I work for an energy company whilst searching for work to do with my degree, which is in mathematics and statistics. It’s ten minutes before closing time and by this point, I just want to get pyjamas on and sleep. A woman calls.

Caller:
“I need my electricity back on.”

Me:
“Okay, I’ll have a look into that for you.”

The moment her details load up, I see what is wrong. She has not paid a bill in five months and is £700+ in debt. I check notes and she has had letters/emails/texts — the whole shebang — to tell her she will be cut off if she does not make a payment.

Me:
“Okay, I can see what is going on. It is showing here that you have not made a payment in five months and you are over £700 in debt. You have been sent confirmation of this—”

Caller:
“What do you mean, I am in debt? I have been away visiting friends and when I am away visiting we do not need to pay as we are not using anything.”

This isn’t untrue, but it’s not wholly true, either. We are allowed to refund a certain amount only if there are less than ten units of usage. This woman is showing over two-hundred, so she is getting nothing.

Me:
“Well, I’m afraid to tell you that someone has been using your fuel in the time and every bill is accurate. Due to the high usage, I cannot refund you.”

Caller:
“Excuse me? I have just told you I have been visiting friends and I have not been at home to use it. I want my money back.”

Me:
“Firstly, I cannot refund something that has not been paid in the first place. And someone has been using your fuel, so someone is on your property.”

Caller:
“Oh, yes, my husband and son are in the house, but as it’s in my name and I was not at home, why should I have to pay?”

Me:
“You have to pay because it is your house, and your house has had the usage. I cannot turn your electricity back on without a payment of some form.”

Caller:
“Well, I am not paying for something that I did not use and also I am not getting!”

Me:
“I apologise for this, but I am afraid I cannot do anything without a payment. I would be willing to set up a payment plan if you wish to clear the balance—”

Caller:
“Are you listening to me? I said I am not paying for something I did not use and I am not getting.”

Me:
“I’m afraid I cannot do anything for you, nor can anyone else. You cannot get five months of free electricity, even if you were not at the property in that time.”

Caller:
“Listen here, you incompetent nuisance. I know how bills work. I work for a very feared insurance company called [Company] and I also have a degree in mathematics, which I am sure you are too stupid to understand.”

I am furious and 100% done with her. I decide to kill her with kindness.

Me:
“Oh, really? Where did you study? I just graduated last month with that degree alongside statistics—”

Caller:
“Stop lying to me; only school dropouts work in call centres.”

Okay, no more Mrs. Nice Lady from me.

Me:
“Okay, if you honestly think you are better than me, answer one question for me.”

Caller:
“How dare you speak to me like that?! I will be filing a complaint against you for that. But since you are an idiot, I will answer.”

Me:
“What is the definition of a degree of a polynomial?”

Anyone who works in or has studied maths further will know this.

Caller:
“Excuse me? I do not speak gibberish.”

Me:
“I asked what the definition of a degree of a polynomial is.”

Caller:
“There is no such thing! I would have heard about that, and how dare you waste my time?! I will be filing a complaint and writing to corporate about you. Goodbye, you insolent b****!”

Then, she hung up. Since I’m a salty git, I Googled the name of the firm she supposedly works at. It’s a bakery.

It’s the late 1980s. The reception area where I work mainly deals with incoming and outgoing mail and business clients. While I’m on my own, a well-dressed gentleman walks in and addresses me in an American accent.

Visitor:
“Good afternoon. I’m here to see Mr. [Senior Partner].”

Me:
“Oh, I’m sorry, sir, but the Partners’ Entrance is just across the way, over there. If you speak to the receptionists there they’ll be able to get Mr. [Senior Partner] for you.”

Visitor:
*Losing it* “G**D*** IT! I have flown all the way from San Francisco for an important meeting, and all you can do is tell me I’m in the wrong place! WHAT IS THE PROBLEM WITH THIS G**D*** COUNTRY?!” *Storms out*

I am left there, thinking to myself:

Me:
“I don’t know what the country’s problem is, but I know what yours is. Seriously, you just flew five and a half thousand miles and you’re complaining about walking another ten yards?”

I work in electrical sales on the first floor of a large supermarket. I notice a shifty-looking fellow standing beside our display of laptops. There’s nothing too unusual about that; they all run promotional videos and adverts so many people stop to watch them.

As I watch, the man reaches out and deliberately pulls on the security cable for the laptop, immediately setting off the anti-theft alarm. He then takes one step to the side and does the same to another laptop, and then another, before looking me in the eye and walking away.

His calm and deliberate attitude immediately arouses my suspicions, so I quickly reset the alarms and head down the public stairway to speak to our security guard about the strange behaviour.

I am never able to have that conversation; the security guard and the on-duty manager have already stopped the strange customer at the door and are asking him to open his backpack. 

Apparently, the guy was so set on distracting me that it didn’t occur to him that the alarms would have alerted the CCTV operator, who watched him walk away from the laptops, stuff a small appliance in his bag, and walk off while I was occupied.

The story gets weirder.

The strange man decides that he doesn’t want to talk to the security guard and tries to push past. Knowing full well that the man is shoplifting, the on-duty manager grabs him by the coat and turns him around to walk back into the store.

At this point, the man sees me standing nearby and grabs me by the lapel with his free hand, trying to swing at me with the one that my manager is hanging on to! Between the two of us we are able to wrestle him to the ground, the security guard grabs one leg, and another member of staff grabs him by the other; all four limbs are held to stop him from thrashing and growling at us, while another member of staff calls the police.

As the four of us are sitting on this guy as he writhes and roars at us, another customer approaches my manager. I see her coming, and honestly, I think that she is going to try and defend the thief or scold us for restraining him so violently.

No. Instead, she speaks to the manager who is clamped down on the arm of a growling, struggling thief.

Customer:
“Excuse me! I’ve just been to the tills, and your staff gave me far too many plastic bags! I don’t need all of these!”

With far greater politeness than I had expected, the manager directed her to the customer service desk while we waited, on the floor, for another fifteen minutes until the police arrived. I mean, Jesus Christ, lady! Have you no concept of priorities?!

My first job out of school was at a local bakery. One of the tasks I was expected to do during the day was to take the flat pack cake boxes and assemble them, making it easier to pack cakes for customers during the busy periods. My manager was horribly nitpicky about things and one of her pet peeves was that there weren’t enough boxes.

One day, I came into work and she had me fill out and sign a “formal warning notice” to say I hadn’t assembled enough boxes — I was literally one box short of what she wanted. Likewise, my colleague got the same “warning.” Being the 17-year-old I was, and feeling like a smarta***, I spent my whole Saturday assembling every single box we had.

The manager liked to have around 30 and I assembled around 3,000. They were literally stacked everywhere — on the counters, filling the shelves, and on the floor. I even built an archway leading into the back of the store. The next day, the store owner demanded to see me because of the ridiculous state of his store; he actually called me in on my day off.

And that was how I got my second formal warning. After I explained the situation to the owner, he did agree to speak to the manager about how a warning over a single missing box was excessive.

(We sell second-hand furniture for charity. I sold a solid oak bed for £100 to a customer who had already kicked up a fuss in regard to the price, until I offered a price match where if he could find the same or similar cheaper I’d match the price. Not surprisingly, he didn’t, but he bought the bed anyway. This is a followup a week later.)

Customer: “I want my money back for this bed.” *shows me the paperwork*

Me: “Okay, what is the issue?”

Customer: “The bed broke when my daughter sat on it.”

(He shows me a picture of a girl around fourteen, who weighs no more than nine stone. Now, remember, it’s a solid oak bed and I, myself, sat on it and I was about sixteen stone at the time. The customer is about twenty-one stone and is obviously the one who broke the bed.) 

Me: “Okay, no problem. Did you want to exchange or get a refund?”

Customer: “I want my money back.”

Me: “Okay, no problem. I’ll send my van guys out to collect the bed and when it’s back in the store, just pop in with the receipt and I’ll give you your refund.”

Customer: “Okay, when will they get the bed?”

Me: “Let me have a look… I can do two days from now.”

Customer: “Okay.”

(It’s all booked in and he goes away. Two days later, the van guy calls me from the customer’s house.)

Van Guy: “Hey, [My Name], I’m at this guy’s house but they’ve thrown the bed away; there’s nothing here.”

Me: “Okay, just get him to sign to say you turned up and carry on with the other collections.”

(I am slightly annoyed, as it costs us £11 to send a collection out, which is completely free for the customer, so we’re essentially losing money when nothing comes back. The next day, the customer walks in.)

Customer: “I want my money.”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but I cannot offer a refund as there is no item.”

Customer: “I want my money.”

Me: “Sir, as I explained to you the other day, I needed the item to be able to do the refund, and you threw the bed away. Therefore, I cannot return any money.”

Customer: *starting to shout and inch closer to me* “I. Want. My. Money.”

Me: “Sir, I understand, but I cannot give you money on an item that isn’t here.”

Customer: “I want to speak to a manager.”

Me: “I am the manager; however, I’m happy to call my area manager and see what he says.”

(The customer okays this, so I call the area manager. I briefly explain the situation and he bluntly says no, and even speaks to the customer and explains again why he can’t have a refund. All goes well, and they hang up after my boss tells me not to do the refund.)

Customer: “I want my money.”

Me: “Sir, as I have told you several times, and as my boss has just told you, you can’t have any money.”

Customer: “Your boss said I could.”

Me: “Sorry, he told me that he explained you couldn’t and he told me you couldn’t.”

(Very angry and going red, the guy gets about a centimetre away from my face and pokes me in the chest, with my big-a** warehouse guy standing there ready to come over.)

Customer: “I am Czech! My Czech friends and I will come here and do bad things to you! I want my money!”

Me: *trying to keep calm before I explode and punch him* “I’ve said, ‘No.’ Now, please step back and do not touch me again or I will phone the police and have you arrested.”

Customer: *still refusing to back off* “I want my money now or you will be sorry.”

(This is where I signalled to the big-a** warehouse guy and the slightly smaller big-a** warehouse guy who had joined the party. They stepped between us and edged the customer out of the shop, telling him he was banned and if he came into the shop again we would call the police due to his behaviour.)