A long time ago, I made some memorial armbands for Christopher Reeve, because he was a hero of mine. One side had the birth year, one side had the death year, and the Superman symbol was in the center. Really beautiful pieces, if I do say so myself.
I’m showing them to a friend, who’s never been in immediate danger of joining Mensa, but they really outdid themselves by asking:
Friend: “They’re nice! Are they autographed?”
I work at the UK version of Home Depot.
Customer: “I need plugs.”
Me: “What type of plugs?”
Customer: “Just plugs, can you show me where they are?”
Me: “Sure, but I need to know what type as some at literally at opposite ends of the store, and I don’t want to waste your time wandering back and forth across the store.”
Customer: “Just show me where the f****** plugs are!”
Me: *Takes customer to where the bath and sink plugs are.*
Customer: “What are these?! I wanted plugs, you know, for walls.”
Me: *Takes customer to where the rawl plugs are.*
Customer: “Are you an idiot? I need plugs, you know, for a heater!”
Me: *Takes customer to electrical plugs.*
Customer: “I don’t know, teenagers these days are f****** useless! Don’t they train you here?”
CORRECTION: An uncensored swear word has been censored.
I’m working at the Golden Arches, and a guy and his young son are ordering food.
Customer: “I’ll get a Happy Meal for him, and can I get the one with [Toy #1]?”
Me: “Sorry, that one has been popular. We only have [Toy #2] and [Toy #3] left.”
Customer’s Son: “Awwwww.”
Customer: *To his son.* “Sorry, mate. I guess it’s an ‘Unhappy Meal’ today.”
Customer’s Son: *Not amused.”
Customer: *To me.* “And I’ll get [Meal] with a Fanta.”
Me: “Sorry, our drink machine is being dodgy today. We can only do Coke and Coke Zero.”
Customer’s Son: *To his dad.* “I guess you’re not having any Fun-ta.”
Customer: *Not amused.”
I had a friend (note, had) who bought a gaming console (N64, I think) from one of the old mail-order catalogues. He did so through my mum as she pretty much did all of them back then (yes, I know it’s a s***ty scheme, but I knew no better as I was just leaving school, and he’d left a year or two prior.
He initially was paying, but after a few months, the payments stopped.
Mum: “[My Name], please remind [Friend] that he’s a few days late for the N64 payment.”
When I met him and reminded him later that day:
Friend: “Oh, yeah. I sold it.”
Me: “Okay, but what does that have to do with the payments?”
Friend: “I don’t own it now, why would I still pay for it?”
Me: “Uh… because you still owe the rest of the balance on it?”
Friend: *Speaking like he’s imparting wisdom.* “You can’t owe money on something you don’t own.”
Me: “Uh… yes, you can! The debt doesn’t just vanish! My mum is still paying the mail order company on your behalf.”
Friend: “Why? I don’t own it anymore!”
Me: “Because it’s not like the company goes, ‘Oh well, as you don’t have it now, you don’t owe anything!’ You need to pay my mum.”
Friend: “Just tell her to stop paying them, then. Whatever happens is between her and the company.”
I tried explaining this to him, lock, stock, and barrel, but he refused to understand. I think he actually did understand, but admitting that would mean he would need to start repayments.
The next day, I went over to his house while he wasn’t home. His dad let me borrow my friend’s car for a couple of hours. I drove it everywhere, running some errands, until it was almost out of petrol, and then left it parked in the centre of town.
Later that night:
Friend: “Where’s my car?!”
Me: “I borrowed it for a couple of hours.”
Friend: “So then where is it?! My dad said you borrowed it this morning!”
Me: “I parked it in town. Don’t worry, I only borrowed it for a couple of hours, so I was true to my word.”
Friend: “So then bring it back!”
Me: “Why would I do that? It’s not my car.”
Friend: “Because you borrowed it! You used it!”
Me: “Just like you used my mum to get that N64?”
Friend: “Are we back on this again?!”
Me: “Tell you what. Pay my mum the rest of what she’s owed, and I’ll tell you where your car is.”
Friend: *Click.*
I know my friend, and I know how he thinks. He is now arguing with his dad, blaming him for letting me borrow the car, and trying to get him to fix it. His dad, whom I know to be a fair man, is likely laughing at him right now and telling him that he needs to dig himself out of his own mess.
Ten minutes later, he’s calling back:
Friend: “How much is left on the N64?”
Me: “£300.”
Friend: “What?! That’s too much!”
Me: “Those mail-order items have high interest on the payments, remember?”
Friend: “F***! I’m not paying that much!”
Me: “How much did you sell it for?”
Friend: “None of your business!”
Me: “Okay, well, goodnight.”
I hang up this time.
Ten minutes later, he calls back and agrees to pay my mum the rest of what is owed. I even make him do a bank transfer and have my mum confirm it. I then tell him where his car is parked.
Me: “Oh, you might need to bring some petrol with you. I left it on fumes.”
Friend: “What! You need to pay to top it up!”
Me: “Why? It’s not my car.”
I hung up on him, and that was the last time we ever spoke.
I used to work for a solicitor’s (law firm) that mainly handled remortgages.
Just to set the scene, our service was FREE. The service was covered by the banks. This woman was referred by the bank that holds her current mortgage, and we’ve been discussing her remortgage.
Customer: “So when can I get this remortgage all done and dusted?”
Me: “It usually takes four to six weeks, provided we have—”
Customer: “—huh? No! I need this done in two days! I have sellers for a house waiting for their money! If I don’t have it in two days, I lose the property!”
Me: “I can try my best, but I can’t do anything without your paperwork and ID documents back.”
Customer: “I received those in the post but threw them away without reading them because it was like, fifteen pages long!”
Me: “I can’t do anything without those!”
She then emailed me a screenshot of her Facebook profile as her ID.
Every time I tried to help this woman, her stupidity held me back, but it was all my fault somehow.
Obviously, she lost the sale of the house and demanded her money back for our “s***ty service”. We had a forty-five-minute argument about how she hadn’t actually paid us a penny until I ended up saying that if she could send me a copy of the bank statement showing any payments to us, I’d be happy to refund her. Funnily enough, I never received one.
