I’m a personal shopper. If we are out of an item, we will call you and ask if we can sub it with a similar item.

Me: “Hello, Mrs. [Customer], this is [My Name] with [Store] Online Shopping. I wanted to let you know that I finished picking your order, and I was out of [Brand] whole-grain English muffins. I did find some whole-wheat whole-grain English muffins if you would like those, instead.”

Customer: “Oh, no, those won’t do. I can’t have wheat. It makes me sick. Give me the sourdough muffins, instead.”

Me: *Flabbergasted* “Uh… [Brand] doesn’t make sourdough English muffins.”

Customer: “They don’t?”

Me: “No.”

Customer: “Then give me the plain ones.”

Me: “All right, but those have wheat in them, just so you know.”

Customer: “No, they don’t.”

Me: “They do.”

Customer: “No, they don’t. I can eat them because they don’t have wheat.”

I figure she’s a grown woman; she can make her own mistakes.

Me: “All right, I’ll grab you the plain English muffins.”

Customer: “Thank you. Was that so hard?”

I later tell this to my mom, who is gluten intolerant.

Mom: “Does she not know what wheat is?”

Related:
Gluten Out Of Ten For Ignorance, Part 5
Gluten Out Of Ten For Ignorance, Part 4
Gluten Out Of Ten For Ignorance, Part 3
Gluten Out Of Ten For Ignorance, Part 2

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I’m a personal shopper. I’m putting away an order in the lobby when a woman storms up to me.

Customer: “Where is the manager?”

While I page the store manager over my headset, I see a co-manager head into the parking lot.

Me: “The store manager will meet you at the customer service desk.”

Customer: “Good. Because there’s someone outside panhandling.”

Me: “Oh, okay.”

Unfortunately, the streets outside my store are a popular spot for beggars, since there’s an ABC (liquor) store right across the street from us. We don’t tolerate panhandling in our parking lot at all. We always give them a chance to leave before we get the police involved. These people know it’s illegal to ask for money in our parking lot, but they keep coming back. Usually, they hightail it once they see an employee. I glance out the window and see the co-manager approaching the panhandler.

Me: *On the wire* “Never mind, [Manager], it looks like [Co-Manager] is handling it.” *To the customer* “It’s being taken care of right now. A manager is talking to them.”

I point out the window. The manager, the panhandler, and another customer are clearly having a discussion in the parking lot.

Customer: “Thank you.”

She leaves. I finish putting my order away and glance out the window. The customer I was talking to has stormed over to the panhandler. She’s clearly yelling, pointing fingers at him, and invading his personal space. My manager has to get between the two to keep them at bay. Our freezer for online orders is broken, and the maintenance guy stops working to watch with me when he realizes I’m not moving.

After a few minutes, the panhandler leaves, the customer comes back inside to do her shopping, and the manager stops in the lobby to talk to the maintenance guy. I go inside. The same customer approaches me again.

Customer: “Did the manager ever come inside with that guy?”

Me: “I believe she got him to leave the premises, but she’s in the lobby right now.”

Customer: “Okay.”

A little while later, [Co-Manager] comes up to me.

Co-Manager: “That woman is crazy.”

Me: “She seemed crazy. I get thinking panhandlers are annoying, but to have that much hatred for them?”

Co-Manager: “I told him if he really needs money, he can always apply for a job with us. He turned me down.”

I’m a personal shopper at a grocery store. We do our best to have everything in stock, but sometimes we run out of stuff, especially right before trucks come in. We usually have one or two things out of stock on every order. Unfortunately, people seem to think we have some sort of guarantee that everything will be in stock, even though they have to check a button if they want us to substitute any out-of-stock items for a similar item.

A good 90% of our customers are lazy, entitled, self-absorbed snobs whose husbands make some insane amount of money each year and who can’t be bothered to actually come at the scheduled pickup time that they chose, while the rest of our customers are elderly people with mobility issues, young parents with babies, and people who seem to genuinely need this service.

I have just finished shopping a thirty-piece order. The customer’s pickup time — either four or four-thirty — is about an hour away, and the only thing I don’t have in stock is coming in later that evening on the perishable truck. I call her to ask her if she is willing to wait until about six to pick up, so I can grab the item from the truck. If not, then I can offer to get her a different brand so she at least has something rather than nothing, even though she selected “No Subs” when placing the order.

Me: “Hello, Mrs. [Customer], this is [My Name] with [Store] Online Shopping. I was just calling to tell you that I finished picking your order, and the only thing I didn’t have was [item].”

Customer: “Seriously? You’re out of [item]?”

Me: “Yes, but—”

Customer: “You know what? Just cancel the whole order. I’m tired of you guys never having anything. Your store is horrible! Nothing is ever in stock! I don’t know why people shop here! You lost a customer. I’m going to shop at [Nearby Location].” *Click*

Me: “Okay, then. Have fun with that.”

I would feel bad if I didn’t know that the location she mentioned has horrible in-stock percentages — I think close to fifty percent of any given order will be out — and is consistently late with their orders, so much so that a good chunk of our customers came from that location.

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I always thought the online part of online shopping was self-explanatory, but I guess not. My store offers online grocery shopping. We never have and never will be able to process orders over the phone. The closest we come to phone orders is if you call us and add one or two things to your existing online order.

We have this one lady call us five or six times one day asking if we would do an online order over the phone. We always say no, but unfortunately, either one of my coworkers or a manager tells her we do take add-ons over the phone. She calls back, and I answer this time.

Customer: “So, you do orders over the phone.”

Me: “No, you have to go online and place your order. There is no way for us to process orders over the phone.”

Customer: “But someone I spoke with earlier said if I call in, you would do it over the phone if I had an existing order.”

Me: “No, that’s not—”

Customer: “So, I found an old order with only two things in it and placed that for tomorrow morning, so I want to give you my list now. Grab a pen, because it’s a lot.”

Me: “No, that’s not how it works. You have to go online if you want your order. We cannot shop orders over the phone.”

Customer: “But [Pizza Place] does it!”

Me: “They’re a totally different business with a different business model. They were around before the Internet became what it is now. They are set up to take phone orders; we are not. Our online shopping is closer to [Major Online Retailer #1] or [Major Online Retailer #2]. They can’t take phone orders, and neither can we. If you want us to shop your order, you have to go online.”

Customer: *Whining like a child* “But I don’t want to go online. That’s too much work.”

Me: “We also have an app and you can use that to place your order.”

Customer: “I don’t want to download another app.”

Me: “I understand, but we will not shop your order over the phone.”

Customer: “You won’t?”

Me: “No.”

Customer: “Is your store still open twenty-four hours?”

Me: “No, we recently changed our hours. The store opens at 5:00 am, but the earliest online pickup slot is 10:00 am.”

Customer: “I walk with a cane, and I can’t do my shopping unless I have one of those scooters, but they always seem to be in use. I either have to come in at five when no one else is there, or you can take my order over the phone.”

Me: “It is literally impossible for me to take your order over the phone. I’m sorry, but that’s the way our system is set up.”

Customer: “I guess I’ll come in at five, then, since you’re no help.”

Me: “Would you like me to cancel the two-piece order you placed?”

Customer: “No, just shop it, and I’ll come back for that.”

I texted the next day’s opener and gave them a heads-up about this lady. After I left, she called the store two or three more times to try and get us to shop her order over the phone. Someone must’ve gotten through to her, since this lady did come in sometime early the next morning, did her shopping, and then came back for her two items later. You placed a two-piece order! Just add stuff to your cart before you checkout!

It is the summer of 2008 and I am working at a sports bar/pool hall as a cocktail server. I could write volumes about my time there, particularly the constant sexual harassment. This is long before #MeToo and I’m ashamed to say that in favor of a chill, one-of-the-guys reputation, I just play along. Soon, I’ve heard it all and it is nearly impossible to offend me. Until this one jerk. 

We are in the suburbs of Virginia, about a forty-minute drive from DC. A lot of our Happy Hour crowd consists of government employees and military folk from Quantico. 

At the very end of the bar, right next to my station, there’s a very inebriated man being loud and obnoxious. I am running the pool balls through a machine that cleans and polishes them. 

The fact that I am “polishing balls” is enough to set off the obnoxious jerk. He makes several poor attempts at ball jokes, slurring badly and gesturing sloppily. It isn’t anything I haven’t heard a million times so I roll my eyes and ignore him.

He does NOT like that. He starts ranting very loudly.

Customer: “I hate b****es who don’t like sex, like my whore ex-wife!”

He tries to involve the man next to him, who is staring intently at his drink, very clearly trying to not engage with him. I quickly make myself busy elsewhere.

Eventually, I have to go back. When he notices me, he gets excited and leans as close to me as he can without leaving his stool, and asks:

Customer: “What about you, little girl? Do you like sex?” 

I cannot describe how lecherous and disgusting his tone is, even while slurring. The way he says, “little girl,” makes my skin crawl.

Me: “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

Customer: *Scoffs* “I knew it! These hot young p***ies all hate sex, but they love to tease!”

The bartender beats me to the punch and tells him:

Bartender: “You talk to her like that again, you’ll be kicked out.”

The perv waves him off and starts talking to his unfortunate “new friend” next to him. However, as soon as the bartender is out of earshot, the perv leans back towards me.

Customer: “Ya know, I could teach you all about sex, little girl. I could make you like it. I know what to do.”

I am beyond horrified and frozen in shock. Good thing he is too drunk to control the volume of his voice, as the bartender storms over.

Bartender: “That’s it, buddy, you’re out!”

He slams down the guy’s tab, which he wisely had already printed out, just in case. Everyone at the bar, including several large regulars, are staring at him menacingly — except the guy next to him, who is doing something on his phone. He wises up and pays begrudgingly, grumbling and cursing the whole time. Then, he stumbles out of the bar.

The shock has subsided, but I am still shaking with helpless fury that I didn’t speak up for myself. I am so disgusted by what he said, I want to go scrub off three layers of skin in a long, hot shower.

Just when I think I am doomed to a ten-hour shift of furious repulsion, the quiet guy who has been barstool neighbors with the perv becomes my hero. After paying, he approaches me with a big smile.

Barstool Neighbor: “Don’t worry, I got him for you. I work for the DEA.”

He shows me his badge.

Barstool Neighbor: “That idiot actually asked me if I wanted to buy some Percocet! I’m off the clock, so I told him my ‘buddy’ was interested and asked for his phone number. He’s about to go sell some drugs to an agent who will nail his a**!”

As he leaves, I look at the bartender, who heard everything, in amazement. With a look of dawning realization, he says:

Bartender: “Oh, he was on pain pills! I wondered how he got so trashed on two drinks…”

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