I own a hobby shop that sells plastic model kits, etc. One day a male customer came in and purchased a model of the Hindenburg (1930’s zeppelin).
The next day he returned and asked for his money back. I asked why? He stated when he opened the box it looked nothing like the box art!
I had to explain to him it was a model and that you made it!
Me: “All right, so, your total today is [total].”
Customer: “Even with the 40%?”
Me: “Um, well, the only thing that you got on sale today was this shirt and it was an additional 50% off the clearance price. We don’t have any shirts in the store today for 40% off.”
Customer: “And the other shirts?”
Me: “Those are full price today.”
Customer: “Why?”
Me: “Um… because they’re not on sale.”
Customer: “Why?”
Me: “They… they just aren’t. They’re selling at the full price. I don’t—”
Customer: “Never mind, I don’t want any of it.”
(I have just spent over an hour helping this woman find everything she wants in the sizes she wants. She has interrupted me every time I try to help another customer. She has changed her mind on all the items and what sizes will work multiple times before coming to the cash register, and then she’s gone through and changed a bunch of things again while holding up the line. I am extremely relieved that she has finally let me ring her through, and I keep shooting apologetic looks to the customers behind her.)
Me: “Your total is $165.42.”
Customer: “Okay…”
(She opens her purse and hands me five $20 bills. It takes me a moment to realise she isn’t searching for more money.)
Me: “So, that’s $100; I need $65.40.”
Customer: “Oh!”
(The customer reaches into her purse again and starts dropping $1 and $2 coins on the table, along with some other change. She makes no attempt to count this, just shoves it in my direction.)
Me: “Okay, so that’s… 2, 4, 6, 8, 10… 20… 30… 34.65…”
Customer: *getting agitated* “Fine, I’ll pay debit, and add that jacket on.”
Me: *after ringing in the jacket* “So… $195.25.”
(The customer does nothing; she doesn’t even take out her debit card.)
Me: “Did you want to put this cash towards it?”
Customer: *says nothing, just shoves the money in my direction again*
(I counted up the cash, needing paper to help me figure it all out, which apparently upset the customer, and when I told her what was owed on debit she looked surprised and told me to remove the jacket. The other customers in line were thankfully very nice about having to wait.)
(I’m a woman, and I’m in the feminine product aisle. I hear a loud noise behind me.)
Old Woman: “AHEM! Where are your [items]?”
Me: “I dunno. Try [the section likely to have said item].”
(I turn back, still trying find my preferred item.)
Old Woman: “EXCUSE ME! I ASKED YOU WHERE [ITEM] WAS!”
Me: “And I told you that I don’t know. Here’s a pro tip. Go find it yourself, or go ask someone who actually works here.”
(It is worth it to note that I am wearing a black shirt with [horned Disney Villain] on it. It is very much NOT a uniform employees would be allowed to wear. I find my necessary package of product and put it into the basket on my arm, before turning around and walking away. I’ve moved on three more aisles when an enraged-looking manager suddenly looms over me.)
Manager: “What the f*** did you think you were doing?”
Me: “Beg pardon?”
Manager: “What. The f***. Did. You. Think. You. Were. Doing?”
Me: “I would appreciate some context, please?”
(While this is delivered in the most non-sarcastic, genuinely confused tone of voice I can muster, it sets him off.)
Manager: “Maybe you’re new to this, but the Christmas season? You know, the time when we have a bunch of customers pouring in to buy presents for their kids? Yeah, that’s happening right now, and you’re sitting here f****** around with your g**d*** baby wipes! And a customer who asked you an honest question doesn’t need your attitude.”
(I look to him, then the basket in my hand, then at my black [Disney villain] shirt, and back to him.)
Me: “I don’t—”
Manager: “I don’t care what you think!”
(He gets really close to me at this point, and actually backs me into a corner.)
Manager: “You need to work on your customer service skills!”
(I try to say my side, that I don’t work at this business, and that I’m trying to shop, and all that gets an explosion before I get two words out.)
Manager: “I’M NOT HERE TALKING TO YOU SO YOU CAN ARGUE BACK! YOU WILL LEARN RESPECT! YOU WILL SHUT UP AND ACTUALLY LISTEN TO ME! YOU WILL NOT ACT LIKE A SPOILED F****** BRAT TO CUSTOMERS—”
Me: “I didn-“
Manager: “STOP. TALKING. I DON’T WANT TO F****** HEAR IT. SHUT! UP! NOW! YOU’RE A WASTE OF SPACE! YOU’RE GOING TO GET YOUR F****** A** INTO MY OFFICE!”
Security Guard: “Excuse me. Just what the h*** is going on over here?!”
(This situation looks bad from every angle. I’m a woman, backed into a corner by a much taller, screaming man. I have this man in my face, screaming obscenities and abuse. Tears streaming down my face, I look at the security guard and scream hysterically:)
Me: “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, GET HIM AWAY FROM ME!”
(Somewhere in my hysterics, I vaguely recall reality had apparently snapped back into the manager’s brain, as he jumped back from me and spluttered something that sounded vaguely apologetic and explanatory. I have flashes of a lady leading me away from the scene, flashes of the security guard planted between myself and my assailant, and a single, crystal clear image of a box of tissues getting pressed into my hands. It took quite a bit of time to get me back into a position of “functioning human” and away from “blubbering, traumatized mess.” By the time I was stable again, police were very much involved. Statements were taken, and yes, I wanted to press charges against this psychopath. This couldn’t possibly be his first incident, after all. The company got in contact with me right away, doing a frantic dance of appeasement, apology, and PR rescue… but regardless, I don’t think I want to shop there again for a long while.)
(I work at a small children’s clothing store that prides itself on customer service. I’ve been working there long enough that I know generally how customers might react to different things, and can sometimes help them preemptively. A Chinese woman has just walked in with her husband and roughly three-year-old daughter, and they’ve immediately gone to the winter coats. Making a guess, I grab a couple coats that were put on hold earlier.)
Me: “Was it your mom who called earlier? Are you [Customer]?”
Customer: “Yes! How did you know?”
(The customer grabs the coats from me and speaks in Chinese while putting one on her daughter, looking at it critically and tugging at the bottom. I go and find a different style that’s shorter.)
Me: “Here, this one is shorter.”
Customer: “How did you know?”
(She switches back to Chinese, getting the girl to switch coats. The girl starts crying.)
Me: “If she really likes the other one, we can try the smaller size. I don’t think it will fit her for very long, though.”
(I hand her the smaller size in the original coat. The customer changes coats again. I think she agrees with me that it’s too small, since she switches back to the other coat. The girl is in tears again, and her mother begins carrying her while she and her husband look for something, still talking in Chinese.)
Me: “Mirror? At the back there.” *pointing*
Customer: “How did you know?”
(They find the mirror, and the girl stops crying, apparently liking this coat after all. I approach with a matching hat, gloves, and scarf. The little girl exclaims something that I assume is “kitty” in Chinese as she grabs the cat-ear hat out of my hand and tries to put it on. While her mom helps her with the hat, I grab a couple other items.)
Me: “If she likes cats, these are also good for winter.”
Customer: “How did you know?”
(Her daughter is now trying to carry all the cat-related items at once, but her little arms in the big puffy coat are making it difficult. Not seeing anything else I can help with, I go back to tidying the store until they approach the cash register, and I go back to help again.)
Customer: “Do you speak Chinese?”
Me: “No, sorry. I tried to learn once, but it was hard!”
(The customer seemed satisfied by this answer, maybe thinking I’d picked up a few words, and we had a little conversation about how different English and Chinese are while she checks out. Really, I tried and failed to learn to count in Chinese; body language and actions are just really easy to read sometimes.)
