I’ve been cashiering at this place for a few years.

Customer #1: “I have EBT.”

Me: “Your total is [total]; you can swipe your card whenever.”

[Customer #1] pays and leaves.

Customer #2: “My tax dollars are paying for them to freeload.”

Me: “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I work here full-time and I use food stamps.”

I looked at them calmly as I waited for them to pay. They avoided eye contact and finished the transaction as fast as humanly possible and skedaddled.

I’m working in a department store in the first week of November. The company mailed out nineteen different coupons, none of which could be combined. What’s worse, the three or four coupons that were inserted into the newspapers are strictly one per customer, per day, so customers cannot use them even if they split up their orders.

So, not only is the store packed with early Christmas shoppers, but they all think they can make a big purchase with multiple coupons, only to find out that if they want to use a coupon on a lamp, an alarm clock, AND a stuffed animal, they are only allowed to buy one item today and have to come back tomorrow for another ONE item for the discount on that one. It is, of course, pandemonium at the registers.

Here’s the thing that really pushes my buttons: there are PLENTY of extra helpers there, all getting the store ready for the walk-through of some corporate high-up. PLENTY.

We have a line long enough that it looks like our Black Friday line, and only two of us are ringing. I call for help multiple times.

Multiple Managers: “We are all busy. There is no one that can help. Thank the customers for their patience.”

The assistant store manager walks by, DUSTING the fixtures — yep, DUSTING — while associates and customers alike are quite literally tripping over the go-backs that keep falling from our overflowing piles of rejects.

At the end of the night, one of the managers walks over and sees the mess the register is in.

Manager: “You guys really should have called for help.” 

Me: “We did. Several times. You were one of the people who refused to help.”

Manager: “Nonsense. Everyone was told to help out at the registers if a call was put in.”

Me: “I called multiple times — [Manager #1], [Manager #2], [Supervisor #1], [Supervisor #2] and you — and all of you said you were all too busy.”

Manager: *Not listening* “Next time, ask for help instead of trying to power through on your own. Oh, and you two need to get all this go-back stuff straightened up before you go home.”

Then, he walked away as I mentally screamed an F-Bomb.

The health crisis has been going on for a year already and most companies have geared up to provide online training. Not all their departments have gotten the memo, apparently. 

The law demands that one of our workers attend safety training provided by the client company. The training department of the client company is okay with the worker viewing the course and answering the proficiency quiz online, BUT their concierge will not even consider processing the access request until they have received the course attendance form signed by the worker, who’s a thousand miles from our office and actually closer to the client site but does not have access to a printer, scanner, or fax. It’s a stall.

Coworker: “Wait, who’s the guy who needs to sign the form?”

Me: “Our [Worker].”

Coworker: “Oh, print the form and hand it here. My father’s name is [Name Similar To Worker’s] and I could forge his signature in middle school. How hard can this be?”

The forged signature was perfect, and the concierge accepted the faxed form. The work went smoothly after that.

The art gallery that I work for has some seriously upscale stuff. When looking for a nice painting for your living room, office, or whatever, know that if you want an original piece of art, and if that art is from us, you’re going to be paying a LOT for it.

Me: “Good afternoon, ma’am, how can I help you today?”

Customer: “Yes, I was wondering about the price of this piece over here.”

She leads me to a moderately-sized, original piece in a redwood frame.

Me: “This one is priced at $1,200, with taxes, of course.”

Customer: “Hmm…”

She takes a moment to study it.

Customer: “No, no, I think you can do it for $200.”

Me: “Uh, no, sorry, the lowest I could possibly go is $1,100, and that’s even a bit of a stretch, considering the artist is so well known around here.”

Customer: “No, no, no, that won’t do. I’ll take it for $200.”

From the tone of her voice, she isn’t asking or suggesting; she’s straight-up TELLING me that I WILL sell it to her for the price she quoted.

Me: “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I could never possibly take $1,000 off a painting for you. Usually, when someone offers a price $100 less than the asking price, I have to call the artist and ask them directly.”

Customer: “No, you don’t need to call them. I’ll just take it for $200.”

Me: “No, ma’am, you won’t. You need to pay the full $1,200 if you want this painting.”

Customer: “Listen here. I want that painting, but I’ll only pay $200 for it. So, what you’re going to do is walk your happy little butt over there, take it off the wall, carry it to the registers, and sell it to me for the price I am willing to pay.”

She crosses her arms and gives me a “so there” huff of breath and decisive nod.

Me: “I’m very sorry, ma’am, but that’s not how this works. I’m afraid you’re going to have to pay the $1,200 or you don’t get the Upscale Stuff.”

The customer spent a good twenty minutes arguing with me before she finally stormed out. Whoever told her that SHE could set the prices for an art piece was an idiot and a liar, and I was powerfully tempted to say so. I’m honestly amazed that I kept myself as professional and polite as I did, as I was desperately trying NOT to burst into scornful laughter.

I told my manager, truthfully, what happened and — behind closed doors with me — he didn’t bother to hold back his laughter. He shook his head and told me that I had done a very good job and that I wasn’t going to get into trouble. He promised that he would handle any complaints.

I found out that she DID call to complain and was politely and professionally read the riot act about her behavior and unrealistic expectations about our business. She was informed, in polite, pompous speech, that we did not allow customers to set the price, and that if she wanted a piece, she was obligated to pay the asking price for it. Then, she was — just as politely and pompously — hung up on.

Oh, and I sold that very same piece of art for $1,200 later that same week to a gentleman who planned to make it a talking piece in his gallery.

I work for a third-party company that assists employees in filling out their time cards online. Since we are a third party, our access to the main company’s systems is extremely limited. In order to assist these callers, we need their employee ID numbers and can’t look up their accounts using any other information of theirs.

Me: “Thank you for calling [Help Desk]. May I have your ID number, please?”

Caller: “I don’t have that on me. Can you look it up using my social?”

Me: “No, I’m sorry. I can only look up accounts using the ID number.”

The caller finds the ID number. Procedure then dictates that we verify their information before continuing with the call.

Me: “…and may I have the last four digits of your social security number?”

Caller: “I don’t have it.”

I swear, at least three or four times per week. I weep for humanity.