(My husband and I stop by our local big box store to pick up the new Pokémon game, which is due to be released today. We head to the video game section, and the new game is nowhere to be found. This is a frequent problem at this store: the staff sometimes don’t put out games on release day and we have to ask the staff to retrieve them from the stockroom. We roll our eyes and flag down a sales associate.)

Me: “Hi. We’re looking for the new Pokémon game.”

Sales Associate: *barely glances at the shelf* “We don’t have any.” *starts to walk away*

Me: “They are supposed to be released today. Can you check in the back?”

Sales Associate: “The game isn’t coming out until April.”

Me: “No, the release date is today. That’s why we’re here. Are you going to help us or not?”

(The sales associate rolls his eyes and goes to the back. We wait for a full 15 minutes, grumbling that we could have avoided this irritation if they would just stock the shelves like they are supposed to. The sales associate comes back empty-handed.)

Sales Associate: “We don’t have any in the back, either. Sorry.”

(We start to leave the store, but I tell my husband to hang back for a sec. I walk over to the in-store inventory kiosk and look up the game. According to the kiosk, there are ten copies of each version physically in the store. I go to the front and ask for a manager. We wait for another 15 minutes.)

Manager: “How can I help you?”

Me: “Yes. Your employee said you don’t have any of the new Pokémon game in the store, but your kiosk says you have ten of each version in the store. I’m trying to figure out who’s lying to us.”

Manager: “Wait here. I’ll find out what’s going on.”

(We wait ANOTHER 15 minutes. The manager finally comes back.)

Manager: “Okay, here’s the deal: We do have the games in stock, but we can only sell them as part of a bundle with a new DS system. The games won’t be sold by themselves until April.”

Me: “Really?”

Manager: “Yes, sorry. I’ll show you the DS systems, if you’d like.”

Me: “No. You just lost a sale to [Competitor].”

(My husband and I headed across the parking lot to their competitor, where the clerk had a  mountain of the games behind her. We were in and out of the store in five minutes. When we got home, I filed a complaint with the big box store corporate. One of the execs called me to apologize for the experience and advised that there was no sale that weekend involving a Pokémon/DS bundle. He also offered to send me a $50 gift card to make up for the two employees essentially lying to me. So my husband and I got our Pokémon games for $10? Sweet, I’ll take it.)

(I’m waiting in line for the cashier when a woman walks up behind me with two boys. They’re junior-high-aged and alike as two peas in a pod.)

Woman: “[Boy #1], you keep our place in line while I take [Boy #2] over to look at the braces.”

(She walks off with the other lad.)

Me: “So, is it fun being a twin?”

Boy #1: *grinning* “We aren’t twins.”

Me: “…”

Boy #1: *grinning even more hugely* “We’re triplets!“

The manager of the cafeteria for the dorms I lived in was notorious for picking the cheapest food he could get, regardless of whether students wanted to eat it.

One such food was breaded veal cutlets, which few students wanted. His “solution” to this problem was to not allow students to take other foods unless they took the veal, as well. Of course, this meant most of it went straight to the trash. To add insult to injury, the cafeteria was full of posters with quotes about how students should not waste food and how people in other countries were starving.

One day, when veal was served for the fourth time in a month, I went around and asked everyone for their veal. I ended up with a tray with a two-foot high mountain of veal that must have weighed about 20 pounds. I then wrote, “No More Veal,” on a napkin, pinned it to the top of the pile of meat with a knife, and sent it through the dishwashing line.

Apparently, the message was received, as we did not have veal again for about three months.

(At my work, if product comes in, it goes straight to the floor; no holding or back stock is allowed. In the beginning of December, we start to receive Easter product. I am putting it out in our holiday section, right by Christmas, when a man approaches me. He seems agitated, stops a few inches from me, and faces me with his arms tightly crossed. I stay polite as I respond to him.)

Customer: “I can’t believe you are putting up Easter stuff.”

Me: “Well, it’s my job, not my choice. They send it, and I have to put it out; I have no warehouse or backroom to keep it in.”

Customer: “He isn’t even born yet and you are already killing him!”

(Apparently, by doing my job and setting product on a shelf, I personally killed Jesus before he was born.)

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(I work in a department dealing with troubleshooting and appointment management. I get the shock of my life with this phone call.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Company]. This is [My Name] speaking. How may I help you today?”

Customer: “I don’t know if I need someone who speaks Spanish. If you want to deal with me, you can.”

Me: “I understand you clearly and would love to help you out. May I ask what issue you are having this afternoon?”

Customer: “Yes, a technician was out here today to give me a new box, but it isn’t the box I wanted. I want the one with the clock on it.”

(I then inform the customer that I’m looking over her account to see which box was ordered. I realize right off the bat that she received the box she ordered. We just don’t carry the one with the clock, anymore.)

Me: “I see that you have the box you ordered; unfortunately, we no longer carry that type of box with the clock on the front.”

(The customer then proceeds in what was once well-understood English, and is now a mix of English and Spanish, in a very upset tone.)

Me: “I apologize that we no longer have those types of boxes, and for your inconvenience. Is the box working properly?”

Customer: “Yes, the box works fine, but I still don’t have a clock.”

Me: “Well, there is no way to guarantee that the b—”

Customer: “My son-in-law in [State] just got a box with the clock; why did I not get one?!”

Me: “Ma’am, the warehouse closest to your son-in-law more than likely still had those in stock. We cannot guarantee that the box has a—”

Customer: *becomes enraged* “You’re just discriminating against me because I’m Hispanic and I’m old. Just because I’m Hispanic, it doesn’t mean that I don’t have a brain.”

Me: “I understand you perfectly fine, [Customer], and there is no discrimination here. We simply didn’t have a box with a clock in sto—”

Customer: “I want to speak with a supervisor! You’re discriminating against me; you don’t want me to have a box with a clock on it. My son-in-law has one, but I don’t! I want that clock!”

Me: “I’m sorry you didn’t get the box you wanted. And I will get you through to a supervisor, but first I need to know the reason, so I can let them know the nature of this complaint.”

Customer: “I’m being discriminated against because I’m old and Hispanic. You did not give me a box with a clock on it!”

Me: “Okay, I will let them know that, and I hope we can get this issue resolved for you as soon as possible.”

(The supervisor is ready for transfer. I proceed to explain the complaint, word for word as the customer said, and the supervisor lets out a hearty chuckle.)

Supervisor: “So, I’ll just explain to her pretty much everything you just did.”

(I’ll never understand why people always throw the race card into the mix when they don’t get their way.)