Me: “Thanks for calling [Company]. This is [My Name]; how can I help you?”
Caller: “I’m an extremely elderly woman, and I’m having trouble placing an order on your new website.”
Me: “I’d be happy to place that order for you over the phone. Could I please get your email address to bring up your account?”
(All the customers for this particular company need to register accounts, which are linked to an email.)
Caller: “I don’t have one. I’m too old; I don’t do computers. I have my kids do that stuff for me.”
Me: “I do need to bring up your account. Is it listed under one of your kids’ emails, perhaps?”
Caller: “Well, I actually do have an email address, but I hate giving it out.”
Me: *thinking she’s afraid of scams* “I can assure you, the only thing I’ll be using it for is to locate your account. It’ll be okay to tell us, and after the order, I’ll clear my screen.”
Caller: “Well, it’s [Caller]lovesto[vulgar word for intercourse]@[email].”
Me: *spends the rest of the call struggling not to lose it laughing*
(I have been the owner of my small coffee shop for about a year when I decide to bow to customer requests to add 20-ounce drinks to the menu. The week before the change, I am spreading the news to customers as they check out. One of my regulars, a polite, retired gentleman, comes in.)
Me: “I just want to let you know that I’m adding a cup size next week!”
Customer: *glancing briefly at my less-than-ample apron front and giving me a big grin* “Well, good for you, sweetie!”
(He was out the door with his coffee before I realized what had just happened.)
Fifty years ago, I worked in a drug store after school. Certain products were kept behind the counter. My church youth leader, who has a very attractive wife, came into the store once when I was working. We chatted a bit, until he asked for a dozen of a specific brand of condoms.
In those days, birth control was not a casual conversation topic and was frowned on in the church. Our chat suffered a quick and awkward death. As I reached for the condoms, I realized that the twelve-pack was the last one in stock. We concluded the transaction in silence, but as he turned to leave I felt that I ought to say something polite.
“We’ll have more in tomorrow if you need them!”
(Way back when they’re still a thing, I work at a video rental store. We don’t have an adult film section at all and we are trained with a scripted response for anyone who asks. One particularly busy night, I am oh, so lucky to be the one to answer the phone and get this gem of an exchange:)
Me: “Thank you for calling [Store]. This is [My Name]; how may I help you?”
(I can hear several children screaming in the background.)
Caller: “Yeah, what’s your p*rn section like?”
Me: “Excuse me, sir? Our…?”
Caller: “Your p*rn section! You know, the little room behind the curtain!”
Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but [Store] is a family establishment and thus we do not have an adult section.”
Caller: *getting suddenly irate* “YEAH? WELL, FAMILIES NEED TO F***, TOO!”
(He hung up on me — more like slammed the phone down — and all I could do for a moment was stare at the handset in confusion before carefully putting it back on the cradle.)
(Being a funeral home, we get a lot of prank calls. This is a frequent call.)
Me: “Good afternoon, [Funeral Home]. This is [My Name]. How may I help you?”
Caller: “Is this the line with the girls?”
Me: “Pardon?”
Caller: “The line to talk to the girls. I have something here that’s eight inches long and two inches thick.”
Me: “I’m sorry, sir. We only handle one type of stiff here.”
