(I’ve just started a new job in a new city. I’m going about my day when my coworker approaches me with a request.)

Coworker: “Could you work this Saturday for me? I’ve got to go this preschool orientation for my kid.”

Me: “I’m not certain. The owner says he needs experienced people on the weekend crew because he doesn’t come in and it’s just two people working. I also need to check with my husband to see if we have plans already.”

Coworker: “Well, if you take my shift, I’ll be willing to swap any other day when you need it! Like, for instance, if you want to go to a concert on a Friday, I’d be available to take the shift. I need all I can get because this school is expensive.”

Me: “Okay, if you’re willing to swap at a later date.”

(One week later, my husband and I hear that there is, coincidentally, a concert on a Friday that both my husband and I are very excited about. I call up the coworker to see if he can work my Friday shift. After exchanging the necessary pleasantries, I get down to business.)

Me: “So, remember when I worked your shift? Would you be available for my evening shift on the Friday after next? This way you’d be able to spend some extra quality time with your son that you’ve said you’ve been missing since he started school.”

Coworker: “I don’t know; it’s such short notice, and I’d have to clear it with the wife and the schedule to see if I can make it. You know, us parents don’t have the same kind of free time that you and your boyfriend have got at the beginning of a relationship.”

Me: *feeling as though I had been duped and not appreciating the condescension* “Well, could you check? I’d also be willing to work another day for you, whenever you need it. You’re the last person I’m asking; everyone else is scheduled to work the Friday after next’s shift already, and this was going to be the way that we were going to celebrate our first wedding anniversary.”

Coworker: “Oh, I thought you were talking about this weekend! No, I can’t. I’ve got to be around the house all that week, preparing for our move.”

Me: “Oh, where are you moving to?”

Coworker: “The east coast. My parents have got us a great deal on a house and there’s a design business that hired me on. I was really lucky to get that job, but we’re kind of bummed that we’re going to have to move away. [Son] was getting along great in his school.”

Me: “Well, since I probably won’t see you again, best of luck.”

(When I got to work that weekend, because I picked up all of his shifts including a few on the weekdays, the regular employee told me that he’d known about this move since before we swapped shifts. He obviously had no intention whatsoever to return the favor and also lied about his kid being in preschool — he was in daycare — in order to gain sympathy.)

Related:
Shifty Behavior

(I work at a very popular girls’ clothing store. We sell large emoji pillows. A customer comes in and buys one large happy emoji, and one large poop emoji. We have bags large enough to hold them. After putting the happy emoji in a bag, I find myself saying this gem:)

Me: “Hmm. I don’t think I can squish the poop in this bag, too.”

(I work in antique shop. A customer approaches and gestures to an Art Deco lamp.)

Customer: “Excuse me, but does this come in any other color?”

Me: “Do you mean when it was originally manufactured?”

Customer: “I mean in stock.”

Me: “That’s a rare manufacturer; it’s actually the first I’ve ever seen one.”

Customer: “So, you don’t have one in blue?”

Me: “Would you like me to research if it was ever created in blue?”

Customer: “No, I want you to go in the back and get me a blue lamp!”

Me: “Sir… that lamp was made almost a hundred years ago, and the manufacturer has been out of business since World War Two. These are antiques.”

Customer: “So what? I don’t get customer service?”

Me: “Not the way you seem to think, no.”

(It’s a busy afternoon at our large store, and I’m working on the customer service desk. Opposite our desk is a display with two canvases. One is printed with a retro comic book and priced at £8.99. The other is a Doctor Who canvas priced at £12.99. A middle-aged woman with two children in tow approaches one of the cashiers.)

Customer: “This Doctor Who canvas is labelled as £12.99; is that how much it is?”

Cashier: “That’s right.”

Customer: “The other one is priced as £8.99, though. Check the Doctor Who canvas to make sure!”

(He scans it through the till and confirms it’s £12.99.)

Customer: “Ridiculous! The other one is £8.99!”

(She marches up to the customer service desk.)

Customer: “Why is that man telling me this is £12.99?”

Me: “Because it is £12.99.”

Customer: “But why is that £12.99 when the other is £8.99?”

Me: “Well… they’re two different items. They may be similar, but if you look at the product codes on the labels you’ll see they are different, so one price doesn’t apply to the other.”

Customer: “What?!”

(I notice she’s going red in the face and getting the wild-eyed look, so I try the empathetic approach.)

Me: “I know. I agree it’s pretty silly! They’re similar products, so that difference in price doesn’t make too much sense. Unfortunately, we just have to do what head office tells us!”

Customer: “How ridiculous. Change the price!”

Me: “Er… I can’t, I’m afraid. We don’t control the prices; those are the prices set by our head office.”

Customer: “Just sell me this one for £8.99!” *waves the Doctor Who canvas about*

Me: “I can’t just reduce it for you, I’m afraid. I don’t have any say in the prices. Would you like me to get you the number for the head office? If you want a product’s price changed, you’d need to speak to them about it.”

Customer: *shouting* “This is ridiculous! Why is it so expensive?!”

Me: “I… don’t know. No one in this store decided the price. All I can offer you is the number for the head office. I’m sorry.”

(The customer casts an evil glare at me and strides out, dragging her children behind her.)

Cashier: *laughs* “Wow.”

When my daughter was seven weeks old, she was diagnosed with a medical condition that required wearing an ugly harness under her clothes to fix her dislocated hip. This meant that she had to get a load of specialised clothing to fit over the top, and a lot of the lovely things we’d been given as gifts when she was born were no longer useful.

I’m quite handy, so I managed to make a lot of clothes for her, but I was still disappointed by the loss of some lovely clothes, in particular one trousers-and-top outfit with little ducks on it. I wondered if I could modify the little trousers, and my mum suggested writing to the company, a small independent one, to see if they could send me some scraps of fabric to fill in the gaps. I sent them an email, explaining the situation, and they got back to me right away asking how much I needed.

Thinking I was likely to only get tiny offcuts, I asked for just a foot square. I offered money, but they refused to take any. A few days later, I got a full metre square in the post — enough to make a whole new pair of modified trousers — and some little t-shirts, too. I also didn’t have to take apart the existing trousers, so when she came out of the harness a few weeks later, she could go back to wearing them. That company is now one of my favourite places to buy baby clothes.

Finding out that your tiny baby is unwell is such a frightening experience, but it’s amazing how willing people are to help you out.