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Not A Prime Shopping Experience

, , , | Right | April 16, 2026

I work reception at a large fulfilment centre (they’re all large, this one is larger) for a famous shopping website. The website name and logo is front and centre of the large building.

A guy walks into the building and starts wandering near the back of the lobby.

Me: “Excuse me, sir, can I help you?”

Guy: “Yeah, where are the aisles?”

Me: “The aisles?”

Guy: “Yeah, with all the products.”

Me: “This is a fulfilment centre.”

Guy: “This is a [Website] shop, isn’t it?”

Me: “No, this is where [Website] stores goods to be delivered when ordered online.”

Guy: “So they are back there?”

Me: “Yes, but it’s not designed to be accessed by a physical shopper. You still buy the item online, and it gets delivered to you as usual.”

Guy: “But I was driving past and saw the place, so I figured I could get what I needed instead of ordering online.”

Me: “As I said, this is a fulfilment centre. We can only fulfil online orders. We’re not a store.”

Guy: “So I can’t buy it here?”

Me: “No, sir.”

Guy: “Can I sit on that couch and use my phone for a bit?”

Me: “Certainly.”

He sits on one of the lobby couches and plays around with his phone for a little while. He comes over a few minutes later:

Guy: “Okay, so I’m ordering [item] and trying to get it delivered. What’s the lobby’s address? It should only take a few minutes to get here from the back… right?”

Open The Pod Bay Doors, Pal

, , , , | Working | March 6, 2026

We have a new guy in the warehouse part of our large big box store. He has a very simple job as part of the opening crew. One of his tasks is, when a delivery truck arrives, open the bay doors to let them back up into it. It’s a simple up/down button panel that you press when the light on it turns green. 

One morning, I walked into the warehouse to speak to one of the supervisors there.

Me: “Why am I getting a call from [regular truck driver] saying he’s been waiting for the bay doors to open?”

Supervisor: “Ugh, not again.”

We both walk out to see the new guy rearranging pallets near the bay doors. The button panel has the green light active.

Supervisor: “Hey, pal! Why aren’t you opening the bay door!”

New Guy: “I did that already.”

Supervisor: “Yeah, once. You need to do it every time the green light goes off.”

New Guy: “Wait… every time?!”

Supervisor: “You think we can fill up this entire warehouse and store from one truck a day?”

New Guy: *Shrugs.* “Kinda?”

He opens the bay doors, and unloading the truck proceeds as normal. Until half an hour later, when I noticed on the office cameras that a truck was waiting at the bay door again.

I walk down and tell the supervisor, where we see the new guy playing with the pallets again.

Supervisor: “[New Guy]! The panel is green again!”

New Guy: “Yeah, I saw that.”

Supervisor: “And… you didn’t think to open the bay doors?”

New Guy: “Uh… I thought it was a mistake.”

Supervisor: “Why would it be a mistake?”

New Guy: “Because I already opened the doors twice already.”

Supervisor: “Pal, you need to open the doors every time it goes green. Every… time! It could be ten times, it could be twenty, doesn’t matter. Every time!”

New Guy: “Wow. That sounds like a lotta work!”

Supervisor: “That’s why they call it a job, pal!”

We both walk away shaking our heads.

Me: “I’ll talk to the recruitment guy and see how he managed to get past the interview. You gonna be okay with him for now?”

Supervisor: “We’ll see. I’ve had people as dumb as rocks before, but this guy is worse. At least a rock can hold a door open.”

The new guy was moved to box and pallet breakdown, and putting trash into the compactor. I was scared about putting someone like that so close to machinery that could crush a human, but he hasn’t caused an incident… yet.

A Catalogue Of Complaints

, , , , , , | Right | March 1, 2026

I work in a large clothing store that sends out catalogs to customers on the mailing list. A woman wheels in two huge bags and a few taped-up boxes on a flat cart. It looks less like a return and more like she’s moving house.

Me: “Hi… there? What can I help you with today?”

Customer: “Returns.”

She starts unloading coats, dresses, shoes, etc. They’re all still in the plastic they were delivered in. It’s obvious these are all items ordered and delivered from the catalog.

Me: “…All of these?”

Customer: “My sister passed. She ordered from you for years. We cleared out a whole bedroom. I want refunds.”

Me: “I’m very sorry for your loss. Let me start scanning and see what’s in the system.”

I begin. A few items pull up instantly. These are recent orders, so easy refunds. Then I hit the older pieces and hit the dreaded error tone.

Me: “Some of these are quite old. If they’re no longer in our catalog or sales history, the system can only issue a nominal credit.”

Customer: “That’s ridiculous. She paid full price. I want full refunds.”

Me: “I understand, but if we don’t have a record or resale value, we can only process the default amount.”

Customer: “Then you’d better find the record.”

For the next hour, I keep scanning. Half the items don’t just predate recent catalogs; they predate the current inventory system. This means some of these go back over a decade. We issue token refunds where that’s all the system allows. 

She watches every line like an auditor.

Customer: “Five dollars? This coat cost over a hundred.”

Me: “I don’t doubt it, but it’s no longer in our system, and it can’t be resold, so the policy is—”

Customer: “—Your policy isn’t my problem.”

My manager has come down to help me scan, as well as take over repeating my lines about why we can’t give her a full refund. She takes what refunds she can on the day, but vows to call our Customer Service line to get this “sorted”.

That Customer Service line also goes through to us, so… yay. Over the next few weeks, she calls us repeatedly. Every time it’s the same demand:

Customer: *On phone.* “I want the rest of my money. You people are stealing from my dead sister!”

She calls so many times that the leadership creates a call script JUST for her account, so every agent gives the exact same explanation.

One afternoon, she calls while I’m on support rotation.

Me: “Thank you for calling Customer Care. How can I help?”

Customer: “I want the remainder of my refund. I’ve been calling for months. Someone here needs to fix this.”

Me: “Ma’am, all eligible refunds have been issued. The remaining items are outside our record retention period and have no resale value, so only the nominal credits apply.”

Customer: “So you’re just keeping the money? That’s unethical.”

Me: “We refunded everything we can verify and resell. The rest were garments that had been stored for years, some for over a decade. At that point, we’re not processing a sale, we’re processing a disposal.”

Silence.

Customer: “I still think you owe me.”

Me: “I understand you feel that way, but our role is to refund documented purchases, not assign new value to items after their lifecycle. There’s nothing further to adjust on this account.”

Another long pause.

Customer: “So that’s it?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am.”

She exhales sharply, clearly gearing up for another round… then stops. For the first time, she has no new angle.

Customer: “Fine.”

She hangs up. It’s finally over!

We never hear from her again, and the script we built just for her stays in the system as a reminder of those long weeks we would tell new hires about in the years to come, about THAT customer…

Buzzkill

, , , , , , , | Working | CREDIT: VladVlad666 | February 27, 2026

Prior to my retirement, I worked a retail job with a quasi-state agency that controls retail stores in my state. In our old store, we had a buzzer at each register that rang in the warehouse in case we needed help, or a customer needed a case of something.

Then the powers that be decided to move us to a new, bigger store. Of course, this being a state operation, while the store is much bigger, the staff is exactly the same. We now have four times the warehouse, four times the retail space, and the same number of people and hours.

Everything is always ‘you need to do more with less’. I got sick of this, and I’m a vindictive SOB by nature. I’ve been called the ‘Iceman’ because I can ignore anything. So, if I were on the register, I would stay at the register until I was told to do something else.

The managers were not happy. Then they started playing a game, one of the two managers on the shift would go back into the warehouse, to ‘check things’ aka vape (vaping is not allowed in the stores). In short order, the other manager would join the first, and then the other two clerks would head to the Warehouse, leaving me alone in the store.

Now, at this new store, the powers that be had the buzzer to call the warehouse placed in the office instead of at the registers. Managers put out a memo stating that employees are not allowed in the office without a manager present.

I keep ringing up customers, and other customers come to me asking for products that are in locked display cases. I inform them that they need to stick their heads in the door at the rear of the store and call for a manager. A manager comes out, talks to the customer, and goes to the office to look for the keys, then has to go back to the warehouse to get the keys from the other manager.

Customers are not happy, and I proceed to tell the customers to complain to the state complaint office.

The managers go ballistic, demanding to know why I didn’t ring the buzzer, and I simply point out that their memo says I’m not allowed in the office without a manager present.

Bottom line, there wasn’t a thing they could do about it.

Climbing The Workplace Social Ladder

, , , , | Working | February 19, 2026

I’m a big and hairy guy. I work in a warehouse that employs a lot of immigrant labor, and in our part of the world, that means Hispanic.

I say ‘hola’ to them all, and we all have meals together, but the language barrier means we don’t get a chance to interact or communicate all that often.

One day, I’m on top of one of the ladders in tall storage. I’m taking a bunch of items off the shelves when the Hispanic guys walk past, look up, see me, and start laughing.

Coworker: “Donkey Kong! Donkey Kong!”

I was laughing too hard, as all the items stored on that shelf did kinda look like barrels.

Now every time anyone in that group sees me, they shout “Hey, Donkey Kong!” and reach out for a fist bump. Spurred by this, I brought my Nintendo from home into the break room to play Mario Kart with them on lunch breaks. There was only ever one character I could be after that…