I Bet A Thousand Bucks That You’re Wrong

, , , , , , | Working | January 18, 2019

(I work at a store that sells lottery tickets. We can pay cash prizes if we have enough money in the till. For loss-prevention reasons, we don’t keep a float and we aren’t allowed to add cash to the tills from the safe. The only influx of cash into our tills is from people buying things with cash. So, if we don’t have enough cash in the till to pay a prize, the customer has to take their ticket somewhere else. Our tills are also swapped out with every shift change, so the time of day is no guarantee that there will be a lot of cash in the till. I have just started my shift, and one of my very first customers has a ticket that has won $200. Because the amount is so high, the machine asks if I am able to pay. I know for a fact that I can’t, so I press, “No”, and the machine returns the ticket and creates a printout telling the customer what their prize amount is and where else they can go to get it. I give the ticket and the printout to the customer and explain.)

Me: “Unfortunately, I don’t have enough cash in my till to pay this, but there’s a [Convenience Store] upstairs that might be able to-–”

Customer: “Oh, I don’t like this. I don’t want to carry my winning ticket around until I can find someone who can pay it. You shouldn’t be selling lottery here if you can’t pay this. You’re supposed to be able to pay up to $1,000!”

(Our training isn’t very thorough, so at the time I have no idea if what she’s saying is true. I ask my colleague on the other cash register if she has enough in her till, but she doesn’t. I flag down the assistant manager to find out if there’s any way we can pay the customer’s prize. He confirms that we can’t add cash from the safe, and reiterates that she can try the convenience store upstairs.)

Customer: “You’re supposed to be able to pay up to $1,000.”

(To my surprise, my assistant manager doesn’t contradict her, and actually seems a bit sheepish.)

Manager: “Unfortunately, we don’t have enough cash in our till.”

Customer: “You should have a float. You shouldn’t be selling lottery if you can’t pay this. You really shouldn’t.”

(My assistant manager just reiterates that we can’t pay it, and eventually she leaves.)

Me: “Are we really supposed to be able to pay up to $1,000?”

Manager: “Technically, yeah.”

Me: “What?! But then how do we get away with that? We need to be approved by OLG, right? If this is a requirement, can’t we get in trouble for not keeping enough cash on hand?”

Manager: “I don’t know.”

Me: “That can’t be right. The machine asks, ‘Can you pay?’ if it’s over a certain amount, and if you say, ‘No’, it gives you that printout. It explicitly gives us the option not to pay. And they give us that machine, so it wouldn’t ask that if we were required to pay up to $1,000, right? I’m going to look this up.”

(When I got home that night, I looked it up. The OLG website said, “Every retailer can pay up to — and including — $50. Retailers have the option to pay up to $999.90 — as long as they have the cash available.” In other words, we can pay up to $999.90 if we are able and willing, but we aren’t actually required to pay any amount higher than $50. I texted my assistant manager this information. The next morning, he called OLG to confirm that this was correct, and then he printed out that webpage, highlighted that sentence, and left it behind the lottery counter, so that if any customer ever made that claim again, we’d have an actual response for them.)

Behaving Like A Rugrat

, , , , , , , | Right | January 18, 2019

(I am a cashier, checking out a woman who has random bits and bobs, including a rug. She is on her phone the whole time, speaking French — we are in England. When I pick up the rug I am shocked to see a competitor name on the rug tag. I have to leave the till a moment and show my manager that a competitor rug has shown up in our stock.)

Manager: “We can’t sell it to her; it’s not our stock.”

Me: “Can I just scan another rug and sell it to her at that price, one the same size or something? They’re not going to get this rug back and we can’t keep it.”

Manager: “No, we can’t sell it. Just tell her what has happened and get another rug for her that looks the same.”

(I sigh, knowing he is right but it would just be easier for everyone, and go to explain to the customer what has happened.)

Customer: “Why can’t I have this rug?”

Me: “Because it is from a competitor’s store, and I can’t even begin to explain how it got here.”

(I unroll the rug and show her the tag; it clearly says the other store’s name on it. All the while, she is holding her phone to her chest as I speak to her. I set the rug aside and finish scanning all her items and put them in the trolley for her. She then goes to remove the rug and place it in the trolley.)

Me: “I’m sorry, I can’t sell you that rug.”

(I pick it up and place it behind the till where she can’t get it; she gives me a dirty look.)

Customer: “Why can’t I have that rug?”

Me: “Because it is from a competitor’s store and I have no idea how it got here, but it is not our rug to sell. I’m sorry, but my manager told me not to sell it. I can I get you another one, maybe?”

Customer: “Yeah, whatever.”

(She then goes back to speaking in French on the phone, and I wonder if she is talking about me to the person on the other end. I go and check the rug aisle but find there is nothing matching the rug in colour or size, so I go back and explain to her the situation. She pulls the phone away from her ear.)

Customer: “Now listen to me. I need that rug. Now, just pick it up and sell it to me.”

Me: “I’m sorry, it’s out of my hands. Can I get you anything else?”

Customer: “Yeah, help me with my stuff to my car.”

(I do, and I find her trying to get a huge mirror and everything else in a two-door coupe with the roof down. She doesn’t help me unload the trolley, and doesn’t thank me at all or acknowledge me, so I sling the last bag onto her seat and set off with the trolley back into my store. I’m sorry, guys, but she was just a horribly rude person. After I return to my till and serve a few more customers, she reappears.)

Customer: “Where the h*** is my rug?”

Only Other Options Are Floo Powder Or Get Scotty To Beam You

, , , , | Right | January 18, 2019

Customer: “So, how do I get to your location?”

Me: “Well, from Highway 65 take the…”

Customer: “Wait, how do I get to Highway 65 from [vague description of starting point].”

Me: “Umm… You would have to get to Highway 80 first before finding Highway 65…”

Customer: “Oh, I can’t stand Highway 80, and I won’t drive it. What’s ‘The Other Way’ to get to your location?”

(Pause.)

Me: “Oh, you mean the secret way?”

Customer: “Sure, whatever you want to call it.”

Me: “Well… to avoid the highways you could take [Road #1] to [Road #2], to [Road #3]…”

Customer: “No, I don’t care for that part of town. Too many traffic lights.”

(Longer pause.)

Customer: “So, no, really, how do I get to your location?”

Me: “Umm… Adopt Jesus as your copilot and pray. Have a blessed day!”

(Click.)

Painting A Picture Of Inconsideration

, , | Right | January 17, 2019

(I work in a cafe that also has a shop next door, owned by the same people. Employees often flit between the two when one gets busy, so we’re pretty versed with both. Today, the employee tasked with the shop has gone home sick, and as we’re a bit short-staffed in the cafe, I decide to close the shop, but can’t lock the door yet due to fire safety regulations. After a while, I hear the bell of the shop door go, but I assume it’s a coworker and carry on my business. When no coworker comes through, I go to investigate and find two women stumbling in the dark among the stock brought in from outside that is now in the aisle, obstructing their path.)

Me: “Hello?”

Customer #1: “Yes, hello. We want to look around but it’s a bit difficult with this mess.”

Customer #2: *snootily* “Don’t you have any lights in this place?”

Me: “Actually, I’ve turned the lights off because we are closed.”

(The customers now become a bit more polite.)

Customer #2: “Oh! Sorry about that! We didn’t notice the sign on the door!”

(I’m wondering how they didn’t notice the fact that it was dark and deserted!)

Customer #1: “I just really wanted to look at this one particular item. Would you mind if I just had a quick peek?”

(I do really mind, but I’ve been told off before for being too blunt with customers, so I try to be accommodating.)

Me: “Yeah, sure, what item would that be?”

Customer #1: “That painting up there!”

(She points to a painting hanging just within reach for me, and as I’m the tallest one there, she makes me get it down so that she can get a closer look. By this point I’ve turned on some lights so I don’t trip and break a leg myself.)

Customer #1: “Oh, no, that’s not as nice as I thought it was. What about that one over there?”

(I then have to take down multiple paintings and other items for her to view, turning on more lights as I go, and leaving the paintings to put back up at the end. She selects some that she likes, and then moves on to other types of items in the shop, again picking some that she likes. I think that, if I’m going to get told off for staying late past closing time, at least I can argue my case with an expensive sale!)

Customer #2: *after a good fifteen minutes* “Ah, now, [Customer #1], we’d best get going. This girl wants to go home!”

Customer #1: “Oh, yes, I’m so sorry I kept you past closing! I won’t buy these now, then, and waste any more of your time. Can you hold them for me, and I’ll come in later on in the week when you’re open?”

(They then left empty-handed, leaving me standing in a fully-lit shop surrounded by items I had to put back. The most painful part? She never came back!)

Racing Carts

, , , , , | Right | January 16, 2019

There’s very limited counter space at the checkout of the dollar store where I work, yet, without fail, semi-weekly there’s customers that decide they can pile all of their shopping cart onto it and I’ll manage to pick through it. Sometimes the people making the mountain are quite especially idiotic, and here is one such story.

I worked in fast food before the dollar store, so my speed is bizarrely quick. A middle-aged woman piles her mountain high carts — yes, two full shopping carts — onto the counter, almost appearing to attempt to race my flying hands. While continuing to empty her cart, at times not looking at the counter, and perhaps being blind to it entirely, the customer starts dropping items onto the floor. Eventually, she breaks a bottle of juice on the floor. The woman glares at me instead of accepting responsibly.

I say simply, “Perhaps you can take a rest on emptying your cart, as I now have to mop up the juice before you or another customer is injured.” I then take my sweet time putting up signage and cleaning up the spill. After this passes, it seems her mood has, as well, and she apologizes for her earlier behavior.

Patience is priceless.

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