It’s summer and at the end of a pleasant cycling day, I have reached the station of Maastricht to get on the train and go back home. This train has a dedicated bike section in several coaches, where more than one bike can be accommodated during the trip.

While I am boarding the train, I scan all the coaches and find one which has only one bike, so I hop in there and, before I even try to set my bike in place, the rant starts:

Stranger: “I don’t want any bike touching mine, go somewhere else!”

I turn around and see her: makeup so heavy that it would make an actress on the red carpet of the Golden Globe look shabby and uncared, scent of some unspecified eau permeating the air around her, not a single sign of sweat or dust on her skin or lycra-covered skin, shining white cycling shoes. If she weren’t in front of me, I would think someone had exceeded the filters on their profile photo!

The bike she wants to protect is also the same: just a little bit of plebian dust on the wheels where they have been forced to touch the filthy ground.

I am in a good mood after the ride and there is time, so I get down, scan the entire length of the train again, and have confirmation that the one she is in is the only one with still room for another bike. She is not happy when I get back.

Stranger: “Go somewhere else!”

Me: “This is the only coach that is not full. I’m not gonna miss the train for you.”

She begrudgingly lets me in, but she sticks her nose so high that I am afraid she may catch the ISS in her nostrils.

Stranger: “My bike is not to be touched!”

I am still in a good mood and don’t want to ruin my day for this woman, so I sit on the folding chairs on the opposite side with respect to her precious bike, holding my bike while sitting. She sits on the regular seats like she is some sort of queen after having won a major war.

The train leaves the station, and the various bumps it takes shake the coaches quite energetically. What do you know, she had not fastened her precious bike with the available belts, probably not to tarnish her holy ride by putting it in contact with some filthy belt. Of course, the shaking makes it so that the bike, located right in front of me, falls down with a loud crash, with me actively avoiding touching it as instructed.

She keeps staring in my direction, waiting to start shouting at me for touching her bike, but I am not flinching, and after the crash, I just can’t avoid letting out a snorting sound.

That snaps her out of whatever zone she was in, and she realizes that her precious bike has hit the ground and nothing else. From her face, I see she is actually trying to find a way to shout at me for not touching her bike when she explicitly told me not to touch it, but giving up on it to start lifting it back in place on a still-shaking train.

She glares at me for the entire time it takes the train to reach the following station, where she steps down, accompanied by my smile.

I submit a ticket to our IT department:

Me: “Printer/Scanner combo gives an error when scanning. It demands I feed it paper. There is plenty of paper in it. Already turned the printer off and on. Still demands paper when hitting scan.”

Tech Support: “If the printer asks for paper, please add paper. This is not something you should submit a ticket for. This is something you can do yourself.”

Me: “Thank you for the response. The paper tray is filled to the brim. It still asks for paper when scanning.”

Tech Support: “Please add paper to the max line.”

Me: “Paper present. Still does not scan.”

Tech Support: “A scanner does not use the paper. If you need a copy, please select ‘copy’.”

Me: “Could you please come over so I can show you in person what the issue is?”

The IT department sent their intern.

Intern: “So, eh… I’m here to add paper to the paper tray?”

Me: “No, that is not the issue. See, it’s full.”

Intern: “Then why was I sent here? Is this one of those hazing rituals?”

Me: “I hope not. Please, allow me to show what happens when I scan.”

I try to scan a random piece of paper, and a warning/pop-up says ‘Add paper’.

Intern: “Does it not see the paper? Is there an issue with the sensor?”

Me: “I am not sure, but eh… since when does scanning require paper presence?”

Intern: “It… doesn’t?”

Me: “Thank you. Could you relay that message to the one who sent you here?”

Intern: “How… how do I say that? I mean, I can’t say that; he’s the boss!”

Me: “Yes, you can. Do you want me to go along for support?”

Intern: “… Could you?”

So, for once, I could be a fly on the wall. The intern explained it, the boss jumped up, muttered ‘what do you mean it needs paper when scanning?!’ and three days later we had a new printer/scanning combi. 

Still wonder what went wrong.

I’ve only just begun working at a local community centre as a barista/front desk host. Among other things, our building houses a Dutch language class for immigrants. They get free coffee or tea during their breaks. The classes do have new people joining regularly, and since I’m fairly new, I always check with the customer if I’m not sure.

Also worthy of noting is that our U-shaped bar has the coffee machine on one side and the till on the far end.

I’m working near the coffee machine when a lady approaches.

Customer: *In a mixture of broken Dutch and English.* “Hot water. Is free, yes?”

Me: “Depends. Are you with [Language Class]?”

Customer: *Somehow looks appalled by the idea alone.* “Noo! No! I no in class. Why you even ask?”

Me: “In that case, I have to ring up your hot water as a tea. The till is on the other side, where my coworker will help you.”

Customer: “But is only water! Is free for me, yes?”

Me: “If you are not in [Class], then you must pay for your tea, ma’am.”

She continues to try to point out that water should be free, and she is ordering that, and not tea specifically. We serve our tea as just hot water, and people can select the flavour they want from the tea box a couple of steps to the right.

She keeps pointing at the coffee machine, repeating ‘hot water’ with an expectant smile, not making any move towards the till.

Feeling a little lost, I call for my coworker. Once the customer notices that, she tries another approach.

Customer: *In the most kiss-a**y tone possible.* “If I really have to, I will pay! I no thief. I have money, of course I pay!”

My coworker comes to rescue me, resolutely rings up the tea at the till, and summons the woman to pay. I look away for a second, and when I pay attention again, the woman is gone. I spot her at a table where she had already settled herself, and only there retrieves her wallet as slowly as possible, all the while shooting glances towards us.

When she finally comes back to the till, she huffs and puffs all throughout the transaction, obviously reluctant about it all but also boasting.

Customer: “See? I said I can pay!”

I go on with my duties and forget about it. 

A little later, I have to use the bathroom. On my way there, I pass the classroom for the Dutch lessons, and to my surprise, Miss “Noo! I no in class!” is sitting there.

When I come back, I ask my coworker about it.

Coworker: “Well, now you know our most difficult customer. She thinks she can get away with free drinks before and after class, which they are not entitled to, and always shows up late for the lessons. Sometimes she even makes her way behind the bar to help herself. She thought she could trick you since you were new. Glad you didn’t fall for it.”

We receive a written request from one of our clients:

Client: “I want to cancel my service with you. Please confirm the cancellation is processed by letter.”

I check the information and cancel the service. I send a letter to confirm it’s been processed. Two weeks later, the letter gets returned by the postal service. This was written on it:

Client: “Delivery refused! No longer your client! Stop sending me mail!”

I scan the envelope and letter and add them to their digital file. But that’s not the end of it! Not much later, we get an e-mail.

Client: “I cancelled my service at [date] and asked for a written confirmation. Why didn’t I get anything?”

I was chuckling when I pulled up my scans of both the letter and the envelope with their scribbling and send them in reply to their e-mail. We did not get any replies.

I’m a stocker in a library, meaning I sort and shelve the books people return. As a result, I’m out on the floor a lot, and while I’m not technically a librarian or customer service representative, people do come to me with questions. Today, while I’m shelving in the children’s département, a man in his thirties comes up to me.

Visitor: “I’ve accidentally returned my books in your mailbox, and now they’re still marked as unreturned in my account even though I don’t have them anymore.”

He’s talking about the mailbox that says ATTENTION: PLEASE DO NOT RETURN LOANED ITEMS HERE on it in big block letters, but I just barely resist the urge to point this out to him.

Me: “You should go to the customer service desk upstairs, they can probably help you track it down.”

Visitor: “I just went there; they sent me to you.”

He looks at me expectantly. I know this can’t be true, because I work in the entire building and there is no one stationed in the children’s department specifically, so customer service has no way of knowing if there is anyone here at any given moment. I look back at him questioningly.

Visitor: “They said it probably ended up back on the shelf.”

Ah, so he needs help locating them. I ask for the title and author, and start leading him in the right direction.

Visitor: “I already found them; they’re over there.

He looks at me expectantly. I look back at him questioningly.

Visitor: “How do I know it’s the same copy that’s on my card? The website shows you have multiple copies.”

Me: “Can you pull up your account? It should show the item number, and we can check that against the copy on the shelf.”

He doesn’t; he pulls up the listing on our website, which shows the location of the book. It says this location of the library only owns one copy of the book. This is the same for all four books.

Me: “It says here there’s only one copy of each of these books, so this one on the shelf right here is definitely the right one.”

Visitor: “So now what do I do?”

Me: “You take these books and go put them in the return slot downstairs.”

He looks at me questioningly. I look at him expectantly.

Visitor: “Okay… I guess I’ll try that.”

He says this with a tone of ‘that doesn’t sound right, but sure’.

Me: “Yep. Best of luck.”

I walk away. He stands in front of the shelf for a good while longer. I’m not confident his books will ever be returned.