I work for a small grocery store chain. A lot of our customers are regulars, and I’ve learned several people’s rewards numbers and/or usual orders of smokes and alcohol. There has just been a small price increase on some smokes.

Me: “Your usual two-pack of blues?”

Customer: “Yep, you got it.”

I grab the packs of smokes and ring them up.

Me: “Your total is $11.18.”

The customer hands me two fives and then stares at me.

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry, maybe I didn’t say it clearly, but your total is $11.18; you only handed me $10.00.”

Customer: “Oh, $11.18, my bad.”

He hands me another dollar and stares at me expectantly.

Me: “So… do you have eighteen cents?”

Customer: “Nope, only a dime.”

Me: “Oh, okay. Well, I can put one pack back if you need, since you still owe eighteen cents. Nobody has left change yet today.”

Customer: “So, you mean to tell me you won’t sell me my smokes? It’s eighteen cents, kid! It’s not my fault prices went up!”

I’m twenty-two, mind you.

Me: “Sir, I’m sorry, but I can’t just short my till every time someone is a few cents short; it adds up. You’ve got to pay your total or there’s nothing I can do to help you. I’m really sorry. The prices went up about a week ago. I thought you knew when you bought your packs yesterday.”

The customer huffs and throws another dollar at me. I ring him through and give him his change and a receipt.

Me: “Have a nice day! Sorry again!”

Customer: *Disgruntled old man huff*

My husband and I live in an apartment with slat window blinds on all the windows. They’ve been driving me crazy because they are over a foot too long, and the landlord has said we can cut them if we want. I want to take scissors to them but my husband suggests a home improvement store might have a tool to just cut them all at once since they trim blinds all the time. He calls our local big box home improvement store and they tell us sure, no problem.

We go into the store, head over to the window blinds area, and find a worker in the store’s uniform apron. We describe what we want.

Worker: “I don’t know if we can do that.”

Then, he sits and stares at us.

Husband: “Um, well, I called earlier and the guy working this morning said you could—”

Worker: “I’ve only been working here for six months; there’s a lot I don’t know yet.”

He sits and stares at us again.

Me: “Could you ask someone?”

The worker gets up and calls over someone who turns out to be his supervisor. They have a very quick conversation about the material the blinds are made out of, how to cut them, etc. The supervisor turns to us with a smile.

Supervisor: “Sure, we can get that done real quick. [Worker], you know how to use the machine, right?”

Worker: “Yes. I didn’t know that we could do this.”

He then takes our blinds and starts walking over to the machine while the supervisor walks away. 

Worker: “So, what length do you want these cut to?”

Me: “We’d like them a foot shorter.”

The worker nods. He then lays the blinds on the work table, turns his back to us, and gets to work. After a few minutes, he hands me a stack of blinds and I’m shocked. They’re all cut at widely different lengths and have black marks anywhere from a half-inch to an inch above the cut mark. He sees the look on my face and immediately gets defensive.

Worker: “I’ve only been here for a few months.”

Husband: “What? But you said you could do this—”

Worker: *Louder* “I was doing you a favor; we wouldn’t normally trim blinds you didn’t buy here!”

Me: “Whoa, nobody told us that—”

Worker: *Now shouting* “You are supposed to tell me how long you want them to be! The machine can’t measure what you cut off; it cuts to length!”

Husband: “Why didn’t you tell us that?”

Me: “We could have measured them first and subtracted a foot or something! We don’t know how your machine works!”

Worker: *Still shouting* “I was doing you a favor!”

I spot the supervisor walking out of the back room and wave to catch his attention. He starts walking over but [Worker] speed-walks over to intercept him. I can hear shouts of, “They gave the wrong measurements,” and, “We aren’t supposed to do this.”

The supervisor looks at the stack of blinds and then looks at the employee.

Supervisor: “What did you do?”

Worker: “I measured a foot from the bottom and drew my cut line, and then I tried to guess the length to put into the machine to get it to cut to that length. I got close, see?”

And he holds up the stack of blinds. The difference between the shortest and longest ones is about three inches.

The supervisor looks at the worker for a long minute and then turns to us to ask what we want done; the best he can do is even them all out at this point.

Me: “Um, so… what did you use to mark the blinds?”

The worker takes a Sharpie out of his pocket.

Husband: *Starting to freak out a bit* “You drew on our white blinds with a black Sharpie?”

Worker: “Just on the back.”

Husband: “Both sides show when the blinds are open!”

The worker looks at the blinds, takes one, and squints at the Sharpie mark on it, sticks his finger in his mouth, takes it out, and starts rubbing the mark with his wet finger.

In the end, he had marked the blinds so unevenly and badly that some were shortened by well over a foot, which meant they were now too short to cover the window. And that’s how we ended up with some brand new blinds and an apology from a supervisor who seemed very, very tired.

I work in a children’s toy store that specializes in stuffed animals. I am checking out a guest after having had nothing but a polite and fun interaction with them.

Me: “All right, it’s just gonna prompt for a donation on the PIN pad first!”

Guest: “What does it go to?”

I launch into my well-rehearsed speech about our current campaign.

Me: “[Foundation] donates to—”

Guest: *Interrupting* “Because if it’s going to any abortion clinics, I don’t want to donate.”

I’m temporarily caught off-guard by this. Again, I work in a children’s store. There are at least four HUGE children’s charity groups I can think of right now that I would like to assume come to mind first. I have also not had any problems with the guest leading up to this to indicate this might be a problem.

I am sputtering and trying not to agree with them, while also not making any statements on behalf of [Store].

Me: “Well, they donate through [list of well-known charity groups], as well as local charities. They also donate upwards of [amount of product] each year—”

Guest: “I just don’t want my money going to anything like that. You never know these days.”

They donated $3.

My family took a trip to Disney World back in 1997 when I was eight years old. With me were my mother, step-father, twin four-year-old half-brothers, and twenty-two-year-old step-aunt (my step-father’s sister). My parents offered for [Step-Aunt] to go as she was fresh out of college and they felt that they may need help with three kids; they even paid for all of her meals, flight, and hotel room.

My family and I had a lot of fun going to all of the parks, but I really wanted to go on the Tower of Terror ride in the park that was known then as MGM Studios. Unfortunately, the day that we went there, the Tower of Terror was having issues and closed down for the day. I was distraught when I found out we couldn’t ride it that day.

The next day was our last full day in Florida before we went home, but my parents were too tired from all the parks and wanted to relax with us kids by the pool. I was insistent that I needed to ride the Tower of Terror and asked if one of the adults could take me.

Mom: “[Step-Aunt], would you please take [My Name] to MGM?”

[Step-Aunt] appeared reluctant, but my parents reminded her that they’d paid for everything so far and this was the only time they were asking her to do this for them on the trip.

My mother got me ready to go to the park but made sure to give me some money and a list of emergency numbers in case I got separated from [Step-Aunt]. My mother then gave [Step-Aunt] specific instructions.

Mom: “You are not to turn off your cell phone, you do not let [My Name] out of sight, and please make sure to put more sunblock on her if you are gone for more than two hours.”

[Step-Aunt] took me from the hotel and we started walking to the theme park, but I soon realized we weren’t going to MGM but to another theme park, Epcot.

Me: “[Step-Aunt], this is the wrong park!”

Step-Aunt: “We are just going to get a drink and then we will go to MGM so you can ride the Tower of Terror.”

At this time, Epcot was known to be the only theme park where you could get alcohol, as they had areas themed after different countries, each with their own alcohol. I went along with it because I figured [Step-Aunt] was telling the truth, but after [Step-Aunt] got her first drink, we started walking further into the park while she was drinking. By the time [Step-Aunt] had finished the first drink, we were in a new country’s area and she got a second drink.

I tried arguing with her, but [Step-Aunt] said she just needed another one and we would get going soon, but I had my doubts. After [Step-Aunt] got her third drink from a different area:

Me: “When are we going to MGM?”

Step-Aunt: “We may not even make it there and you will just need to deal with it.”

[Step-Aunt] continued to drag me through four more country areas, getting a drink in each one. I even tried buying my own snack and water since we had been in the park almost three hours and I hadn’t had anything since breakfast. [Step-Aunt] told me no because then she would need to take me to the bathroom and that would slow her down.

At one point, when [Step-Aunt] went to the bathroom herself, I snuck over to a payphone and called my mom.

Me: “Mom? We’re not at MGM; we’re in Epcot. [Step-Aunt] has just been getting drunk, and she won’t let me buy food or water. I’m thirsty and sunburnt.”

My mother was furious.

Mom: “What store are you near? Go there and wait, and do not go anywhere.”

A minute later, when [Step-Aunt] got out of the bathroom, my mother called her on her cell phone to tell her that she was on her way to get me and that she was not to leave. [Step-Aunt] tried claiming that I was a liar and that we had gone to Epcot after we had been to MGM and ridden the Tower of Terror. My mother wasn’t buying it.

Mom: “I will meet you at [Nearby Store]. If you’re both not there, I’m going to call the police for abducting my daughter. If only [My Name] is there, I’ll tell them you abandoned her.”

[Step-Aunt] and I waited for about twenty minutes in the store in silence until my mother showed up, practically sprinting. My mother was furious seeing me so sunburnt and dehydrated.

Mom: “You have thirty minutes to get back to the hotel. [Step-Father] wants to talk to you.”

[Step-Aunt] tried arguing her case, but my mother just told her to go. Then, she bought a sports drink, water, and a snack for me and let me regain my strength. When I was feeling better, albeit sad about how I’d been treated all day, my mother brought me back to the hotel but said she would take me to ride the Tower of Terror later if I was up for it.

When we got back to the hotel, [Step-Aunt] wasn’t there but [Step-Father] said that she had shown up but had gone home early. After I rested and got an actual meal, my mom took me to MGM before they closed for the night and I was able to ride the Tower of Terror. Besides the issues during that day, I had a great time on the trip.

I didn’t find out until years later what exactly happened with [Step-Aunt]. When Step-Aunt got back to the hotel, [Step-Father] was furious with how his younger sister had treated his daughter and asked what she had been thinking. [Step-Aunt] said that she had been planning on getting drinks at Epcot that day, that she was just going to drag me around for the day, and that she was just planning on lying about going to MGM before when they got back.

[Step-Father] was so angry.

Step-Aunt: “[My Name] isn’t your real daughter, anyway! Shouldn’t my happiness matter more to you?”

This really struck a nerve with [Step-Father] as my bio-dad bolted before I was born and [Step-Father] started seeing my mother when I was just five months old. As far as he, my mother, and I saw it, he was my real father. 

Step-Father: “You have two options, [Step-Aunt]. One, I give you some money and you take the bus back home, or two, you pay for your own flight back home, because I am about to call the airline and cancel your ticket.”

She tried pleading with him, but he was so angry with what she did that after she left, he didn’t talk to her for almost two years.

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A new customer is attempting to get set up for online payments with us and is having difficulty with our systems.

Customer: “I keep getting error messages that don’t make any sense!”

I have several usernames associated with his account, each of them an email address, all of which are variations of his name, like [Customer1]@[website], or [Customer12]@[website].

This conversation takes place via email, from yet a different email address, none of which is one of the ones I already have.

Customer: “I’m not seeing an option to add a payment method when I log into your website.”

Me: “Hmm, that’s odd. Can you tell me what username you’re logging in with?”

Customer: “Mine.”

Me: “Um. Okay. Let me try again. Can you tell me exactly what letters or numbers, in exactly what order, you are typing into the box that says, ‘Username,’ on our site?”

Customer: “Oh, that’s my email address!”

Cue head-desk.

I did finally manage to get him to send me a screenshot of what was happening.

He was using yet again another different email address, not the one he was emailing me from or any of the ones I had on file. This turned out to be associated with a different account altogether. He did eventually make his payment, though!

Related:
Email Fail, Part 28
Email Fail, Part 27
Email Fail, Part 26
Email Fail, Part 25
Email Fail, Part 24