It’s only my first week of working in customer service, around 2013, and reading this website made me skeptical that people really were as stupid as they are in some of the stories. I’ve just started my shift, and I take my first call.

Me: “Good evening, [Company], [My Name] speaking; how can I help you?”

Customer: “Hi there. I’m looking for an iPod Touch Fourth Generation for my daughter’s birthday. Could I place an order with you?”

Me: “Absolutely, sir. Do you have the catalogue number for that item?”

Customer: *Shouting* “No! But it only took me two minutes to find it, so it shouldn’t take you thirty seconds!”

It takes me about fifteen minutes of in-depth searching, through all available methods, before I figure out the item’s actually discontinued, and he’s looking in a physical catalogue from a year ago.

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but the fourth generation of iPods have now been discontinued. We aren’t going to receive any further stock of this item.”

Customer: *Suddenly calm again* “Oh, okay, sorry for bothering you. Bye!”

I then continue taking calls. After about thirty minutes, I overhear a coworker’s call…

Coworker: “I apologise, sir, but I can’t find any iPod Touch Fourth generations on my system.”

Glancing over, I notice it’s the same customer I had earlier. My coworker manages to come to the same conclusion as I did, and the customer seems satisfied that it’s truly discontinued. Fast forward to ten minutes before I finish.

Me: “Good evening, [Company], [My Name] speaking; how can I help you?”

Customer: “Yes, hi. I’m looking for an iPod Touch Fourth Generation for my daughter’s birthday tomorrow.”

I used to work at a casino. It was a small inner-city place that had just been acquired by a new chain — literally, a chain that was until recently a single venue but then bought four new locations.

Despite expanding, they didn’t really update their methods of running the place. In the age of the iPad, everything still had to be written on paper by the inspectors and then handed to the supervisor hourly for them to put it into the computer, which was nowhere near the actual tables. The company also had a major “do it our way” thing going on — better dealers on paper always went on bigger games even if they weren’t feeling great or were underperforming for whatever reason.

This might not seem important, casino games being games of chance and all, but a dealer that is doing well, going fast and accurately, and getting more individual hands or spins in effectively speeds up the house edge. In short: more games = more money for the house. So, if a dealer who is experienced but also is having a bad day is dealing a big game, they might not be as fast as a less experienced dealer who is doing fine. This didn’t matter to the owners, though; they went only by experience.

We got a new pit boss in; he came from another casino in town as an inspector but then got promoted to fill a vacancy. He did not believe the owners were on the right track with this method, so he fairly openly took care of the dealers. We all loved him; breaks came regularly, he could put us on quieter tables if we weren’t feeling great, and he’d give us big games if we were up to it. Unfortunately, he did this fairly brazenly, so management caught wind. He was put on two-month probation, in which he was supervised directly so he had to do everything by the book.

His results — how much money we made on his shifts — promptly collapsed. He had been doing better than most of the other pit bosses, but over those two months, he fell to the back of the pack.

At the end of this period, management went over the results with him. Armed with evidence that his method was better, he asked if they really thought he should stick to doing things their way.

Management’s answer was still a yes.

He learned to keep his methods a little more under wraps after that.

I work in a big chain supermarket in the UK and overhear this far-too-frequent situation. Due to the current lockdown, there is a one-way system in place: the queue of customers waiting at the top end of the checkouts are being directed to either a checkout or the self-service machine.

A woman is in front with a big trolley of shopping and there’s a man behind with a basket. The woman has a scan-as-you-shop device, so my coworker tells her to wait for the scan-as-you-shop till at the self-service area to become free.

My coworker speaks to the second customer in the queue:

Coworker: “Okay, do you want to go to checkout sixteen, please?”

Male Customer: “No, thank you.”

Coworker: “Okay, do you want to go to self-service?”

Male Customer: “No, thanks.”

Coworker: “Then where do you want to go?”

Male Customer: “A normal checkout!”

Coworker: “Checkout sixteen, then, please.”

Male Customer: “Thank you.”

This has become a common occurrence recently.

My son is four and is learning that some truths are best left unsaid. A larger lady with close-cropped hair joins the queue behind us.

Son: “Mummy, look at that really fat man!”

Me: “Darling, that’s a lady, and you should be polite!”

Son: “So, she is really fat, just not a man?”

Me: “What would you do if someone said that to you?”

Son: “I would crash through the floor, and then through the earth, and then into the lava.”

Lady: *Having heard everything* “Then I’m taking you with me, sunshine! Better start running away now; keep you nice and slim!”

My son shrieked and laughed, and now remembers that exercise keeps you healthy. Thank you to the lady for being so understanding!

I have an irrational hatred of tuxedos, always have had. So, I make every attempt to evade wearing one and basically destroy every photo of myself in one. My usual methods of evasion include wearing a Santa outfit to Christmas balls, talking my relatives into letting me wear polo shirts to their weddings, and even cross-dressing in a dress for my prom.

My high school was very pro-LGBT so they were “supportive of my decision to come out of the closet.” I just ran with that.

This really pisses off my parents, but the cross-dressing incident and the time when I wore a black trench coat to my Grandfather’s wedding was the last straw. They sat down with me and gave me a ridiculously long lecture so that I’d “see the error of my ways.”

Long story short, my parents’ argument boiled down to the idea that no woman would marry a man that refused to dress up for their wedding day, so I’d better get used to wearing a tux for every formal occasion.

My wife is Japanese. She was perfectly happy to have a Shinto wedding. We wore kimonos.

This story has been included in our June 2020 roundup as one of that month’s most memorable stories!

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