Walk A Mile In His Radioactive Shoes

| MA, USA | Working | November 11, 2016

(This takes place soon after the Three Mile Island incident in Pennsylvania where a nuclear facility had a partial meltdown. My grandfather was in the process of moving his family TO Pennsylvania at the time, and had actually just started living there by himself at the time of the accident. He went back up to Massachusetts for a little while to be with his family and get some paperwork-related things sorted out, and while he was there he decided to get some new shoes.)

Shoe Store Employee: *as he’s helping my grandfather try on some shoes*

“So, how about that nuclear thing going on in Pennsylvania?”

Grandfather: “Oh, it’s absolutely terrifying. My family was so worried for me while I was in the area!”

Shoe Store Employee: *looks at my grandfather with a horrified expression* “Wait… you were DOWN THERE?”

Grandfather: “Er, yeah. Well, not in the area of the disaster, but in Pennsy—”

Shoe Store Employee: *drops my grandfather’s shoes and backs away from him* “You’re radioactive! Oh, gosh, and now I’m radioactive! Aaah!” *runs away*

(The manager came over, looked at the cowering employee and my confused grandfather, and upon learning the whole story told the employee that he’d handle my grandfather, and sent the guy to the break room. My grandfather got his shoes for free.)

Returner Burner, Part 4

| IL, USA | Right | September 27, 2016

(It’s my first week on the job, and I’m really excited about it (stupid me) because, at the time, I really liked retail. I’m in training and shadowing my manager at the register. A woman comes in with a pair of shoes that she wants to return. I’ve known this since the day I started: there is a very strict return policy that says that the shoes must be UNWORN and returned within SEVEN DAYS of purchasing. It’s on every single receipt printed from the register, and there’s a rather large sign in front of the register, right where the woman is standing.)

Customer: “Excuse me, I need to return these.”

Coworker: “Do you have your receipt?”

Customer: “Yes, here. These shoes simply don’t fit me and are uncomfortable so I need to return them.”

Coworker: “Well, ma’am, it says here that you paid for these a month ago.”

Customer: *quickly getting belligerent* “So?”

Coworker: “Ma’am, we cannot take these back. Our return policy says that we cannot. However, we can do an exchange if you’d like—”

Customer: “Your return policy? No one ever said anything about a return policy!”

(I slowly reach in front of the computer and tap the sign about the return policy. I clear my throat politely. The woman stares at it as though the words are going to jump out and murder her.)

Coworker: *politely* “We would have told you when you bought the shoes, as that’s part of our company policy. It was also on the bottom of your receipt, ma’am, right here. It’s the part that takes up most of the receipt.”

(The customer grabs the shoes, glares at us, and takes off, scoffing at us the entire way.)

Me: “So…”

Coworker: *sighing* “Sadly that’s not the dumbest thing I’ve seen all week.”

(I was at that job nearly two years after that.)

Related:
Returner Burner, Part 3
Returner Burner, Part 2
Returner Burner

When Sales Lead To Wails

| Seattle, WA, USA | Right | July 22, 2016

(I am a customer in this story. I am entering a popular shoe chain when a very upset woman walks out.)

Customer: “Don’t go in there! They’re on you like poop on a diaper!”

(I walk inside and see the salesgirl with a surprised look on her face.)

Me: “What was she upset about?”

Salesgirl: “All I did was ask her if she needed help finding anything.”

(I only wish I had gotten there earlier so I could have stood up for the salesgirl whose only crime was doing her job.)

I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 20

| IL, USA | Right | July 7, 2016

(My boyfriend and I are at a shoe store finding new sneakers for me. He is a police officer and is wearing one of his many shirts from the department.)

Me: “So anyway, what color looks better? The blue or the green?”

Boyfriend: “I like the blue.”

Customer: *seeming to randomly shout at us* “I NEED THESE IN A 7½!”

(We both look at a blonde-haired female pointing at the newest shoes.)

Boyfriend: “What?”

Customer: “Are you deaf? I WANT A 7½!”

Boyfriend: “What?”

Customer: “OH, MY GOD! JUST GET THESE FOR ME IN A 7½!”

Boyfriend: “Are you serious?”

Customer: “OH, MY GOD! ARE YOU A F****** DUMB A**? GET ME MY SHOES!”

Boyfriend: *pointing at his obviously police related shirt* “You seriously think I work here?”

Customer: “WHY THE F*** WOULD YOU BE IN A SHOE STORE IF YOU DIDN’T F***** WORK HERE?!”

Me: “Then why are you here?”

(By this point two sales associates have shown up and are trying to figure out what to say.)

Sales Associate: *wearing a very obviously different shirt than my boyfriend* “What’s the problem?”

Boyfriend: “She—“

Customer: “YOUR STUPID GUY OVER HERE WON’T GET ME SHOES!”

Sales Associate: “He doesn’t even work here. Can I get something for you?”

Customer: “WHY DIDN’T SOMEONE F***** TELL ME HE DIDN’T WORK HERE?!”

Me: “We tried, but I didn’t think you were as stupid as you really are. Apparently their shirts don’t tell you SOMETHING?”

Customer: “This is the worst service I’ve ever f****** had! F*** you guys.”

(The customer storms out.)

Me: “Soooooo…”

Boyfriend: “So, yes, sir. I’d still like to buy these shoes for my girlfriend.”

Related:
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 19
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 18
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 17

You’re (Human) Being Ridiculous

| BC, Canada | Right | May 11, 2016

(A customer has been trying on around a dozen of the same brand of orthopaedic sandals, finding something wrong with each pair and driving my coworker up the wall. Finally, she picks a style, but wants a new pair.)

Coworker: “Of course, I can check for a different pair for you, but may I ask what’s wrong with this one?”

Customer: “It has clearly been tried on by other people.

Coworker: “Oh, okay! That makes sense. So, you’d like me to find you a brand new pair, if possible?”

Customer: *completely serious* “No. I want you to find me a pair that has never been touched by human hands, including yours.”

(My flabbergasted coworker went into the back to ‘look,’ aka control her giggles, while I tried in vain to explain that the shoes get touched while being made and packaged. The customer kept insisting that machines did all the work now and there was no excuse for someone touching her sandals. She left with nothing.)

Page 2/1112345...Last