A woman comes up to my register.

Customer: “What is the price of this protein bar?”

Every item in the store has a physical price tag because we don’t have scanners at the register. I take it from her and flip it over.

Me: “It’s $2.49 before tax.”

Customer: “But how much would the case be?”

Normally, we do discounts for cases, but they have to be ordered ahead of time, so I start explaining.

Me: “We can’t do a discount unless—”

Customer: *Cutting me off aggressively* “I didn’t ask for a discount!”

I type in $2.49 times twelve, add tax, and tell her the final price. She stares me down for a few seconds.

Customer: “Get your manager.”

Once my manager arrived, she spent literally ten minutes tearing into me, describing me as the least helpful person ever, talking about my bad attitude, complaining about how awful and rude I was, etc.

I was working nearly full time (35.5 hours per week) and commuting to a school over an hour away four days a week. This lady took the time out of her day to break me down to the point I started crying. Thanks, lady, I still remember you. I hope you enjoyed your friggin’ protein bars.

One evening, my wife was telling me about her day. It seems that an old lady had sent her work a letter threatening to sue them for a slip-and-fall injury sustained on their premises.

When they looked at the camera recordings of the incident, they could clearly see the old lady walk onto the doormat in the front entrance, spot a patch of wet mat, go over to it, make an exaggerated slipping motion, and then very carefully lie down on the floor before calling for help.

My wife isn’t sure what will happen about it, since it went straight to the company’s lawyer, but I can imagine the old lady won’t get any satisfaction out of it.

Also, the old lady happened to be my best friend’s grandmother.

I am a supervisor working for a retail chain that has “World Market” in the name. A woman approaches my cashier pushing a cart full of obviously-used throw pillows.

Customer: “I want to return these.”

Cashier: “Do you have a receipt?”

Customer: “No. Just look me up in the system.”

Cashier: “Can I get your name and phone number?”

Customer: *Yelling* “You don’t need all that! Just look me up!”

I step in to tell her very politely and calmly:

Me: “Ma’am, you either need a receipt or you need to provide us your name and phone number.”

Customer: *Screeching* “You’re all idiots! If you don’t want to be fired, I want an apology from the president of the world!”

I’m certain she meant the president of “World Market,” but in her fury, she said, “the president of the world,” and I barely held it together as I calmly offered her the corporate feedback number.

She didn’t take it and instead walked out of the store still yelling and without her cart of dirty pillows. She returned about twenty minutes later, quietly apologized, and took her pillows with her. We never heard from her again.

It’s Black Friday and I’m standing at the customer service desk. Our store has decided to try to space out sales this year. For example, from six to eight, women’s T-shirts, camping equipment, and video games are on sale. From eight to ten, baby clothes, toys, and candy are on sale. This is intended to keep people spread out so that the whole store is not mobbed, and people can plan their shopping accordingly.

Around 6:30 am, right after our sales began, a man built like a brick wall comes up to the desk carrying a bike with training wheels.

Me: “Hi, how can I help you?”

Customer: “This bike isn’t on sale.”

He points to the Black Friday ad on the wall.

Customer: “But your ad says it is.”

Me: “The bike sales are at ten; that’s why it’s not coming up at the sale price.”

Customer: “No, it’s [sale price] because that’s what your ad says.”

Me: “At ten.”

He begins flexing his muscles and rotating his shoulders.

Customer: “This. Bike. Is. On. Sale.”

Me: “At ten. Is there anything else?”

Customer: *Picks up the bike with one hand* “Sell me this bike or I will throw it at your f****** head.”

Me: “You can leave, sir.”

Customer: “F*** you, you low-life c***.”

Though my heart was beating out of my chest, I walked calmly into the back office and locked the door, watching on the CCTV as I called for security. The man threw the bike at the door, screaming and swearing. Our local police officers were on site that night — because, you know, big sales make people crazy — and came to remove the man from the store. It took several of them to get him out of the store, and only after he had been pepper-sprayed, wrestled to the ground, and cuffed did he leave.

Quite some time ago, my girlfriend and I (now my wife of more than fifteen years) moved in together and had to set up everything: cable, Internet, phone, etc. We got our home phone number, our two cell phones, and we were off to the races.

Almost immediately, we started getting calls for an establishment that does custom framing and various other art-related things. Of course, we had caller ID, and we had friends that would call us, but inevitably, if we didn’t recognize the number, it was someone wanting to find out if their order was complete, or their frame was done, or what their hours were, or any of a thousand other questions.

I’m sure anyone else who has had this happen will recognize this exchange.

Us: “Sorry, that’s no longer their number. This is a residence.”

Us: “Yes, I’m sure.”

Us: “No, I’m not giving you my address.”

Us: “No, I don’t know their new number.”

Us: “Yes, I have a phone book, but so do you.”

After a thousand of these, we changed the message on our answering machine to say, “This is not, I repeat not, [Art Shop]. If you are trying to reach [Art Shop], please hang up, look up their number, and try that, because we aren’t them.”

Eventually, I got my gazillionth call.

Me: “Where do people keep getting this number?”

Caller #1: “It’s printed on my receipt. I guess I’ll just call this other number.”

Me: “Any chance you can give me that number? Thanks!”

I called the other number.

Owner: “Hello, [Art Shop].”

Me: “You guys are still giving out my home phone number on your receipts.”

Owner: “Yeah. So?”

Me: “Well, f****** stop it. It’s been at least a year since you haven’t had that number. At least cross it out or something.”

Owner: “That’s a pain in the a**. I’m not making my employees do that.”

Me: “So, you’re the manager?”

Owner: “I’m the owner.”

Me: “So, let me see if I have this right. You, what was your name again?”

Owner: “[Owner].”

Me: “You, [Owner], have decided that it’s too inconvenient to cross my home phone number off of your receipts, so you’re just going to keep giving it out?”

Owner: “What are you gonna do? Sue me?”

Me: “Maybe.”

Owner: “Whatever. I’ve got s*** to do. Bye.”

I called a lawyer, but I didn’t really have a leg to stand on.

I went to the store and asked for the owner.

Employee: “[Owner]’s not here. He’s hardly ever here, really. You want me to call him?”

Me: “No, I’m fine. I know this is going to sound odd, but is there any chance I can see one of your receipts?”

She picked up a receipt book and showed it to me. Sure enough, it had my phone number at the top, above another one.

Me: “I thought so. I couldn’t get you at the other number, some guy yelled at me, and I didn’t have my old receipt, so I had to come down here.”

Employee: “We’ve been having that happen a lot, ever since [Owner] decided we didn’t need two phone lines. But he had just bought like twenty boxes of these receipt books and business cards, and he’s too cheap to buy more until they run out. I’d hate to be that guy.”

Me: “Yeah, that’s gotta suck.”

I went home and hatched my evil plan. The next time I got a call from a number I didn’t recognize:

Me: “Hello, [Art Shop].”

Caller #2: “Hi, this is [Caller #2]. I dropped off [item] last week to be framed. Is it ready?”

Me: “Let me check. Yup. We finished it this morning. I hope you don’t mind, but we decided to upgrade the matting because of the weight of the piece. It’s the same color, and we won’t be charging you for it, since it was my decision.”

Caller #2: “Oh, thank you. I’ll be down to pick it up later today. What time do you close?”

I look down at the business card, with my number and the hours clearly marked 11:00 to 4:00.

Me: “Take your time; we’ll be here until 7:00.”

Caller #2: “Thank you so much. Can you tell me how much that was?”

Me: “$19.99, ma’am, plus tax, so $21.39.”

Caller #2: “Wow, that’s cheap. Are you sure?”

Me: “Of course. If anyone has a problem, tell them you talked to [Owner].”

Caller #2: “Okay, see you around 6:00.”

Me: “See you then. Thank you for calling [Art Shop].”

For WEEKS I kept giving out completely random information.

“How much is a 36″x48″ matted frame?” “Let’s say $24.99.” “Wow, that’s cheap. How much to have it done custom, how I want it?” “Custom is an extra $10, so $34.99.” “Wow, that’s cheap. I’ll be right down. What was your name?” “[Owner].” “See you in ten, [Owner].”

“How much to have the entire front page of the New York Times from 9/11 mounted and framed?” “$33.99, unless you want our special, proprietary newspaper frame and mat service, only $49.99 and guaranteed for life, only at [Art Shop]. Tell them [Owner] sent you.”

I can only imagine the number of pissed-off people who showed up to pick up orders that weren’t ready, and when they finally were, they were given a price WAAAAY higher than what “[Owner]” had told them over the phone.

Eventually, someone let slip that “they called the number on the receipt, and that’s what [Owner] had told them.” [Owner] was NOT happy.

Me: “Hello, thank you for calling [Art Shop]. This is [Owner].”

Owner: “YOU’RE NOT [OWNER]! I’M [OWNER]! ARE YOU TRYING TO PUT ME OUT OF BUSINESS?!”

Me: “Why, [Owner], whatever do you mean?”

Owner: “Someone has been giving prices to my customers and telling them their orders are in when they’re not due for weeks.”

Me: “Well, [Owner], who called them?”

Owner: “Nobody called them; they called us.”

Me: “Then what’s the problem? If someone called you and got pricing information, that would seem to be your problem.”

Owner: “They didn’t call me; they called you.”

Me: “Well, how would that happen?”

Owner: “Your number is on my receipts and business cards.”

Me: “My, my. It seems to me there’s a very simple solution here. Take my number off your receipts and business cards.”

Owner: “Do you have any idea how much promotional materials cost?”

Me: “Is it more than it costs to do these jobs for the prices you’re quoting? Is it more than it costs to lose customers, or less than that?”

Owner: “This is extortion!”

Me: “Call it what you want, [Owner]. The choices, and consequences, are entirely up to you.”

A week later:

Me: “Hello, [Art Shop]. This is [Owner].”

Owner: “I’VE ORDERED NEW RECEIPT BOOKS AND CARDS! CAN YOU PLEASE STOP THIS BULLS***!”

Me: “Sure. Bye, [Owner]!”

I didn’t let him off the hook until the calls stopped, but it was only a week or so after he called me back. He must have paid for expedited shipping.

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