I work in a call centre on the social media team for a furniture company that also sells other items in its stores, such as plates. We get some pretty ridiculous stuff through sometimes, but this is the one that I remember the most.

Customer: “I have one of your plates; it broke.”

I give my standard greeting.

Me: “Can I have a photo of the plate and a photo of your receipt so I can look into this?”

The customer sends the photos.

Me: “Hey, [Manager], can you take a look at this?”

The photo shows a blue plate with a black patch and a massive crack. This isn’t something that has happened on its own. I go back to the customer. 

Me: “Hi, [Customer], can I please ask how the plate broke?”

Customer: “I was using it to put coal on.”

Me: *Internally* “Um… coal… It’s a plate. You seriously thought that would be a good idea?”

Customer: “Also, when the plate cracked, it burned my sofa, so I’ll need you to reimburse me for the sofa.”

The customer sends us photos of the sofa.

We then have a long, drawn-out conversation about how the plate isn’t FOR coal, so we won’t be paying her because she did something like this. She is basically arguing that we don’t specifically state not to put coal on the plates. I explain that this particular plate — as per the package — can only withstand about 50°C (122°F) heat and coal is WAY hotter than that when smouldering.

She doesn’t respond for a couple of days so I figure it is done with. But then I go into the office and a member of the team that deals with letters speaks to me. 

Employee: “Do you have anything from [Customer]?”

Me: “Yeah, but please don’t give her anything; it was misuse.”

They ended up sending her a £150 gift card.

I’m the oldest of three sisters. The youngest sister is fully in her gothic elegance/vampire-esque fashion style. She’s had to really fight our parents about wearing it; despite her looking extremely smart in it, they can’t get over the fact that it’s black on black, so at this time she’s been refusing to change her style for ANYONE and ANYTHING. She also works in fashion and knows seasonal trends, etc. She’s ideal to have around if you want style advice, basically. The middle sister — [Bride] in this story — has a very effeminate style — bright and pastel colours and florals.

[Bride] is getting married and is having a spring-themed wedding, which she clarifies to mean light colours, pastels, and florals. Her bridesmaids — the groom’s sisters, her friends — go from being great and loving the light pinky-purple dresses [Bride] picked to suddenly hating them after [Bride] pays for them. They start demanding that she buys them black dresses that are really, really short and reveal a lot; it’s pretty clear that they want [Bride] to pay for party dresses for them.

I then find out from [Youngest Sister] that Mum has been steamrolling every appointment so it’s what SHE wants rather than [Bride], and when [Bride] stands up for herself, Mum calls her a Bridezilla and threatens to not let her have use of a family heirloom that’s been used for every wedding in our family for literal centuries.

We are in a group chat, just the three of us sisters. None of us have discussed what [Youngest Sister] and I are wearing for the wedding. [Bride] has been messaging us complaining about the bridesmaids.

Bride: “It’s just OBVIOUS they just want a free outfit from me! I don’t have that kind of money.”

Youngest Sister: “Plus, like, you’re the one who has to live with the photos. I’ve tried that with Mum, by the way, and she’s still not budging on the holly jacket and dark green skirt.”

Me: “They’re s*** friends. Drop ‘em. Also, how dark is this green?”

Youngest Sister: “It’s pine green. Literally the colour of a Christmas tree. I have no patience for her. ‘It’s flooooraaaaaaal and green is new groooooowth.’ BS! It’s not. It’s obviously from the autumn/winter collection. It even says it on the label!”

Bride: “Thanks for trying. Oh, by the way, you know that velvet floral thing you have?”

Youngest Sister: “You mean the one dad calls my funeral attire, yes?”

Bride: “Yeah. Can you wear it to the wedding?”

Youngest Sister: “I mean… I can, but I did buy something specific for the wedding.”

Me: “Ooh, so did I. Do you have photos?”

Youngest: “Sure do. I’ll send them through. But like, I’ll wear whatever you want, [Bride]”

We wait for the photos to come through. I am shocked to see that it’s a pencil/shift dress with a rose pink bodice and a white rose floral design for the bottom with the roses outlined in black. She’s coupled it with a black shrug, black and pink shoes with roses on them, and a pink fascinator/hat that has a little veil effect.

Me: “This is mine!”

I share what I picked out, which is from the same collection as [Youngest Sister]’s dress. Mine is an A-line with the white floral rose print on the bodice and the skirt section entirely in the rose pink. I’ve coupled it with a white shrug and white and pink shoes.

Youngest Sister: “Oh, my!”

Me: “We match!”

Bride: “Did you match on purpose?”

Youngest Sister: “I spent a long time looking at that one but couldn’t deal with the amount of rose pink on that one, though I love the silhouette.”

Me: “We didn’t talk about it! I tried that one on but the hips said no.”

Youngest Sister: “We didn’t. And just as well your hips don’t lie, really. But anyway. I’ll wear what you want me to do, in this case.”

Bride: “But you HATE pink! And… colours! You’re a beautiful, gothic fairytale living your best life and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable!”

Youngest Sister: “I hate them for making you cry more than I hate pink. I’m gonna give them a shock and show ’em how it’s supposed to be done since they’re s***s.”

Bride: “Christ. Like. Wow. Okay. If you’re happy to. Like. Thank you.”

The subject changes and a few days go by. Then, we get this.

Bride: “I was trying to compromise with the two s***s and was telling them how my very gothic sister has gone with a pink and white dress… which matches my other sister’s dress… and then it clicked. Why am I wasting my time with those two?! F*** ‘em! Will you be my bridesmaids, instead?”

Naturally, we agreed. Our parents did think this meant that [Youngest Sister] had moved on from her phase, but they were quickly disappointed. Whenever Mum nagged her over her clothing, she’d just point out the winter suit Mum wore to a spring wedding.

This story is part of our Best Of March 2021 roundup!

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I am with my boyfriend at a chain restaurant where you make your order at the till and pay up front. My boyfriend always orders the same thing and I have gone up to put in our usual order.

When our food arrives, my meal is correct but my boyfriend’s is not. I check my receipt and realise that they have taken my order wrong; they have given us a new meal on their menu I’m not familiar with. I figure that I should have checked my order at the till, and even small arguments really stress me out, so I really don’t want to make a fuss. I turn to the server who took my order as he walks by our table.

Me: “Hi, sorry, I asked for the [correct meal] but you must have misheard me because I realise is on the receipt… but I should have checked it at the time, so I’ll pay for it. Can I please come up and order [correct meal]?”

Server: “No, this is the one you asked for.”

Me: “Um… no… I actually didn’t even know that this was on the menu, but I get that it’s loud in here so I understand that you probably didn’t hear me properly.”

Server: “You asked for .”

I am getting stressed already because I’m not sure why he’s arguing with me when this was specifically what I was trying to avoid.

Me: “No, look, I’ll pay for the order. It was my fault for not checking the receipt; I just want to order the correct meal.”

Server: “This is the one you ordered.”

I’m freaking out slightly because I don’t understand how else to explain myself, or why this guy won’t let me get my boyfriend’s food. My boyfriend seems as much at a loss as I am, so I decide to just ignore this guy and go and try to order from another server, although he is standing directly in my way to the tills. I stand up.

Me: *Voice raised and kind of squeaky from stress* “Look, I just want to go and order the right meal!”

The server is suddenly in de-escalation mode, relaxing his posture and smiling at me, speaking in a calming voice.

Server: “Whoa, whoa, caaaaalm down. No need to make a scene! I’ll go get [correct meal] for you. It’s all right, it’s all right.”

The manager came over a few minutes later to check that everything was okay and they ended up not charging us for the wrong meal, but years later I still think about this often, partially because I’m embarrassed at my own inability to deal with the slightest hint of conflict, but also because I’m baffled as to how that guy not only misheard my order, but apparently also misheard me explaining several times that I was prepared to accept the fault for it and pay for the replacement meal.

I’m a woman working in a call centre handling insurance claims. A customer comes through who is around thirty years older. I quickly realise he needs to be speaking to another department, so I call that department, check it’s the right one, and go back to the customer.

Me: “Thank you for holding, sir. I’m going to get you through to [Employee] in the correct department. Is there anything else you need from me before I do so?”

We are required to ask this.

Customer: “Your body?”

Me: “That… would be very inappropriate, sir. Transferring you now.”

I advise trainees to remember that no matter how nasty a customer is, they’re just a voice on the phone. But that one left me very uncomfortable. Yes, it has been flagged with my manager.

I have arrived at work and I’m starting the opening procedures. The shop door is locked, and there is a large CLOSED sign right in the middle of it, at eye level; it also lists our opening times. A man stops outside, looks at the door, visibly reads the sign, and then looks through the glass at me. Sure enough, as I pass close to the door, he knocks. I point at the closed sign, smile, and carry on working. He knocks again, louder, so I go and unlock the door and open it a crack.

Me: “Sorry, we’re not open yet.”

Man: “Your sign says, ‘Closed.’”

Me: “Yes, we’re not open yet.”

Man: “Your sign says you open at 9:00.”

Me: “Yes.”

Man: “That’s in ten minutes.”

Me: “Yes.”

Man: “Should I come back in ten minutes?”

Me: “Yes.”

Man: “Okay.”

And he wandered off, making me wonder why we bother with the sign at all.