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Not Mushroom Left For This Fun Guy

, , , , , , | Learning | October 17, 2022

I’m taking a test in my Biology 102 class. The last question is an essay question on fungi. I’ve been fascinated by mushrooms since I was a kid, and I know A LOT about them. I fill the space provided and then the back of the page. Finding no more space in which I can write, I go up to the professor and ask for a sheet of paper.

Professor: “Why do you need some paper?”

Me: “I’m not done writing my answer to the last question.”

Professor: “Yes, you are.”

Getting The Call Back Flack

, , , , | Right | October 10, 2022

I’m training our new evening cashier. Service and parts close at 7:00 pm and the sales department closes at 9:00 pm. It’s not unusual for service customers to pick up their vehicles after service closes. One evening, around 7:15, a woman calls us and asks us if her car is ready to pick up from service. We say it is. She comes at 8:45 when we’re in the middle of closing out. She’s huffy, but the cashier gets her paperwork and tells her the total.

Customer: “No. This is ridiculous. I never got a call saying my car was ready. You need to comp my service.”

The cashier looks at me.

Me: “Unfortunately, there isn’t anyone here right now who can authorize that.”

Customer: “There’s not a manager?”

Me: “There’s one sales manager right now, but he can’t give us permission to comp service. We can have one of the service managers call you tomorrow morning.”

Customer: “There’s not a general manager who oversees both departments?”

Me: “Not at this hour, no.”

Again, the store closes in fifteen minutes. Most of the employees are already gone for the day.

Customer: “But I never got a call, so you need to comp my service.”

I try to page the sales manager to the cash register, but he doesn’t come. I leave the customer with the cashier while I go find him. He’s currently with the one finance person on duty. When he’s done, I explain the situation and ask him to come help.

Manager: “Hello, ma’am. I understand there’s a problem with the service you received?”

Customer: “Yes. I never got a call and want it comped. This is completely unacceptable.”

Manager: “I understand, but unfortunately, I can’t do that for you because I don’t work in service. I’m the sales manager. I can definitely have the service manager or service director give you a call tomorrow morning and you can talk about it with them. I’ll email them right now.”

Customer: *Sarcastically* “Yeah, sure. I know how it goes. I work in Human Resources. You always say you’ll call the customer back, but that never happens.”

The manager pulls out his phone and begins composing the email right in front of her.

Manager: “What’s a good number to reach you at?”

Customer: *Rolls her eyes* “It’s [number].”

The manager shows her the email and then sends it.

Customer: “And who is the service manager?”

Manager: “There are two: [Service Director] and [Service Manager].”

Customer: “They’re not going to call me.”

Manager: “Yes, they will.”

Customer: “No, they won’t. I know how it goes. You always say whatever it takes to get the customer to go away. I’m in HR; I know how it is.”

Manager: “I can’t tell them to not charge you for the service. All I can do is have the service director or the service manager call you tomorrow, and you can discuss this with them.”

This went back and forth for a bit longer before the customer finally relented and paid her ticket, at which point I let the cashier take over.

Once she was gone, I got out my phone and texted the office manager — my direct boss — to ask them to please make sure the service director called the customer the next day. By the time all was said and done, it was 9:05. Everyone else had left already, but it took us another fifteen minutes to finish closing out and leave, and the manager had to wait for us to finish before he could leave.

And the service director did call her as soon as he got into work the next day, and her advisor called her later in the day to personally apologize. The reason she wasn’t called in the first place was that just as service finished her car, a salesperson totaled one of our vehicles. The salesperson broke their leg in the accident, though it could have been much worse. In all of the chaos, the woman’s pick-up call was forgotten.

At The End Of The Day, It’s Pretty Cut And Dryer

, , , , , | Right | October 6, 2022

My husband and I used to be managers of a local home improvement and appliance store. I ran the construction and remodel side; he ran the appliance repair and delivery side. Our boss, who was the owner, was a super nice guy who was basically family.

On the day in question, I am working in the store rather than on the road, so I get to see this lovely exchange take place.

A woman in her mid-fifties comes in and buys a used and very affordable dryer. We load the dryer into her husband’s truck and they leave.

An hour later, the woman returns and moans to the sales girl at the front desk.

Customer: “The dryer you sold me doesn’t work!”

Sales Girl: “Oh, I don’t know how this could have happened. All our used appliances are tested before they leave the store—”

Customer: “You’re all a bunch of thieves! I don’t make enough money to buy a dryer that doesn’t work!”

Sales Girl: “I can set up an appointment for our repair technician to come to your house as soon as he’s done at his other stops—”


The woman continues to get louder and more dramatic. She wants a brand-new dryer and a refund, despite still having the original dryer at home. She is going to report us to the BBB, she is going to sue, her wet clothes are going to be ruined, and she’s entitled to compensation, etc. She is also liberally using profanity.

Her husband looks embarrassed and uncomfortable being with her. I’m pretty sure he wants to be anywhere else.

My husband is a disabled military vet, and he’s furious not only because this woman is claiming discrimination but because she’s abusing our staff. I’m busily calming him down, and the owner finally hears the shrieking all the way in the back office and comes out to ask the woman to leave.

The woman calls the cops, claiming the owner “put his hands on her” when all he did was gesture to the door from five feet away while asking her to leave.

The cops arrive and we explain. The woman shrieks some more. The cops tell her she has to leave. She claims discrimination for being disabled; her leg is in a cast.

Finally, we reach a compromise: the service tech will go to her house right away to fix the dryer. Turns out, the sales girl called him and has already sent him, so he is waiting at her house to fix the dryer.

The woman finally leaves and her husband follows with his head down.

Fifteen minutes later, the service technician walks into the store, grinning.

Me: “Oh, my God, what happened?”

Service Technician: “Well, I walked in. She was yelling at me, but I didn’t mind. The husband took me into their laundry room. I looked at the dryer for about ten seconds, then looked at them, and then looked back at the dryer. She was still screaming. Then, I leaned over, picked up the cord, and plugged it in.”

Yes, you read that right. Apparently, we should have told her that her dryer, which came with a particularly obvious big black cord, needed electricity to run. She didn’t say another word to the service tech, and the husband very quietly thanked him before he left.

We added “Please check that your appliance has been plugged in before calling for service” to our list of instructions with used appliances, just in case.

What An Excellent Use Of Post Office Resources

, , , , , | Right | September 28, 2022

I work at a car dealership. We have a customer from out of state buy a vehicle from us. Our title clerk is able to make plates not only for our state but almost all of the surrounding states. She makes the plates for the customer and sends them to him via overnight mail. 

The next day, our office manager gets a call.

Caller: “I just received some plates from your dealership, but they’re addressed to [Customer] three doors down. They’re not mine; they came to the wrong address.”

Office Manager: “Would you be willing to walk the plates down the street to [Customer]?”

Caller: “Absolutely not. Mail me a return label so you can mail them to him.”

We created a label from his house to our customer’s house. Three doors down.

We never had any complaints from the customer about missing plates so, presumably, he got them a day or two later.

Adopt A Straight Face, We Implore You

, , , , , , | Right | September 21, 2022

Years ago, during my time at a bookstore, I was staffing the information desk on a busy weekend afternoon. In the brief lull between customers, the phone rang.

Caller: “Hello. Do you carry parenting books?”

Me: “Yes, sir, we do.”

Caller: “Good, because I have a very special parenting matter. You see, I have become the guardian of four children after their parents — my best friends, my soul’s companions — died within weeks of each other of three different types of cancer apiece…”

I looked up to see someone approaching the information desk and smiled apologetically at them.

Me: “Yes, sir, was there something in particular—”

Caller: “…and of course, all four children are heartbroken, so much so that their psychic powers are developing apace…”

Me: “Their psychic powers?”

The customer who had come up to the desk lifted their eyebrows.

Caller: “…and I worry that they may bring unquiet spirits to haunt the house, or that they might use their telekinesis to destroy items in their grief.”

Me: “Unquiet spirits? Sir, this is not—”

Caller: “The oldest is a teenage girl, and I think she may have been impregnated by one of the spirits — which reminds me, do you carry home birthing kits? We don’t trust hospitals anymore.”

Me: “Sir, we do not have parenting books for psychic children, nor do we carry home birthing kits.”

Caller: “This is terrible customer service, and me, a grieving adoptive parent! Get me your manager!”

Me: “One moment, sir.”

I put him on hold and looked at the customer at the desk.

Me: “I am so sorry. I’ll just be a minute.”

Customer: “Oh, no, don’t be sorry. I want to hear how this ends. Is one of the children named Carrie?”

The manager on duty arrived. I apologized in advance and then helped other customers while the manager was on the phone trying to placate this man. Eventually, they hung up.

Manager: “Well, he was due.”

Me: “What?”

Manager: “That man calls once a year, always with the most outlandish stories about his adoptive children. This year, they’re psychic. Last year, they were magical Wiccan children who might have been fathered by a god on Halloween. The year before that, they were part-alien kids who teleported out from under an eighteen-wheeler!”

Customer: “I think you all should write a book about him.”

Manager: “We refuse to give him the satisfaction. Thank you for your patience.”

Customer: “This was more fun than I expected to have today. Can I buy you both a coffee?”

So, Mr. Guardian of Psychic-Magical-Alien Kids, thanks for my mocha that afternoon!