During my sophomore year of college, our campus had a bomb scare, not because of a threat, but because of incorrectly stored chemicals. A professor had brought some picric acid into one of the labs and failed to screw the container’s cap on properly. Picric acid is a component of TNT. It’s relatively safe when kept in an aqueous solution, but when it dries it’s highly explosive and can be set off by being jostled. In response, the university cancelled classes and evacuated half of the campus. The cafeteria was also half-closed, and students were shuffled in to eat in small groups, and told to finish as quickly as possible and get out of the “blast zone.” The fire department was called, and they sent in a bomb squad to retrieve the container and detonate it safely.

Later that day, one of the professors found more dried picric acid in the lab, and asked another professor what to do. They just poured water into the container and dumped it down the sink.

(My mom and I are on a long trip, five hours or so, to see my dad at his current out-of-town work. We stop to get some fast food since we both forgot to eat breakfast this morning, and it’s around noon by now. After she places our orders at the drive-thru, she’s already getting pissy, and they’re taking a while. She’s told to go to one of those waiting spots, and she’s getting really mad. An employee walks out with our drinks, and one more bag than we expect.)

Employee: *apologetic* “We’re super sorry about the wait; there was a spill and we had to clean it up.”

Mom: “Whatever, but why are there so many—”

Me: “Mom, be nice.”

Employee: “Oh! We… actually felt pretty bad, so there’s two free chocolate pie slices in here. If you’re allergic, I don’t mind taking them back and trading them out.”

(Let’s just say that my mom was in a much better mood after that, and actually apologized to him for being so mad and all. All-in-all, he really cheered us up; I’m just sad we couldn’t give him a tip or anything.)

(I am a female in my late twenties, and the store manager of a popular home goods store. In my time as a young manager, I have noticed that most of my difficult customers have been elderly ladies. There is a minimally-damaged shelving unit by our checkout that we use for displays, and it has been there so long it’s just a store fixture by now. One of my associates comes to the back to tell me she needs help with a regular customer who wants the shelf at a deeply discounted price.)

Me: “Hello, how can I help you today?”

Customer: “Well, this shelf is badly damaged, but I think I can fix it. How much would you sell it for?”

Me: “We have these units new in boxes in the back; I can ring you up for one of those. We use this shelf for displays, since the unit has a small knick out of the shelf. Would you like me to get a new one?”

Customer: “No, they’re too expensive, but I can repair this one. How much?”

Me: “Well, if you insist, I can give you 10% off, but I really prefer to keep it as a display.”

Customer: “Only 10%? That top shelf would need to be replaced. Do you know what that would cost? To get a piece of wood and cut it to size, sand it, paint it, and fit it with new brackets? It would cost more than the whole unit.”

Me: “Oh, the only damage is this sliver of wood that was chipped off. It could be fixed by gluing a small piece of wood to it and a furniture pen to match the paint. Or it could be sanded down and painted.”

Customer: *gets very condescending* “Oh, no, honey. You don’t know about furniture. That shelf needs to be replaced.”

(I point out that the shelving unit is currently holding items, and I even shake it.)

Me: “It’s structurally sound. The damage is cosmetic. In any case, I’m not interested in selling this one, as we have about five new ones in the back, and this one is used for displays. Can I get you a new one? I’ll even give you 10% off.”

Customer: “No, I wanted this one only if you could discount it to what it’s worth, but it would cost too much to repair.”

Me: “So, you really think it would cost more than the regular purchase price of $99 to repair this two-inch sliver of missing wood?”

Customer: “Are you really the manager?”

Me: “Yes.”

Customer: “That’s too bad. You really don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe you need more training, honey.”

Me: “Wow.”

(I went to the stock room to breathe. My associate came back to tell me the rude lady left but had kept insisting the shelf was beyond repair and complaining about me. We went out to the shelving unit to make sure we weren’t missing any unseen damage and started laughing as we found an old sale tag on it for 50% off that we would have had to honor.)

Related:
Don’t Discount The Customer’s Ability To Discount, Part 10
Don’t Discount The Customer’s Ability To Discount, Part 9
Don’t Discount The Customer’s Ability To Discount, Part 8

(I’m a new cashier and female. It’s a pretty slow day. This customer looks to be in his early 30s and his items are wine and a box of condoms. He winks at me and I catch a whiff of his cologne.)

Customer #1: “We could use these together if you want, kitten.”

Me: “Sir, the only thing cheaper than that line is your cologne. Also, I’m 16, and you’re holding up the line. Your total is [total]. Cash or credit?”

(He sheepishly pays and leaves. [Customer #2] lets out a small chuckle.)

Customer #2: “That’s one way to ward off creeps.”

Me: “I’m just doing what my mom taught me.”

(I work in a local drugstore very close to the college football stadium. We do not sell alcohol of any kind. On a game day, a coworker and I spot a lady walking down the center aisle, wearing a team sweatshirt and looking lost.)

Me: “Excuse me, can we help you find something?”

Customer: “Yeah, where’s y’all’s beer?”

Me: “Oh, sorry, we don’t sell beer.”

Customer: “You sell hard liquor but you don’t sell beer?!”

Coworker: “Ma’am, if we sold hard liquor I’d have a lot more fun at this job.”