would tell new hires about in the years to come, about THAT customer…

Sir, Believe Me When I Tell You You’re DEAD WRONG

, , , , , | Working | CREDIT: vamgoda | February 25, 2026

I have a client who is way too familiar for my liking. I am always polite, but cold.

He came in, remarking:

Client: *Offended.* “I saw you last weekend! You didn’t say hi back when I called out to you!”

Now, I definitely tend to avoid people when I’m on my personal time, but I’ll be polite if they approach me. I definitely did not see him.

Me: “Where did you see me?”

Client: “The dog park, walking your dog.”

I don’t advertise it, but my dog died in November. I still have his photos in my office because I love him, but he’s dead-dead.

Me: *Politely.* “It couldn’t have been me, so sorry.”

Client: *Insistent.* “It was you! You were walking your dog! Why didn’t you say hello?!”

Me: “It wasn’t me. I know it wasn’t me.”

Client: “Why are you being rude and lying? You should just apologize. Why aren’t you admitting it was you when I know it was you?”

I finally got fed up with him sniping at me. So, I just made the most uncomfortable eye contact I possibly could and said, full deadpan:

Me: “I’m telling you it couldn’t have been me because my dog is f****** dead.”

I got a little bit of a cursory meeting for cursing at a client, but my boss was laughing most of the time.

Death Of A Rant

, , , , , | Working | CREDIT: singularRhythm | February 18, 2026

During COVID, my dad would pick me up, and we’d do trips to the local hardware store while I was renovating my house, and he needed an excuse to get out of his.

Unfortunately, during this time, his mother passed away. It wasn’t unexpected, as she was 101, but it was still a shock, as she was generally in good health. Due to nursing home rules, we weren’t allowed in to see her, which made the situation even harder.

She died early in the morning, and later that day, my dad needed to get his mind off things, so he asked if I wanted to go to the hardware store. I agreed, obviously. At this point, we’d been going to the same shop nearly every other day for months. It was a small town, and it wouldn’t be unlikely that people had seen us there together before.

This particular day, both my dad and I ended up making purchases. He lined up ahead of me while I flicked through a magazine. When it came time to pay, he tried to open his loyalty app rather than using his card. The internet and app were slow, so he got frustrated and ended up just using the card.

The checkout lady had been rolling her eyes while he tried to get the app working:

Checkout Lady: “Be patient.”

Dad: “I’m all out of patience.”

Checkout Lady: “I can see that.”

He paid and walked out to the foyer, and I stepped forward. I didn’t say anything, just gave her a smile. She rolled her eyes and immediately started complaining about my dad.

Checkout Lady: “Grumpy old man. ‘I don’t have any patience.'”

She kept going.

Checkout Lady: “He should stay home if he’s in a bad mood. Why do all old men have to be grumpy and miserable?”

I raised my eyebrows slightly, which seemed to encourage her. She complained about him for the entire transaction. As I paid, I calmly said:

Me: “That’s my dad, and his mum died this morning.”

She was stunned. She had no words. I picked up my things and left. 

We continued to go to that store just as regularly as before, but she wouldn’t even make eye contact with us after that.

A Hospital Staffed Entirely By Grinches

, , , , , , , , , , | Healthy | December 25, 2025

CONTENT WARNING: Death

 

I’m visiting my family for the holidays, and on Christmas Day, I have this horrible chest pain that’s making it hard to breathe. I go to lie down and rest, but hours later, it’s feeling worse. No urgent cares are open on Christmas, so we decide to go to the Emergency Room.

The intake nurse is taking my vitals and asking for general information.

Nurse: “What’s your date of birth?”

Me: “[Birthdate].”

Nurse: “Any children?”

Me: “No.”

Nurse: “But you’re thirty-five.”

Me: “Yeah.”

Nurse: “My friend is thirty-two and doing In Vitro. You should really look into it.”

Hours later, I’m waiting on a cot in the hallway, and the finance person comes for my insurance information. After several questions about my policy number, etc., she asks me:

Finance: “Who is your emergency contact?”

Me: “My husband.”

I give his name. His surname is different from mine as I didn’t change mine when we married. The finance person puts down her clipboard and sighs.

Finance: “So, his name is [Husband]. Are y’all actually even married?”

Another hour later, I’m still on the cot, and I hear a commotion. A man is wheeled in who has died of a heart attack. His family comes in after him, reacting in confusion and horror as they realize what has happened.

A doctor passing by says to a nurse:

Doctor: “Geez, they’re loud. What’s all this fuss about?”

I am never going back to that hospital again.

The Grinch That Managed A Coffee Shop

, , , , , , , | Working | December 23, 2025

I’m working at a coffee shop in a mall. It’s December 23, and I’ll be taking Christmas Eve off to be with my family in my hometown, a couple of hours away; I’m expecting to be back to work on Boxing Day.

As I’m getting my stuff together once my shift is over, I check my voicemail on my phone. My mother has left me a message telling me to call her right away; I do, and she tells me my grandfather has passed away.

Merry f****** Christmas, right? 

I quietly leave the break room, pull my manager over, and, struggling to keep it together, explain that I will not be able to return to work for four extra days.

Do I get an “of course, take all the time you need”? How about an “I’m so sorry”? At the outside, “Yeah, okay.”?

Nope. I get an eye roll and a:

Manager: “You know, this is really not a great time for you to be asking for favours like this. I suppose you can’t come in tomorrow instead to make up for the time you’ll be away?”

I pick my jaw up off the floor and say:

Me: “No. I need to be with my family. Because, you know, my grandfather just died?”

Manager: “Hmm. Are you sure you’re going to need so much time?”

I feel I behave extremely well in not dissolving into incoherent tears or screaming in her face as I explain that the logistics of travelling from coastal British Columbia to a small town in Saskatchewan for a funeral in late December (which I believe is the scientific opposite of fun) rather preclude the possibility that I can be back more than a couple days before New Year’s, when we’ll be in the post-Christmas lull anyway. 

After many sighs and another reminder that the loss of my last living grandparent is terribly inconvenient for my manager, I’m finally able to leave. 

There’s a shop across the hall whose employees often get coffee at my workplace. One of those employees sees me leaving in tears, runs out, and asks me what’s wrong.

Yup. Someone who’s also run off her a** during the Christmas rush takes time to notice a person she barely knows looking sad and comes over to comfort her. So, the idea that my boss was too harried and stressed to even say “I’m sorry for your loss” cuts very little ice with me.