I’m talking on the phone with someone who desperately needs a new house. I am in no position to do anything and have directed them to the proper institution that might be able to help them.

The person cries, sobs, tells all their problems and reasons, and I really feel sorry for them. I hope that letting them vent will help them a bit. I also worry a bit that they might hurt themselves, so I already made a ticket for the right department for a welfare check.

Caller: “I just don’t know what to do anymore!” *Crying.* “Oh, I have a call on the other line, and I have to take it. Could you wait for a moment?”

Me: “Of course, don’t worry.”

We are not supposed to be put on hold, but are allowed to make exceptions if we feel it’s warranted.

So, I wait. And I wait. And even more. My manager comes by to check, I explain, they agree with my choice, and ask me to let them know when I can be back in the line.

Still waiting. We’re hitting ten minutes now. We’re hitting fifteen minutes. Getting worried about that caller. Should I hang up and call back?

After seventeen minutes:

Caller: “Hello?”

Me: “Ah, good to hear from you.”

Caller: “Who am I talking to?”

Me: “You’re talking to [My Name]. You asked me to wait, so I waited for you.”

Caller: “Wait… you waited? You didn’t hang up?”

Me: “Eh, no. Like I said, you asked me to wait, and I said okay.”

Caller: “Weird. Nobody ever waits. And [Company] only wants to squeeze every penny out of me… Anyway, I need to contact [Institution I Recommended] so I can’t waste my time on you guys. You can’t help me anyway, like always.”

Me: “Eh… all right then. If you have no more questions, I hope things will improve and wish you a nice day nonetheless.”

Caller: “If you truly cared, you would have given me a house!”

As if we have shelves filled with houses and just let them collect dust because we want to keep them for ourselves.

At the time of this story, we’re having an unusually heavy snowfall in the Netherlands. Other countries will probably laugh at the amount of snow, but here ‘the country is on its bum’, as we say.

Public transportation is down, trash no longer gets collected (narrow streets + big truck = disaster), people can’t go to work because the roads are white and the snow ploughs can’t keep up. The trash companies actually let their truck drivers drive snow ploughs or trucks that spread salt because they are used to heavy trucks.

My company rents out Social Housing. Because of the amount of snow, we are forced to work from home. Many can, and some technicians are on ’emergency repairs’ duty. If there’s an emergency, our technicians will brave the white outside, but it may take a bit longer than usual. And because we all care about our coworkers outside, we customer service people make sure it is indeed an emergency.

A Lot Of Callers: “I have an appointment for today; how late will the technician be here?”

Most Of Our Responses: “Unfortunately, they won’t make it. I see we tried to call you for rescheduling, but no one answered the phone.”

Insert reason why they didn’t pick up and understanding customer… great! Rescheduled!

The Occasional Client: “What?! But I waited for weeks for this appointment! This is unacceptable!”

In reality, it was days.

Me: “I understand your response, but there is a national weather alert.”

The Occasional Client: “I know, I can’t go anywhere!”

Me: “And our technicians are in the same boat.”

The Occasional Client: “Well… this is an emergency! Surely you have an emergency protocol!”

Me: “We do, but unfortunately, hanging up a shelf is not an emergency.”

The Occasional Client: “It is an emergency!”

Me: “So you say you need to leave the house and can no longer stay in your house because of this?”

The Occasional Client: “Leave the house?! Have you seen the weather?!”

Me: “So you can stay in the house?”

The Occasional Client: “I can’t go anywhere!”

Me: “So that means it’s not an emergency, right?”

This usually shuts them up. However, one call went differently:

Client: “My faucet is leaking.”

Me: “I am so sorry to hear that. I have a plumber available in two days, assuming the weather will be better.”

Client: “Yes… but my faucet is leaking.”

Older client, repeating himself… maybe hard of hearing? I repeat the offer. Same response. I repeat the offer in different words. Same response.

Me: “All right… can you put a bucket underneath it?”

Client: “Will that stop the leak?

Okay, red flags. I put the client on hold and call the planner.

Me: “Hey, I have [Address], and the man has a leaky faucet… but my belly—” *onderbuikgevoel* “—is nagging. Something is off. No matter what I try, he doesn’t answer my questions, only repeats… He is in his eighties, so…”

Planner: “You wouldn’t call if you weren’t worried. You’re in luck, I have a guy working two streets away. I’ll ask him to check it out. Might take a while, though.”

Me: “Thanks.”

I return to the client and thank him for waiting. No response. I shout (working from home all alone does have advantages), no response. I hear no movement… nothing. I return to the planner, letting him know there’s no sound whatsoever anymore.

The planner says he’ll take over from me, considering the wait line. Through chat, he lets me know that calling the client was of no use; no one picked up.

You probably all share my worry, so I won’t stall any longer: all was fine.

The technician went over, the older gentleman opened the door, and all was well. The older gentleman managed to grab a pan and put it under the leaky faucet… and promptly forgot about the phone. He was indeed hard of hearing, so when he was in another room, he did not hear the calls.

He did not seem confused or anything else worrisome, but our ‘outside housing manager’ (who walks around the area to check on houses, gardens, illegal dumping, and people we worry about) decided to visit the client when the snow was mostly gone. Again, nothing worrisome, but my coworker will check on him regularly just in case.

To the technician who braved the white world because of a leaky faucet… You are a hero!

We rent out houses and sent out letters for necessary maintenance. The maintenance is required by law and has to be done inside the house. So, the tenant is required by law to allow the maintenance to happen. It’s not something immensely big, but it’s required, and it’s planned in a couple of months. If the people can’t be home, they can change the date. Our letter explains the law and (in my opinion) is not threatening at all.

We received an email:

Client: “I read your letter. Just this once I will allow it, but if it’s a [n-word] or searcher of luck they can f*** right off.”

A searcher of luck is someone who moves to another country because they want to make more money/get rich, not because of war or despair. It’s also often used for refugees or other immigrants who legally stay in the Netherlands. To be short: it’s a racist insult.

While the ‘I will allow it’ already ticks me off, the racist insults force me to first grab something to drink and calm down.

My response:

Me: “Sir, our technicians are selected based on skill and certifications. According to our constitution, discrimination on the grounds of skin color is forbidden. If you refuse our technician on these grounds, our company will take steps against you. We do not tolerate this behaviour. Please treat our people as you want to be treated.”

His response:

Client: “I’d like to see you try. Good luck and kisses!”

By law, we are not allowed to kick him out on the grounds of these racist remarks. But don’t you worry. This was not his first… indiscretion. The file is getting bigger and bigger. Keep on digging that hole, client, keep on digging.

We rent out Social Houses, government housing. This comes with a lot of rules, not set by us, but the government.

Me: “U spreekt met [My Name], hoe kan ik u helpen?” *You are talking to [My Name], how may I assist you?*

Caller: “Do you speak English?”

Me: “Yes, I do. How can I assist you?”

Caller: “I had someone at my door, and they demanded to know why my daughter lives with me, and I want to know what’s the deal with that?”

Me: “Let me get your information, so I can look into this (after a check and getting the file). Ah, I see our housing manager came by. We had a noise complaint, and someone said new people moved in.”

Caller: “Yes, my daughter and her kids moved in, so what? They are little kids; they make noise. People should mind their own business.”

Me: “Well, I see the nature of the complaint was… eh… about adult noises. Not children playing.”

Caller: “So?”

Me: “Well, if there is a noise complaint, we go and ask the source for their side of the story. I read your daughter moved in, but I see no application.”

Caller: “Of course not! She is my daughter!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but Dutch law requires the landlord’s permission before someone else is allowed to move in. And I see the housing manager tried to inform you about this, but… the conversation did not go well.”

The file said the housing manager was yelled at and insulted in very colorful language.

Caller: “He was speaking Dutch! I did not understand him. And he couldn’t be bothered to speak English.”

Me: “Not all our employees speak English very well, I’m afraid.”

Caller: “Why?”

Me: “…Well, English has been a mandatory language at schools for only thirty years or so. The older generation does the best they can, but it is more complicated to learn a new language as you get older.”

Caller: “Then send them back to school!”

Me: *Trying to steer the conversation back to the topic.* “Anyway, if you fill in the form on our website and send it back, we can check the Housing Permit the government issued to you and see if we can give permission for an extra person.”

Caller: “I can’t.”

Me: “May I ask why?”

Caller: “Because your site is in Dutch!”

Me: *Rolling eyes.* “Shall I e-mail you the form, then?”

Caller: “Is it in Dutch?

Me: “Yes, it is.”

Caller: “Then how can I fill it in?”

Me: “Perhaps you can ask someone to help you, or you can come to our office, so someone can help you fill it in.”

Caller: “Do they speak English?”

Me: “I can’t guarantee that, sir. I am not aware of the language skills of all five hundred employees.”

Caller: “Well, that’s racist, isn’t it?”

Me: “…Pardon me?”

Caller: “I thought the Dutch were open-minded, that’s why I moved here ten years ago! You guys have all gone White Supremacist lately! You voted for [Our Racist Bad Hairdo Politician], didn’t you?”

Me: “Let me e-mail the form to you, sir. Do you have any other questions?”

Caller: “You should learn English! Everybody speaks English!”

Me: “I’ve been speaking in English to you for a few minutes now, sir.”

Caller: “Doesn’t make you less racist!” *Hangs up.*

If anyone can explain this to me, I would love to hear it. 

Related:
It’s All Dutch To Me, Part 3
It’s All Dutch To Me, Part 2
It’s All Dutch To Me

In 2005, the housing company I work for renovated a couple of houses. The people who lived there did not get a raise in rent, didn’t have to pay anything, and even got paid for living accommodations when certain things could not be done with tenants present. Part of the renovation was that gas would no longer be possible as a cooking solution, only electricity or induction. If people selected induction, my housing company would arrange that, free of extra charge. They wouldn’t even have to pay for the shiny new cooking hob, and got 50 euros extra to buy new pots and pans. Sure, the renovation did not go smoothly, and mistakes were made, but everything was solved, and no complaints at the end.

In Social Housing, appliances that are not nailed to the walls and ceilings from the start are the responsibility of the tenant. Mechanical ventilation and heating = Housing. Refrigerator, dishwasher, and cooking hob = Tenant. This has been decided in the Social Housing Law, though you can make exceptions in your contract.

And now, in 2025:

Client: “Hello, my induction hob broke down.”

Me: “I’m so sorry to hear that. According to my system, the hob was placed in 2005 and was a gift, so I am afraid we can’t place a new one for you. But you can pick out whatever hob fancies you.”

Client: “No, you placed that hob, not me.”

Me: “That is true, but I see the letter you got and signed, which states this is a one-time gift, to replace your old system.”

Client: “Correct. But it’s broken now.”

Me: “And I’m sorry to hear that. However, we will not be replacing it. I’m afraid you have to buy one yourself.”

Client: “What?! How dare you! You should replace this thing, you bought it!”

Me: “We did, and then we gifted it to you.”

Client: “But it broke!”

Me: “Yes, after twenty years of use.”

Client: “So you should replace it. You gifted it to me and now it’s broken.”

Me: “We don’t have to replace a gift after twenty years of use.”

Client: “But now I don’t have any means to cook! This is a basic living condition!”

Me: “I apologize, but I can’t help you. You need to buy a new one yourself.”

Client: “But it was a gift!”

Me: “A gift, indeed. Could you imagine giving something… for example… an electric kettle to your neighbour. That would make them very happy, right?”

Client: “Of course!”

Me: “Now, ten years later, your neighbour knocks on your door. The electric kettle is broken.”

Client: “Yeah, so? That happens!”

Me: “Would you replace that electric kettle for them?”

Client: “Of course not!”

Me: “Why wouldn’t you?”

Client: “Because it was a gift! I didn’t break it! It’s not my responsibility.”

Me: “That’s exactly the reason why we can’t replace your hob.”

Client: “What?! But have you seen how expensive a new hob is?!”

Me: “I am well aware, but maybe you can find a nice deal somewhere?”

Client: “I can’t pay that!”

Me: “Maybe you can get a smaller hob while you save up for a big one? You have these two-pit sets for a decent price.”

Client: “How rude! How can you suggest such an embarrassingly small thing?! Seriously, why can’t [Housing Company] pay for it? They have plenty of money!”

Me: “We are Social Housing, ma’am, we don’t make any profit. I’m sorry, but we can’t help you.”

Client: “I’ll go to the Social Housing Commission!”

Me: “You are free to do so. If you don’t have any other questions, I wish you… oh, she hung up already.”

We’re still waiting on that e-mail from the Housing Commission telling us to replace a twenty-year-old gift.