Absolutely Trucking Mad, Part 4

, , , , , , | Right | CREDIT: Artilleryman08 | October 18, 2020

I have a side-hustle on my days off. My job in an oilfield has a rotational schedule where I work two weeks and then get two weeks off. I make plenty of money at my job, but it doesn’t hurt to make a little extra cash.  

I am, in essence, a tour guide for the region I live in. I don’t have any planned tours, but usually, I just take people to see neat places that they would not know about or think to go to.

I am adamant about getting paid up front. Customers sign an agreement that guarantees to protect my truck from messes or damage. So far, I have never had any issues, fortunately, and people always enjoy the places I show them.

Except for one family. 

They seem friendly enough when they sign the contract and I collect my fee. Once money changes hands with this family, the attitude changes; they begin treating me like I am a second-class citizen.

I drive them around to some of the most beautiful scenery I can find. People are often left speechless by these places and never have I seen someone not be impressed. Until now. Every place I show them just seems to disappoint them. I can’t deny that I am a little offended by their indifference, but whatever, I have my money.

When I get back to town and drop them off at their hotel, it gets interesting.

Customer: “You can just park in the back and leave the keys at the desk. Tell them they are for the [Customer’s Last Name] family.”

Me: “I’m sorry, what?”

Customer: “This truck, just park it in the back. We might use it later.”

Me: “This is my truck. I’m not leaving it here; that’s not part of the deal.”

Customer: “Oh, please, there is no way you can own a vehicle like this. It obviously belongs to your company.”

Me: “I do this job self-employed, on my days off from my regular job. I assure you, this is my truck. I can show you my name on the title.”

Customer: “Young man, if you don’t do as you’re told, I will be forced to call your boss.”

I am thirty.

Me: “You mean me? I am my boss.”

Customer: “Okay, smart a**, get your boss on the phone, right now!” 

I think about just driving off but then have a better idea. I call my supervisor at my real job. He’s been in the oilfield for fourteen years and can be quite the cusser. He knows what I do on my days off and even sends people my way sometimes. He answers and I just say:

Me: “One of my clients is demanding to speak with my boss, so here she is.”

I hand the customer my phone.

Customer: *Sounding smug* “I tried to tell your driver to leave the truck here so we could use it, but he lied and said he owns it—”

I can hear him yelling.

Boss: “ARE YOU F****** STUPID?”

I don’t discern anything else, but I know he gives her a good thrashing. She just walks to the window and hands me my phone.

Customer: “He wants to talk to you.”

She then walks away.

Boss: “That fix your problem?”

Me: “Yeah, thanks, [Boss].”

Boss: “Anytime, brother.”

Related:
Absolutely Trucking Mad, Part 3
Absolutely Trucking Mad, Part 2
Absolutely Trucking Mad


This story is part of our Best Of October 2020 roundup!

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Quick! Someone Call Fahrenheit 911!

, , , , , | Right | CREDIT: Mammyjam | October 15, 2020

My wife and I are from Manchester, England. We’re doing a mini world-tour as part of our honeymoon. We are in Iceland and visiting a natural hot spring. The place is amazing, basically, a large pond pouring with steam, a river running next to it also pouring with steam and then a load of smaller bubbling pools of water and mini geysers that would blast water into the air every ten minutes or so.

Between the pond and the river there is a roped-off area of small, deep pools that has a sign:

Sign: “Warning water is over 90 degrees. Do not enter at your own risk.”

This is probably a bad translation of ‘no entry, we accept no liability.’

We’re leaning against the side of the pond closest to this and notice a guy wander up, read the sign then step over the rope. As he’s walking up to one of the small pools the lifeguard is running over and shouting.

Lifeguard: “Stop, stop! You can’t go in there!”

An American accent replies:

Tourist: “Whatever buddy, I paid, so I can do whatever I want.”

By this time the lifeguard has reached him and tries to explain to him.

Lifeguard: “That the water is between 90 and 110 degrees! You walked right past a do not enter sign.”

Tourist: “No, it says enter at my own risk, so I am, and it’s not very risky. It’s hotter than 90 degrees in Nevada every day!”

This utterly perplexes the lifeguard who has absolutely no idea what the h*** the American is talking about. So I shout over.

Me: “Oi, mate, it’s Celsius, not Fahrenheit!”

Now the American looks confused.

Tourist: “I don’t know what that is, I’m going in.”

For reference, 90-110c is 194-230f.

Then follows about five more minutes of arguing between the American and the lifeguard before the American has had enough and takes the two steps further to the pool, and goes to put his foot in. Fortunately for him but unfortunately for Darwinism he only manages to dip a toe before screaming in pain and hopping back to the changing room in a huff.

The lifeguard sighs and goes back to his chair.

Me: “What a f****** divvy.”

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Open The Door, Homer(less Man)

, , , , , | Right | October 15, 2020

A couple of years ago, my wife and I went to Liverpool in England, and while there, we visited the childhood homes of Paul McCartney and John Lennon. While we were talking to one of the tour guides, she told us a bit about her job and told us this story.

One day, a couple arrived to check in for the tour, and the bus driver told them to go down to the minibus and wait. They came back a few minutes later looking concerned and told the driver there was a “homeless man” sitting in the minibus dressed in scruffy jeans, a faded hooded sweatshirt, and sunglasses. The driver said not to worry as he was coming on the tour with them. The couple — and other people on the tour — boarded the minibus, keeping an eye on the “homeless man.”

The bus took them round to the two homes, and when they got to Paul’s home, the “homeless man” took off his sunglasses, dropped his hood, and started talking to the tour guide. It was only then that the other people on the tour realised that this “homeless man” was actually Bob Dylan, who was in disguise in order not to be mobbed by fans!

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A Mountain Of Estúpido

, , , , | Right | September 28, 2020

I grew up on the border and speak Spanish as a result. After graduating from college, I moved to a small mountain tourist town, where I work in the Visitor and Conference Center. Most of our tourists come from Texas and Oklahoma, who want to ski in the winter or escape the heat in the summer.

This conversation happens one afternoon when I’m alone in the office.

Tourist: “What is this mountain range called?”

Me: “The Sangre de Cristo Mountains.”

Tourist: *Angrily* “You know that means ‘Blood of Christ,’ right?”

Me: “Yes, sir, I speak Spanish.”

Tourist: “Well, why don’t you call it by its name?!”

I am not sure if he’s serious.

Me: “I did call them by their name, sir. A Spanish explorer named them.”

The tourist turned red and marched out. His wife still bought a couple of maps, while looking rather amused at the whole thing.

Related:
Totally Estupido, Part 13
Totally Estupido, Part 12
Totally Estupido, Part 11
Totally Estupido, Part 10
Totally Estupido, Part 9

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A Customer That Drives You Round The Bends

, , , , | Right | August 27, 2020

I have just finished booking an overseas tourist who is a certified diver into one of our day dive trips. This particular trip is an all-day trip, with a good three hours of diving throughout the trip, with small surface interval times — breaks — on the boat as it moves between sites. This particular customer, a much older gentleman, just walks in and, already knowing exactly what he wants, announces that he wants to book this trip for the day after tomorrow.

Me: “All good to go! Here is your booking voucher; simply present it to the crew upon boarding and they’ll take care of you from there. Hope you have a great time out there!”

Customer: “Great! Just one last question: what time does the boat get back? It’s just that our flight leaves at [time roughly two hours after the boat returns].”

Me: “Certainly! As mentioned, it is an all-day trip so the boat will be returning at roughly five pm… Wait.” *Alarms bells ringing* “Sorry, did you say that your flight leaves that night?”

Customer: “Yeah! Five pm, hey? Oh, I didn’t realise it got in so late. Do you think we’ll make it to the airport?”

Now, our nearest airport is roughly an hour away, so while I do think the customer will be pushing it to make it to his flight, that’s not why I suddenly went quiet. You see, regardless of which SCUBA organisation you are with or which dive company you book with, they all say that, for medical reasons, you are not supposed to fly within twenty-four hours of your last dive. This customer’s flight is due to leave only two hours after the boat so he is certainly within the twenty-four-hour exclusion period for flying after diving. As a certified diver, he should definitely be aware of this rule.

Me: “Well, sir… I’m sorry, but you can’t dive on [Day].”

Customer: *Taken aback* “What?! Why? Is it because we won’t make our flight?”

Me: “Well, no. Unfortunately, you need to wait twenty-four hours after diving before flying. Knowing now that you are flying after your dives, I’m going to have to cancel your trip. I can’t allow you to dive when you are flying out so soon. I will, of course, refund your trip right now, or if you are available, move you to tomorrow?”

Customer: *Getting visibly angry* “What?! I can’t do tomorrow; I have another trip booked! I don’t want a refund, either; I want to dive! Why can’t I dive?!”

Me: “It’s a health issue, sir. Flying so soon after diving leaves you susceptible to decompression sickness, or the bends.”

Customer: *Sarcastic tone* “Oh, really? Well, missy, I’ve been diving since before you were even thought of. Since when did this become a thing?”

I am not putting up with the sudden rudeness.

Me: “Since we realised the debilitating effects, both short-term and long-term, of decompression sickness, sir, usually resulting in a painful death. Now, you have two choices: either move to tomorrow where you will be outside the twenty-four-hour exclusion zone, or if that’s not possible, I will certainly refund you.”

The customer is now getting supremely irate.

Customer: “This is ridiculous! Back in my day, we didn’t even have this sort of regulation! I came all the way from [Country] to see [Dive Destination] and I demand to see it!”

I am initially stunned, but then I compose myself.

Me: “Certainly, sir, I understand that coming all this way only to be told no would be incredibly frustrating. But right now, you have only one choice: leave, make up your mind, and come back when you have calmed down. If I don’t see you by [closing time], I’m simply going to take your name off the booking, no refund.”

The customer storms out of the shop, seething. I just shake my head and return to my work. It is nearly closing when the same customer comes walking back in, a smug smile on his face.

Me: “Good to see you again, sir. Did you decide what you would like to do?”

Customer: *Smugly* “I want the refund.”

Me: “Of course.”

As I’m processing his refund, he asks me this:

Customer: “If I didn’t tell you about my flight, would we be doing this right now?”

Me: “Well, no, but at the same time it’s good you did tell me. It’s not a good idea to keep things like that hid—”

Customer: *Cutting me off* “That’s all I needed to know.”

I finish processing the refund. I hand him back his receipt.

Me: “All sorted, sir. Once again, I am sorry that you couldn’t go out—”

Customer: *Cuts me off again* “I just want you to know as soon as I left I booked with another company for that day. They were very happy to serve me. I look forward to giving them amazing reviews while you get one-star.”

I do not care about reviews, but I am more shocked that he was allowed to go diving even after his flight times make it dangerous.

Me: “Really? They booked you on even with your flight leaving so soon afterward?!”

Customer: “That’s the thing! I didn’t tell them! I’m going to have a great time, and I’m going to personally email you the bad review I leave!”

And he proudly strolled out of the store. I was amazed, and I wish I had found out which company he ended up with so I could’ve called them myself to warn them. I really hope he missed his flight, and if he didn’t, that he didn’t suffer ill effects.

We get that he spent a lot of money coming here, and that this particular area is a dream destination for a lot of people. But it is NEVER worth your health! Still waiting for that bad review, by the way.

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