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Autocorrect Causing Friction Once Again

, , , , , | Working | October 21, 2020

We have an employee-only app to allow us to locate items in store and check stock levels, in case a customer has a query we don’t know the answer to. With the current health crisis, we’ve stopped getting some of the more superfluous, specialised items in stock, so we’re getting more questions.

After already discovering that one of his queried items is out of stock, this customer has one last request while I have the app out.

Customer: “And I know your counters are closed, but could you possibly check for jellied eels for me?”

Me: “As you said, I doubt we’ll have any, but I’ll have a look…”

The app is almost overeager, for want of a better word, on figuring out typos, so sometimes it overshoots.

Me: “J-e-l-l-i-e-d e-e-l-s…”

The app’s search results come back… with nothing but an abundance of various lubes.

Me: “Oh, uhh…”

Customer: *Seemingly oblivious* “No, none of those look right. Thanks for looking, anyway!”

Insecure About The Security Process, Part 2

, , , , , , | Right | October 20, 2020

I work for a building society. They are notorious for having a high turnover when it comes to employees, but nevertheless, I stay as long as possible because I have just finished university and am trying to crawl my way out of my student overdraft.

We have something called “partial authentication.” If you enter a code, it means you only have to go through a bit of security instead of the full lot. It also means you can politely address the account holder by name, which I do because I’m that sort of British. It’s also my final day.

Me: “Good afternoon, [Caller]. You’re through to [Bank]; how can I help today?”

Customer: “I would like to go through a few transactions on my account and check the balance.”

Me: “Okay, then. Can you please just confirm for me [random security information]?”

Customer: “Why should I give you that?”

Me: “It’s just a bit of security so I can take a look at your account.”

Customer: “But you addressed me by name, so I’ve done security!”

Me: “Ah, sir, you have partial security enabled, so when you enter your code when the phone asks for it, it means I only need to do reduced security instead of full.”

Customer: “I shouldn’t have to do that. I want to look at my account.”

Me: “I cannot give you your balance without first confirming security with you. To do so would be a breach of security policy.”

Customer: “I’m not doing that.”

Me: “Okay, sir, is there anything else I can help you with?”

We can give out product advice and such or transfer to sales without much security, so we ask this just in case.

Customer: “Yes, you haven’t helped me. I want my balance and to check my direct debits have gone out.”

Me: “Yes; however, you have chosen to not complete security, and therefore, I cannot complete that request.”

Customer: “But you addressed me by name.”

This carries on ad nauseam. I explain partial security. He states that I addressed him by name so he should not have to do security. I explain that I cannot do anything with the account until he does. This goes on for thirty minutes.

Me: “Sir, if you will not proceed with security, then I cannot take this call any further.”

Customer: “That’s it. I want to talk to a supervisor.”

Me: “Sir, they will only reiterate what I have stated many times.”

Customer: “Supervisor. NOW!”

I grab my supervisor and explain the situation.

Supervisor: “I’m only going to tell him the same thing you said.”

Me: “Would you believe I’ve told him that?”

Supervisor: *To the customer* “Hello, I’m [Supervisor]. I hear you’ve asked to speak to a supervisor.”

She listens.

Supervisor: “Sir, if you are unwilling to do security, then I will have to end this call. We cannot proceed any further if you refuse to do so.”

She ended the call.

Related:
Insecure About The Security Process

That’s Not Very Cash Money Of You

, , , , | Working | October 20, 2020

It’s been a few years since the Bank of England introduced its first polymer £5 notes. While I’m using one to pay for some secondhand books, the cashier notices something.

Cashier: “I’m sorry, I can’t accept this note.”

Me: “Why not?”

Cashier: “It’s torn. See?”

He shows me a tear that almost bisects the note where it’s been folded.

Me: “Oh, yeah. Didn’t realise polymer notes could tear like that. I don’t see why you can’t take it, though. As long as both halves have the serial number, there shouldn’t be any problem paying it into a bank.”

Cashier: “I’m sorry, I can’t accept this. It wouldn’t be legal.”

I seriously doubted this, but since it was such a small amount, I didn’t press the issue and paid by card instead. Ten minutes later, I presented the torn note in a supermarket and the cashier accepted it without a murmur.

When You Torchwood Not Go Anywhere Else

, , , | Right | October 20, 2020

I’m a nerd. I tend to wear a lot of nerd stuff, such as a Vortex Manipulator watch, Eye of Agamotto, suspenders, and various pins. I’ve had some crazy stuff happen before, but nothing like this. I’m in line at a coffee shop to get drinks for my friends. I’m wearing the Vortex Manipulator.

Me: “I’ll take…”

Customer: *Behind me* “Why are you in this shop?”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “If you’re a criminal, why are you in a coffee shop?”

Me: “How am I a criminal?”

Customer: “You have a tracker on your wrist. Only criminals wear those.”

Me: “Actually, it’s my watch.”

Customer: “No, it isn’t.”

Barista: “It’s a Vortex Manipulator. You see, he’s a time agent.”

Customer: “You mean a criminal?”

Young Kid: “Stop being mean.”

Customer: “Excuse me?”

Young Kid: “He’s said that he’s a time agent; let it go.”

Customer: “I won’t let a criminal be here.”

Me: “If you don’t leave, I will be a criminal, as I’ll be guilty of your murder.”

She skedaddled out of there.

Barista: “Whatever you say, Mr. Harkness.”

I still go there for that reason.

It’s My Way Or The Driveway

, , , , , , | Right | October 19, 2020

I deliver groceries to customers in my van. We have this one particular troublesome customer who has complained many times, mostly about us parking in her driveway. For some reason, any vehicle in her driveway sends her absolutely ballistic and results in our call center getting a flood of complaints. None of us understand it, as she doesn’t own a car herself, and her cul-de-sac has plenty of room so we wouldn’t be blocking anyone else in; she’s just chosen that particular hill to die on.

Today, is it storming heavily: wind, rain, localised flooding, you name it. I’m already wet and in a bad mood for my shift when I realise who I have next, and my heart sinks. I pull up to her very long driveway, look at the weather and say to myself:

Me: “F*** it.”

I park in her driveway, get out of the van, and am about to start unloading her groceries when I hear some shouting. It must have truly been cacophonous for me to hear it over the wind and rain. I look up and see a fuming red face leaning out of an upstairs window.

Customer: “How dare you! Get your van off my driveway! Now! Get it off!”

Me: “Ma’am! I am from [Supermarket] and I have a delivery for you!”

Customer: “Get your van off my driveway! You are forbidden to park on my driveway!”

Yes, she uses the word “forbidden.” Trying to prevent her personal meltdown, I drive the van back up to the entrance to her driveway, a good thirty metres from her front door (it’s a rather rich area!).

“Fine!” I think to myself. If she doesn’t want me on her driveway, then I shall do as I am told. I exit the van, to see the customer has now come downstairs and opened her front door, no doubt expecting me to carry each heavy box the thirty metres to her front door.

Nope.

Her face, amazingly, turns an even deeper shape of red as I start to unload all her groceries right there at the door of my van, all in plastic bags but still exposed to the elements. I can hear her roaring and complaining but due to the distance and weather I can’t make out any words, and honestly, I don’t care. 

I quickly finish unloading the groceries, sarcastically tip my hat to the screaming mass of customer still standing at her front door, and drive off.

I finish my deliveries and get back to the supermarket at the end of the day, and my manager approaches me.

Manager: “I got a complaint about you today.”

Me: “Let me guess; driveway lady?”

Manager: “The very same.”

Me: “What did she say?”

Manager: “A lot of swearing. She wants you fired.”

Me: “Am I?”

Manager: “No. Instead, I told her she’s no longer a welcome customer with us and has been blacklisted, and she will have to come in and get her own d*** groceries from now on.”

And all because she couldn’t handle our van being on her huge driveway!


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