I work at a donut shop. It is my first week of working here.

Customer: “Hello. Are your apple fritters handmade?”

Me: “They are, in fact, handmade by the same person that decorates the donuts and then deep-fried. The machine cooks them.”

Customer: “The machine cooks them?”

Me: “Yes. They’re handmade in the back. A machine cooks them.”

Customer: “Then they’re not handmade.”

My coworker is the sort of gentleman that, once you see him, you never forget him, as he’s absolutely huge. He works in the seafood department which is adjacent to the meat department. Late one evening, well after meat and seafood are closed, he comes into the store to do some personal shopping. A lady approaches him to demand that he cut a large roast in half for her.

Coworker: “I’m sorry but the meat department is closed. If you come back after eight in the morning, the butchers will be happy to cut it for you.”

Customer: “You work here. You do it.”

Coworker: “Madam, I am off duty. Furthermore, I work in seafood. I’m not trained to operate the meat saw. And the butcher shop is cleaned up and closed for the evening. You have to come back when the butchers are here in the morning.”

Customer: *Now angry* “I demand service. Cut this in half for me now.”

Coworker: “As I explained, I cannot do that. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have shopping to do.”

Customer: “I’m the customer. You will do what I want.”

Coworker: “Let me find you a manager.”

He brings the night manager over and the lady starts in on him. The manager simply repeats what my coworker has said but the lady is having none of it, demanding that he make my coworker cut the roast for her. [Coworker] goes over to a display rack, brings back a loaf of bread, and sets it on the edge of the cooler.

Woman: “What’s that for?”

Coworker: “It will sit there and listen to you all night. We have things to do.” *Walks off*

Tell your story today! Ever been able to say the perfect thing at the perfect time to a bad customer? Share it with the NAR community so we can all enjoy it too!

I am a handyman, and a customer has asked me to do some interior work in a crawlspace. However, since this is a house that is still being built, the power has not been hooked up yet. There is a generator onsite, but due to a few issues, I would have to take the generator up into the crawlspace to make effective use of it.

Me: “I’m sorry, [Client], but I can’t do the work that you are asking.”

Client: “Why not?”

Me: “Because that would require me to take the generator up to the crawlspace with me. It’s not safe.”

Client: “What are you talking about?”

Me: “Well, the generator puts off carbon monoxide, which isn’t safe to breathe, especially in an enclosed space like that.”

Client: “A little carbon monoxide won’t kill you.”

I then had to spend the next ten minutes explaining to the customer why that was wrong. They eventually agreed to put the work off until the electricity was hooked up.

My dad has always helped make sure our pets are financially cared for. As children, he always told us that if we get a pet we are accepting the responsibility to care for them no matter what happens. When we all grow up and move out my dad inherits the cat who has been there for over ten years. Now that the cat is sixteen years old, my dad has passed on care of the house and cat to me. About two weeks ago, he asked me about my twelve-year-old chihuahua.

Dad: “How is [Dog]? I’ve noticed you haven’t borrowed any money for her to go to the vet lately.”

Me: “Oh, she’s good. She should probably see the vet for her heart murmur, though.”

Dad: “Why haven’t you done that? Money is no excuse. When you get a pet, you take responsibility for that pet.”

Me: “Well, with my car breaking down and you loaning me the money for that and for the house, I was trying to pay you back before I asked for more.” 

Dad: “I’m well aware of how much you owe me, but you owe it to her to make sure she sees the vet.”

Me: “I, uh… Yes, sir. Thanks.”

Today, I get a card from the vet saying it’s time for my dog’s yearly vet appointment along with her kitty brother. I owned two cats before moving in. As a bad pet parent, I accidentally waited too long and did not get my female fixed before she, ahem, “multiplied,” and I kept one of her kittens. With the sixteen-year-old, I now have three cats; all are now fixed.

Me: *To Dad* “Hey, remember how we talked about the vet the other day for [Dog]? Well, I just got a card saying that she and [Young Male Cat] are due for checkups. Will you help me pay for them?”

Dad: “Sure. It’s [Vet], right? They’re used to how we do things.”

Usually, my sisters or I go to the vet and my dad pays over the phone.

Me: “Yup. Oh, and when is [Old Male Cat] due for his next checkup?”

Dad: “I’d have to look it up. I’m a bad pet parent and don’t practice what I preach.”

Me: “Okay, well, I’ll practice what you preach, then. I can plan on taking [Older Male Cat] and [Momma Cat] together in about six months. That way, it’s two pets twice a year.” 

Dad: “Perfect.”

He never wanted pets, which did cause him to be incredibly strict on the whole “take care of your pet” thing; if we didn’t feed them and treat them right, they got new homes. It sounds harsh, but we learned real quickly that he had no problem giving animals to “other children willing to appreciate their pets,” and we’ve always made sure our pets were cared for in homes, not shelters.

I am an aspiring writer and have completed my first book. I print it out and put it in a binder. I meticulously edit and improve it, updating my friends and family all the way.

One roommate thinks she knows better because she’s read more books than me and her grades were better in school. One day, I go home and find that my book has been marked to death, and even worse, certain scenes, including the best one, have been scratched out. I’m upset. I know I can just print it out again, but I decide to talk to my roommates anyway.

Me: “Did one of you mark up my book?”

Roommate #1: “Not me.”

Roommate #2: “Nope.”

Roommate #3: “Yeah, I improved it. I think it’s better this way.”

Me: “Could you not? I was working on it myself, and you edited out the best scenes. If I want your help, I’ll ask for it, but unless I do, don’t touch it.”

Roommate #3: “You’re such a witch sometimes! I made it better!”

Me: “No, you ruined it! Do you remember how upset [Roommate #1] was when her boyfriend destroyed her makeup palette as a prank? I felt like [Roommate #1] when I saw that you had destroyed my book. And don’t call me names.”

Roommate #2: “Really, [Roommate #3], you need to stop touching other people’s stuff. I know it was you who stole my shampoo, too.”

[Roommate #3] sulked the rest of the night and refused to speak to me for a week. I had to shred the old manuscript and print a new one, and this time I hid it somewhere only I could find it.

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