(I work at a rather successful insurance company. A gaudy, middle-aged woman walks in. We go through all the information needed smoothly until…)

Me: “Okay, that just about does it. I just need you to answer one more question.”

Client: “Okay.”

Me: “What date were you born?”

Client: “October 7, 1973.”

Me: “Okay.” *murmuring as I write it down* “October 7, 1973.”

Client: “Oh, I think you must have misheard me. I said January 19, 1969.”

Me: “Oh, my mistake.”

(We go through everything again to make sure I didn’t make any mistakes. Lo and behold, when we get to the birth date, more trouble arises.)

Me: “And your birth date is January 19, 1969. Is that correct?”

Client: *getting aggravated* “You need to listen more carefully! I said May 23, 1972!”

Me: *getting suspicious* “Hey, [Coworker], can you come over here real quick?”

Coworker: “Uh, yeah, sure.”

Me: “And Miss [Client], what did you say your birthday was?”

Client: “September 1, 1965!”

Me: “Uh-huh, and [Coworker], what did I put down last?”

Coworker: “May 23, 1972.”

Client: “I never said that! He must have misheard me!”

Me: “[Coworker], do you think I misheard her? I mean, May 23, 1972 does sound a lot like September 1, 1965.”

Coworker: *catching on* “Yeah, you’re absolutely right, [My Name]. I’ll just go get security down here and see if they think the same thing.”

(Upon hearing this, the lady turned bright red, and turned around to run. She tripped and fell, along with her purse, to the ground. The purse burst open to reveal 20+ credit cards. She got up to run, but found herself face to face with a security guard. Turned out she was an identity thief, and was simply trying to remember the birth date of the person she was impersonating.)

(I am on a family vacation to New Orleans. My parents buy tickets for a rock concert, and we go to the venue, only to come across the most unhelpful staff I’ve ever seen.)

Dad: “Where are we supposed to meet for the show?”

Security: “Over there.” *points to an area near the entrance of the venue* “May I see your tickets?”

(My dad shows him the email on his phone, and I can already tell from the guard’s reaction that we’re in for a rough experience.)

Security: “These aren’t tickets. There’s no barcode on these. You’ll have to go to the ticket office and have them try and print them for you.”

(While my dad and mom are visibly annoyed, we decide to go to the ticket office, anyway. In front of us is a man whose tone and annoyance only exacerbates my fear that we aren’t going to get much help. I don’t recall the conversation, but the man proceeds to leave with a very angry look on his face. Then it’s our turn.)

Dad: “We have tickets here, but the security guard said we can’t use them?”

(The worker looks at the email on my dad’s phone, and her confused look doesn’t really quell my fears.)

Worker: “We don’t support this company.”

Dad: “But we bought them!”

Worker: “Let me get my manager.”

(The workers calls over her manager who is waiting in the back, and she also has the same confused look.)

Manager: “We don’t support this company.”

Mom: *interjects and raising her voice* “What are you talking about?!”

Manager: “We only support [Company # 1] and [Company #2]. Not [Company #3]. I’ve never heard of [Company #3] in my life, and I don’t recognize this logo.”

Mom: “But it was on your site!”

Manager: “That may be, but we don’t support this company. There’s no barcode on this, either, so even if we did support it, we couldn’t print it, anyway.”

Me: “So, what do you recommend we do?”

Manager: “Take it up with the owners. I’m not at fault if you bought from a company that we don’t support.”

Mom: *begins to pretty much yell* “WELL, WHY DOESN’T THE F****** WEBSITE SPECIFY ANYTHING ABOUT COMPANIES THAT YOU SUPPORT OR DON’T SUPPORT?!”

Manager: “That’s not my problem. I didn’t design the website.”

Mom: *still yelling* “THIS IS THEFT, I TELL YOU! WHY DO YOU EVEN ALLOW COMPANIES YOU DON’T SUPPORT TO BE ON THE WEBSITE, ANYWAY?! CHECK THE SITE!”

Manager: “Again. Not my problem. You failed to read the policy.”

(We begin to walk away, but the manager interjects once again.)

Manager: “Take it up with the owners. It’s not my problem if people can’t comprehend basic instructions.”

Mom: “WHAT PART OF ‘IT’S NOT ON THE WEBSITE’ DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?! THIS IS F****** THEFT, I TELL YOU! WHY WOULD YOU NOT BOTHER TO FILTER OUT THE ILLEGAL COMPANIES ON YOUR OWN SITE?! YOU MADE IT! THE POLICY ISN’T EVEN IN THE MOST CONVENIENT SPOT, EVEN IF IT’S THERE!”

Me: “Mom, stop, stop, stop. It’s not worth it anymore. I don’t care who’s at fault, so long as we get the h*** away from this place.”

(We ended up bailing, and my mom called our bank to dispute the charges. What baffles me the most is that the website had no indication of this policy of ticket companies that they supported, nor did they make any attempt to check the site to verify our claims. In the end, I ended up writing a negative review on the website and got an apology from the owner.)

(At the store where I work, it is policy to card for ALL tobacco and alcohol purchases. It doesn’t matter if the person has grey hair and more wrinkles than a Shar Pei; we still have to card them. Failure to card can lose me my job and cost me and the store a hefty fine. The customer I am serving here appears to be in at least his 60s.)

Customer: “I’ll take a can of [chewing tobacco], please.”

Me: “Certainly.” *unlocks the tobacco cabinet and gets out the can* “May I see your ID, please?”

Customer: “You’re kidding me!”

Customer’s Buddy: “The state of things now! Is this an Obama rule? This is ridiculous how things are nowadays! Is his one of Obama’s rules?”

Me: “No, it is a store rule.”

Customer & His Buddy: *laughs* “A store rule?!”

(The customer handed me his ID, I typed in the birthdate and told him his total, and he paid and left, both of them still laughing. This is not the first time a customer has railed about “Obama taking away their rights” when asked for ID.)

Related:
Obama Drama, Part 4
Obama Drama, Part 3
Obama Drama, Part 2

(Over the past few months, a huge number of people’s lunches and food have gone missing from the break room fridge. I set up a camera and catch the culprit taking a lunch. I have to sit down for a write-up with her and her supervisor.)

Me: “We called you in because I have evidence that you’ve stolen from a coworker.”

Employee: “I’m not a thief! I didn’t steal anything.”

Me: “Okay, I have the video here, and your supervisor has already watched it. It clearly shows you taking someone else’s food out of the refrigerator and eating it.”

Employee: *laughing* “Oh, that’s not stealing.”

Supervisor: “Yes… Yes, it is. In fact, my lunch went missing a week ago; was that you, as well?”

Employee: “I have to do that, though! I only get a twenty-minute break. It’s just long enough to throw food down my throat. I don’t even get a chance to enjoy it; I just have to throw it down.”

Me: “That’s a standard break for a four-hour shift, and it doesn’t mean you can steal from others.”

Employee: “You don’t understand! I can’t go out for a meal in that time. I can’t have a good meal. I’m just eating as fast as I can.”

Supervisor: “But you have taken other’s things. Just bring your own food, or buy from the vending machine.”

Employee: “But that’s money! It’s not fair that I have to just shove food down that I paid for.”

Me: “Okay. I need you to understand that this counts as a final written warning. Any other problems, and we will be letting you go.”

(Two days later, an employee tells me that their lunch is missing again. I review the footage and find the same employee stealing the lunch. I find her on the floor and hand her her termination papers.)

Employee: “You can’t do that! It’s not fair! I thought you would stop recording after you caught me the first time! You had to tell me you were still watching the fridge! I’m going to sue.”

(I kind of hope she does. I’d love to hear her argument in court!)

(I am a third key manager at a national dollar store chain and it is pretty much the only store in the area. For a few weeks, we haven’t been receiving $1 toilet paper on our truck shipments. An older woman asks me to help her find the cheapest toilet paper left.)

Me: “Right now, this is the cheapest we have.” *holds up a pack of $2 toilet paper*

Customer: “Two dollars?!”

Me: “I apologize. We just haven’t gotten any more in for a while.”

Customer: *glares at me* “Whatever. Just show me where you all have napkins.”

(I lead her to the napkins, and then go up to the register so I can send the cashier on break. A few minutes later, the customer appears at my register.)

Customer: “Look at this! You all are robbing the poor blind! Two dollars for toilet paper is absolutely ridiculous! Who would pay that?! Look what I have to use!” *holds up the napkins* “I hope you all go out of business!”

(She pays with change, though she has a $5 bill in her hands. She continues ranting at me, saying it’s all my fault. I just stay silent, as I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say. She then storms out the door and I wish her a good day. I then watch her walk across the street to the drive-thru tobacco shop.)

Me: “I hope her toilet clogs up.”

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