(I am at work at a shoe store when a customer walks in. She has a very thick accent.)
Customer: “Do you have clits?”
Me: “I’m sorry, what?”
Customer: “Clits! Clits, you know, for soccer!”
Me: “OH, CLEATS! No, I’m sorry, we don’t sell those.”
(I’m a cashier at a store. We’re encouraged to ask customers if they want a bag when buying only one or two items. A male customer is purchasing a single snack for himself.)
Me: “Would you like your nuts in a sack, or would you prefer to hold them?”
Customer: “…”
I was working at a call center for a few months after getting my BA. I had a few calls that were really bad; I worked in billing for a major cable and Internet provider, and people would call to yell if their bill went up even a dime. One story sticks out to me, though.
This man called in to go over the charges on his account to see if he could get any refunds.
I pulled up his account, and there were a little over $700 in charges for on-demand pornography. As per the company policy about on-demand movies, we have to go over every title and tell them how long it was watched for — if they didn’t watch more than the first few minutes, we can give them a refund.
I, a woman, had to read out all the titles of the dozens of porn flicks this man had downloaded — they had all been watched in entirety. There were some pretty racy titles. It was hard for me to keep a straight face and a steady voice, but I pulled through! It was a slow day, so my coworkers were gathered around to listen in on this fiasco. I don’t blame them.
The customer was nice and polite throughout the call, but he was obviously breathing pretty heavily, grunting occasionally, too.
When I had finished, he said, “Thank you… You have a very sexy voice.” I didn’t know how to respond to that, and I was already pretty flustered.
When the call finally ended — he didn’t get a single refund and paid the bill in full — I pulled up the notes section on his account. Apparently, he does this every month.
(It is right at the end of my shift as manager on duty at a hotel. It’s been a night that I could tell a lot of stories about, but I’ll just settle for the absolute most ridiculous complaint I’ve ever fielded. My front desk agent comes to the back to get me.)
Agent: “[My Name]? There’s a lady at the front desk who wants to talk to you about our ‘Do Not Disturb’ signs.”
Me: “Okay. Was she missing hers?”
Agent: “No… Seriously, you’ll have to talk to her. She’s freaking crazy.”
(I go out to find a woman standing at the front desk with a DND sign in her hand, with a couple of friends. It’s worth noting that some of our DNDs have cutesy sayings on them just to break up the monotony of “do not disturb.”)
Me: “Hello! What can I help you with tonight?”
Guest: “Well, I just wanted to tell you that THIS—“ *holds up a DND reading “Busy Constructing a Pillow Fort”* “—is just unacceptable!”
Me: *assuming she thinks it’s too unserious* “I’m sorry you feel that way, ma’am. I—“
Guest: “I showed this to my friends and we all agree — a pillow fort means an erection, and that is just so inappropriate!”
(She rambles on for a while about this, which is good because I need a moment to process what I just heard.)
Me: *when she finally stops for breath* “Ma’am, I assure you it’s not meant to be anything like that. It’s… you know… like when little kids stack pillows to make a little cave…”
Guest: “Well, no kids should be putting out Do Not Disturb signs!”
Me: “No… but their parents are…”
Guest: “Well, I want you to inform your corporate office about this! It’s just vulgar!”
Me: “Um… I’ll do that, ma’am. I can provide you with a different sign if you’d like.”
Guest: “Oh, this isn’t mine. My friend saw it on a door and took it to ask us what it meant.”
Me: “Wait. You took a do not disturb sign off of another guest’s door?!”
Guest: “Yes.”
(This is bad; we take DNDs very seriously and it’s a real issue if a guest who didn’t want to be bothered gets walked in on by housekeeping.)
Me: “What room is it from?!”
Guest: “I don’t know! It shouldn’t be up, anyway!”
(She then handed me the sign and left. So, now, I get two angry guests for the price of one, just because this woman couldn’t take responsibility for her own dirty mind!)
(My brother tries to offer me some Christmas cookies called peppernuts.)
Brother: “Do you want to nut some peppers?”
(It did not get any more appropriate from there.)
