Out Of State, Out Of Mind, Part 2

, | TN, USA | Right | December 29, 2014

(I manage a customer service department for a company that sells aftermarket automotive accessories. We needed to confirm a shipping address to ship a product to a customer because the address that the customer entered during the online checkout process wasn’t coming up as valid in our system – so we called the customer for verification.)

Customer: “Hello?”

Rep: “Yes, ma’am, this is [Rep] from [Company] and we are needing to verify your shipping address because it’s unfortunately not coming up as valid.”

Customer: “Umm, what do ya’ll have down?”

Rep: *reads off address*

Customer: “Yeah, that’s it.”

(I had already googled the zip code provided and have now figured out the problem. The customer put in the state as Iowa but, to our disbelief, the address and Zip code links her to Ohio.)

Rep: “Ma’am, according to your Zip code you’re in Ohio and not Iowa.”

Customer: “Oh, no, that can’t be right. I’ve lived in Iowa for 10 years at least. Who are you to tell me where I do and don’t live anyway? I just want my stuff shipped! THIS IS A CHRISTMAS PRESENT AND YOU WILL RUIN MY CHRISTMAS IF I DON’T GET IT!”

(We have since pulled up Google maps and located her residence to be certain. We are positive that she really lives in Ohio and not Iowa since the address is still matching our search results and at this point everyone in the office is listening since the rep has graciously put her on speaker phone.)

Rep: “Okay, ma’am, just to double check…” *proceeds to describe the customers residence to the customer*

Customer: “Wow, that’s exactly what my house looks like. Ya’ll are some smart people! Where are ya’ll located?”

Rep: “Our office is in Tennessee, and where do you live again?”

Customer: “IOWA! Gosh what is so hard to understand about that?”

Rep: “I’m sorry ma’am. We’ve got this worked out and we are shipping your package today, to Iowa.” *but really to her confirmed address in Ohio*

(The rep finished up the phone call and hung up. We shipped the package and a few days later we called to confirm that the customer received her package. She did, in Ohio according to the UPS tracking number.)

 

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A Flashing Light-Bulb Moment

| Reading, England, UK | Right | December 29, 2014

(I work for a major DIY store and often work on the returns desk. One day a customer comes in carrying a bag from one of our competitors. From it he pulls a box of Christmas tree lights.)

Customer: “I’ve bought these lights, and they keep flashing. I don’t want them to flash; I want them to stay on all the time.”

(I look at the box of lights and notice they clearly have the name of the competitor on them.)

Me: “I’ll just stop you there, sir. These lights were bought at [Competitor] and this is [My Store].”

(The customer looks at his lights, looks at me and my uniform, and finally the light bulb goes on.)

Customer: “Bloody h***, I’ve just come from there!”

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Going Through A Spell Of Spelling

| Austin, TX, USA | Working | December 29, 2014

(I work at a popular home improvement store. The following conversation occurs between me and three coworkers. Note: I’m 21 and female, Coworker #1 is 25 and a new mom, Coworker #2 is female and 60, and Coworker #3 is male and in his 50s. Coworker #1 is explaining about ‘fajas’ which are like Mexican Spanx.)

Coworker #1: “So, my friend makes them specifically for each person. It really works. It’s breathable and comfortable.”

Coworker #2: “How much does it cover?”

Coworker #1: “Depends. Usually from your shoulders to about mid-thigh.”

Me: “How much do they usually cost?”

Coworker #1: “Eh… around $120, but it really, really works.”

Coworker #2: “Is it like tank top straps? How thick are they?”

Coworker #1: “Oh, they’re pretty thin. Like an inch or so thick.”

Coworker #2: “And do you wear your…” *glances at Coworker #3 nervously* “…B-R-A over it?”

Me & Coworker #1: *bursts out laughing*

Coworker #3: *fake confused frown* “B-R-A? Jeez, I wonder what that could be. Let me Google it.”

Coworker #2: *blushes* “Oh, I can’t believe I just did that.”

Me: “I can’t believe either. You really thought [Coworker #3] wouldn’t know what B-R-A spells?”

Coworker #2: “Well, it’s just like when I used to do C-A-N-D-Y when my boys were little… but then they’d tell me they knew how to spell.”

Coworker #3: “Still trying to Google B-R-A over here.”

Sadly That’s A Wrap

| FL, USA | Right | December 27, 2014

(While I work at this store normally, I’m in on my day off, and not dressed at all in uniform. I am about as far as you can get from our uniform, which requires a button down, and apron, and pants. I’m wearing a dress. A woman approaches me as I am doing my shopping.)

Woman: “Don’t you work here?”

Me: *thinking she has been in before and recognized me, which isn’t uncommon* “Yes, ma’am. I’m just in today doing some shopping—”

Woman: “—wrap these.” *shoves several items to be gift wrapped at me*

Me: “Ma’am, I can’t wrap those for you. I’m a guest today, just like you. I’m not actually working.”

Woman: “Why are you refusing to help me? Just wrap them. I’s not that hard!”

Me: “No, it’s not. It’s also not hard to understand that when I am not clocked in, I am not obligated to do anything for you, or anyone else who walks through that door. And anyway, there is an employee just over there who would be more than happy to wrap your purchases.”

Woman: “No. I asked you, so you are going to do it! You work here and I am the customer!”

(This argument goes around in circles for several more turns, the woman refusing to acknowledge the fact that I am not technically required to help her.)

Me: *giving up* “What color paper would you like, ma’am?”

Woman: “Finally! The Christmas paper. And all of these are to be wrapped separately.”

(I end up spending thirty minutes wrapping this woman’s presents, just to get her to shut up and leave. My coworker, who would of had to deal with her had I not been there, bought me a coffee as thanks for not forcing the woman on her, instead.)

Restoring Faith In Humanity All Over The Snow Globe

| USA | Right | December 26, 2014

(Around Christmas, I’m at a large convenience store buying groceries when I hear the sound of glass breaking and a child’s shriek. I drop what I am doing and run to the aisle to find a two- or three-year-old boy staring at a shattered snow globe. The poor kid bursts into tears:)

Boy: “I sorry, Mommy! I sorry!”

(To her credit, the mom remains completely calm and assures her son that she knew he hadn’t done it on purpose, but that she would have to pay for it. I start clearing away the glass to keep the toddler from getting cut while his mother tries to calm him when an employee shows up.)

Employee: “Oh, my goodness! Are you okay, sweetie?”

Boy: *sobbing* “I sorry! I broke it!”

Employee: *grabbing a broom* “It’s okay, honey. That’s why they’re called accidents. Just stand over there with your mommy so this glass doesn’t cut you.”

(She kept up a stream of friendly chatter the whole time, reassuring the boy that he wasn’t in trouble. She was so sweet, whoever she was!)

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