My mother is a retired midwife. I was raised with a clear understanding of motherhood and everything it entails. As a ten-year-old boy, I would read her professional magazines. I could have an intelligent conversation about menopause or explain an epidural. Then, in my early teens, this happens.

Mum: “Hey, [My Name]. How are you? You won’t believe what happened last night. We had a model breast.”

Me: “A model— Wait, what?”

Mum: “We had some professional development training to do in breastfeeding, and they had a model breast for it.”

Me: “Er, model breast?”

Mum: “A model of a boob; it’s supposed to imitate a functioning boob. It came complete with a nipple that dispenses a liquid.”

Me: “Right… but almost all midwives are women. Aren’t there enough boobs in a maternity hospital for this to be obvious?”

Mum: “We all thought that, so we repurposed the training boob.”

Me: “I— Wait, what? A model boob was supplied to your colleagues for training and… Where is it now?”

Mum: “In the bathroom.”

Me: “Model breast in our bath… huh?”

Mum: “Since we didn’t need it, we reused it as a soap dispenser.”

Me: “I… What?”

Mum: “We obviously didn’t need it, so we might as well put it to good use. So, we glued it to the wall of the staff bathroom and added liquid soap. Press the nipple and soap comes out.”

I nearly peed myself with laughter.

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Me: “How can I help you, madam?”

Old Woman: “Do you sell fish and chips?”

Me: “No, madam, we’re a coffee shop.”

Old Woman: “That’s outrageous! What are you going to do about it?”

Me: “Erm… I’m fairly certain we’re not going to do anything about it.”

Old Woman: “Oh.”

She suddenly turns very polite.

Old Woman: “Do you know where I can get fish and chips? I’ve tried everywhere in town.”

Me: “Did you try any actual fish and chip shops?”

I work in a department store that has its own credit card available with store perks, which has good deals especially on days like Black Friday. At the till, the extent of our dealings with the credit card are encouraging customers to apply for the card, giving leaflets with info, and helping customers paying off their monthly bill.

It is my first Black Friday in retail and, unsurprisingly, the queue is out of the door. I have done about four hours so far and although it’s been difficult to keep up a good pace so people don’t get impatient, everyone has been generally very pleasant so far!

An older couple gets to the front of the queue.

Me: “Hi, how can I help?”

Male Customer: “Yes, we have the [Store] credit card and we’ve forgotten the PIN number. Can you sort this out for us, please?”

Me: “The creditors would be the ones who could sort that out for you, with the information you have when you signed up. You can call or email them to request a new PIN, or I can find a number for you here so you can call them.”

Female Customer: “Yes, but we want to use it today. It’s Black Friday. Could you check if our PIN is correct?”

Me: “I’m so sorry, I don’t get access to that information at the till point, unfortunately. Your options are to call up the company at this phone here, or try and purchase an item using your PIN; then you’ll be able to see if you have it correct.”

Female Customer: “This is absolutely ridiculous. Can’t you see if we have the right PIN?”

Me: “I’m very sorry, I don’t have access to customer information and we can’t reset PINs or other personal information at the till point. If you wanted to try and make a purchase, we can check if it’s correct and you can always return it; that’s all I can do.”

The male customer is tutting and turns to shake his head and mutter at everyone behind him.

Male Customer: “This is awful service. It’s a simple task and you can’t do it?”

They are both giving me the evil eye and generally trying to get a consensus from all the other shoppers that I am THE WORST CASHIER EVER.

I am now panicking because the queue is getting longer and I have no clue how to end this and not start crying because I am definitely not thick-skinned enough for retail.

Me: “Let me get my manager and I’ll see what she says is the best option for you.”

My manager hears their predicament.

Manager: “Unfortunately, your only options are to try and purchase an item and see if you remember your PIN correctly, or to call up the credit company to reset your PIN.”

Male Customer: “Oh, we already called them; they said they’re sending out a new PIN within two weeks!”

Me: “…”

Related:
PIN-Headed, Part 12
PIN-Headed, Part 11
PIN-Headed, Part 10
PIN-Headed, Part 9
PIN-Headed, Part 8

This takes place at a call centre for a large insurance underwriter. I am dealing with inbound customer calls about home insurance

Me: “Good afternoon, welcome to [Insurance Company]. You’re speaking to [My Name]. Could I take your name, please?”

Customer: “Phillip.”

I am not quite sure if that is his first name or surname.

Me: “Good afternoon, sir. Do you have a policy number I can take, please?”

Customer: “No, I left it at home; I am at work now.”

Me: “Not a problem, sir. Could I take your postcode, please? I can search for your policy that way.”

Customer: “You should have that information on your screen.”

Me: “I will need to search for your policy first. For that, I will need your postcode.”

Customer: “You mean to tell me you can’t find me with my name?”

Me: “I can certainly try. Can I take your full name?”

Customer: “I don’t give out my surname over the phone.”

Me: *Inwardly sighs* “I will need to take your surname to search for your name.”

Customer: “I DON’T GIVE OUT THAT INFORMATION TO RANDOM STRANGERS ON THE PHONE! JUST SEARCH MY FIRST NAME!”

I think, “You called me?!”

Me: “There are 1400 results for the name Philip.”

Customer: “HOW IS THAT RIGHT?!”

Me: “The system has bought up all the policyholders with the first name Philip and the surname Phillips.”

Customer: “UGH! My surname is Jones.”

I inwardly sigh again, as I can see where this is going.

Me: “That still gives me seven results. Could I take your postcode, please?”

Customer: “I don’t have time for this.” *Hangs up*

It always amazes me how people think their name is so unique and special! Especially with a surname like Jones in the UK!

I work in IT for a small company. The number for the IT department near-constantly gets calls for a credit card company due to the phone number being similar. Most callers accept they’ve got a number; this one doesn’t.

Me: “Hello, how can I help?”

Caller: “Hi, is this [Credit Card Company]?”

Me: “No, I’m afraid not.”

Caller: “Well, your colleague forwarded me to you; I suggest you deal with this.”

Me: “Not my colleague, mate.”

I put the phone down.

I’m still puzzled as to why he thought I’d believe that someone at the credit card company would forward a call to the company’s customer line instead of using the internal extensions.