A Cent’s Worth Of Satisfaction Is Priceless  

, , , , , | Right | January 6, 2020

(I have recently been hired at a chain store in a small town. I’m manning the cash register on a very busy day. My current customer hands me a $10 bill to pay, and I pause to see if she starts digging for change.)

Me: “Out of ten?” *punches buttons on register*

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: *starts counting out change*

Customer: “Here.” *hands me a nickel*

(I’m not good at mental math, and this random nickel confuses me enough that I lose track of my counting.)

Customer: “You need to give me $3.02. I’m an accountant.”

(I try and fail to do the math in my head, partly because the customer keeps repeating that I owe her $3.02 because she’s an accountant. After several long seconds, I give up and pull out a pen and scrap paper.)

Customer: *in a very condescending tone* “I told you, I’m an accountant! I know this, and you owe me $3.02!”

Me: *finishes calculations* “Okay, ma’am, your change is $3.03. Have a good day.”

(The customer actually flounced out of the store in a huff. One cent isn’t much, but I admit to taking some small satisfaction in the accountant being wrong in her math.)

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It’s Okay, Buddha Forgave You A Long Time Ago

, , , , | Right | January 6, 2020

(I’ve just finished ringing up a woman who has otherwise been quiet.)

Me: “Okay, you’re all set. Thank you!”

Woman: “Thanks. Oh, do you know any nail salons run by white people?”

Me: “I… no?”

Woman: *shaking her head* “There’s one down the hall, but I don’t want my nails done by foreigners who believe in Buddha. Oh, well. Thanks, anyway!”

(Setting aside how shocked — and baffled — I was by her attitude, I have to wonder how she thought someone with uneven nails and chipped polish in mismatched colors would even know where a nail salon is outside the area they work in. When I told her about it, my manager said the only salon she knows of run by white people is in an extremely shady part of town.)

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Proving Them Wrong Is An Endorphin Rush  

, , , | Right | January 6, 2020

(I’m working part-time in a small, privately-owned store that specializes in Austrian sweets and generally high-quality products. Because we are located both in the historic part of the city and near a rather posh, well-known big store, we get a lot of tourists, as well as rich people. One night, a sophisticated-looking gentleman in his 50s enters; he seems to be in a hurry.)

Me: “Good evening, sir. Are you looking for something special today?”

Customer: *says nothing, but is looking at our chocolate truffles from an Austrian producer*

Me: “Here we have our chocolates from [Producer]. Are you interested in them? We’ve got some new flavours.”

Customer: “Why are they called ‘endorphins’?”

Me: “Oh, [Producer] has two kinds of chocolates. One comes in squares and the round ones are called ‘endorphins’. For example, we have strawberry endorphins, pumpkin seed endorphins, and lemon endorphins. [Producer] likes to give his products special names. Can I get you some of them?”

Customer: “Can I get two of those eggnog chocolate sticks?”

Me: “All right, of course, here you go.” *hands him his choice and finishes the transaction*

Customer: “You know, you really shouldn’t use foreign words if you don’t know what they mean!”

Me: *dumbfounded* “Are you talking about the endorphins? I’m well aware that those are the so-called happiness hormones. I’ve just assumed you know this, too. Have a nice evening!” *turns around*

Customer: *leaves*

(Although he seemed to be in a hurry, he took his time to “test” my general knowledge and wanted me to fail. You know, just because I’m working to pay my rent while studying law doesn’t mean I’m dumb. And even if I was a full-time cashier, there is no need to assume that those guys are, just to be clear.)

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Unfiltered Story #180842

, , | Unfiltered | January 5, 2020

(I work in a retail store that has a pharmacy. The pharmacy staff are separate from the retail staff, work at different counters, and generally don’t have much interaction. I am working at the retail counter when I hear the pharmacist in a disagreement with a customer over their insurance details. From where I am, I can’t really see what’s happening or hear the particulars of the conversation. A few minutes later, I ring up an unrelated customer who apparently witnessed the argument.)

Customer: “Your pharmacist does not treat customers very well.”

(I don’t know what happened, and I don’t know the pharmacist very well, so I can neither agree nor disagree. I say some vaguely sympathetic things, since I know people like to let off steam when they think someone’s done wrong.)

Customer: “I feel sorry for you having to work under her.”

(Now I’m rather irritated. For one thing, I don’t work under or even with the pharmacist. For another, I find the customer’s pity pretentious and insensitive, since she has no idea how I actually feel about working here, or how I feel about the coworker that she’s bad-mouthing to my face.)

Customer: “Pharmacists think they’re above everyone, so they treat customers like they don’t matter. She’s just so incompetent.”

(She doesn’t actually explain what happened, but continues going on about how awful the pharmacist was. I continue to say vaguely sympathetic things, but try my best not to express overt agreement or disagreement. As she’s leaving:)

Customer: *as if imparting great wisdom* “I suggest you find work elsewhere.”

Me: “…” *in my usual cheerful tone* “Have a great weekend.”

(Sure, I’m going to go find another job just because a customer I don’t know claims that someone I don’t work with was mean to another customer. The pharmacist later told me that she was more upset by this customer than the customers she had been arguing with in the first place.)

Not Understanding The Prints-iple  

, , , | Right | January 4, 2020

(My printer, ink, and cartridge store opens at 9:15 in the morning. It’s 8:55 and I’m getting everything ready when a customer comes in. I smile and greet them.)

Me: “Hello, how can I help you?”

Customer: *muttering* “I thought you opened at 8:30. I waited for more than half an hour.”

Me: “I’m sorry. How can I help you?”

Customer: “Some days ago you give me these cartridges for my printer, but they don’t fit in!”

(I check the printer code, and the cartridges are right.)

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but the cartridges are correct. Their shape is slightly different because even the cartridge shape is copyrighted, but they’re correct. Did you hear the click putting them in?”

Customer: “No, they don’t click! My printer doesn’t recognize them!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but they are right. If you bring your printer here I’ll put them in for you.”

(We repeat the same two lines of dialogue for three minutes with small variations.)

Me: “Sir, listen to me. If you bring your printer here and I can’t put the cartridges in, I’ll give you the XL version original free of charge.”

Customer: “No, no. Bringing the printer here from [Small Town less than twenty minutes by car]? I’ll try again, and if I can’t, that means that [Business] doesn’t care about their customers!”

Me: “As you wish, sir.”

(Before you complain about me betting against the customer, I have variations of this dialogue at least once every few days, and every time when the customers come with the printer the faulty cartridges magically fit and the printer works perfectly. I may have been slightly condescending in the end but again, after a while, repeating the same thing over and over gets annoying.)

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