This Hold Time Is A Joke

, , , , , | Working | August 25, 2017

(On behalf of the company I work for, I call an office furniture company.)

Me: “Hello, this is [My Name] from [Company]. Can you quote me some prices on drafting tables?”

Receptionist: “One moment while I transfer you to that department…”

On Hold Message: “You have been put on hold. Being on hold is a lot like trout fishing, in that it allows you to do absolutely nothing with a clear conscience. Enjoy!”

(Followed by soft jazz…)

Very Bad Reception: After-School Special

, , , , , | Working | August 21, 2017

(Some years back, my high school was evacuated due to someone holding a classroom hostage, not that we knew it at the time. It had started out as a fire drill, but it was clear something was very wrong. I was one of several students who decided to go home instead of waiting around for the all clear as an hour had already passed by this time and it seemed unlikely it’d happen. My mother worked close to the high school and usually picks me up, and I didn’t have a cell-phone then, so soon as I got home I called her company.)

Receptionist: *gives the company spiel* “How can I direct your call?”

Me: “Hello, this is [My Name]. I want to leave a message for [Mother] in the [Contracted Company]’s call center. Please tell her there’s some kind of incident at the high school up the street and we had to leave early. ”

Receptionist: “Sure, hon. Bye.” *click*

(My mother ended up arriving home a half-hour later than normal looking extremely stressed out.)

Mother: “Where were you?!”

Me: “You didn’t get the message?”

Mother: “What message?”

Me: “I called the company and told the receptionist what happened and to tell you I wouldn’t be there.”

Mother: “WHAT? I never got the message! There was a shooting at the school and she didn’t think it was important to pass it on?!”

Me: “What?! That’s what happened? No wonder you looked so upset!”

Mother: “Thank god you’re okay, but… what the f***?!”

(The day after she complained, and apparently that receptionist had several similar calls and failed to pass any of them on. I’d like to think she got terminated.)

With Pregnant Women You Really Have To Crack The Whip

, , , , , | Right | August 18, 2017

(I work at a self-serve frozen yogurt shop, where customers can serve themselves cups of yogurt with various toppings, and weigh it at the end. The one topping we offer that is not self-serve is whipped cream, because customers would have to touch the nozzle to serve themselves, and that’s unhygienic. Employees are the only ones who can touch the nozzle, because we wash our hands with sanitized water frequently. This story happens as a heavily pregnant woman comes in with her husband.)

Woman: “Can I get some whipped cream, please?”

Me: “Of course!” *holds can over her cup* “Tell me when.”

Woman: *grabbing for the can* “No, I’ll do it.”

Me: “I’m sorry ma’am, but I can’t let you. It’s due to the health code; only employees can touch whipped cream cans.”

Woman: “That’s ridiculous. I’ve never heard that in my life!” *continues to try and snatch the can away from me* “Just let me do it. I’m pregnant!”

Man: “Come on, just let her do it. She’s eight months pregnant. Let her do what she wants.”

Me: “Really, I am sorry. It can seem like a silly rule, but we can’t be sure that customers’ hands are totally clean, so we can’t let anyone else touch the nozzle.”

Woman: “Oh, so now you’re calling me dirty?! Give me the can, you little b****!!” *she slaps the can out of my hand and proceeds to put whipped cream on her yogurt herself* “There, was that so hard?”

(I have to throw the can away at this point, since there’s no way to properly sanitize the nozzle, and we can’t risk other customer’s safety in the case that the woman’s hands might have been dirty. The woman rages when she sees me do this.)

Woman: “What the f***?! You just throw it away?! Because I touched it!?”

Me: “Yes! Like I tried to tell you, it’s unhygienic! I can’t keep using a can that someone else has touched—”

(The woman slams her yogurt down on the scale, which causes it to splash up and go everywhere, including all over herself. She starts screaming in frustration, before stomping out, leaving her husband behind.)

Man: “See what you did? This could have all been avoided! She’s pregnant!”

(They left without their yogurts.)

Loan Me A Helpful Answer

, , , , | Learning | August 2, 2017

(I’m getting ready for a semester abroad but haven’t received my loans yet. I’m only a couple weeks away from leaving and anxiously call my school’s financial department.)

Me: “Hi, I’m [My Name plus all my relevant information]. I’m supposed to be getting [Loan] for this upcoming semester and I thought I was supposed to get it already. Could you tell me when it’s supposed to come in?”

Rep: “Loans aren’t going to be distributed until [Date a week into my abroad semester].”

Me: “Yeah, here’s the thing. I’m doing a semester abroad and it needs to be paid in a week, plus I still need to get my ticket. I was told when I talked to your department months ago that I would receive it by now and it’s still not in. Why isn’t it coming in?”

Rep: “All financial aid isn’t going to be distributed until [Date].”

Me: “Except I was assured that I would have my money by now because I’m doing a semester abroad, and the semester in [City] starts before the semester here, which means I’m supposed to get my money earlier! That’s what I was told by the study abroad office AND the financial aid office.”

Rep: “Well, it’s not going to be sent out until [Date].”

(We go back and forth for a while.)

Rep: “Why don’t you just pay for it yourself and use the loan to pay yourself back?”

Me: “If I could pay for it out of pocket, I wouldn’t need a loan!”

(I hung up and called back after I cooled off. Thankfully, the second call connected me to someone who actually was able to help.)

Weeping Angels Got Nothing On Me

, , , , , | Related | August 1, 2017

I was about twelve when this story happened, back in the late ’90s. A bunch of the family all get together at Grandma’s house for Independence Day weekend, and, as is typical of large family gatherings, one of the elders — on that day it is Auntie M — has to play babysitter and make sure the younger generation doesn’t all kill each other.

Since this is the era before video games could be played on cell phones, we need some way to entertain ourselves while we are waiting for food, and eventually settle on a few rounds of “Ghosts in the Graveyard,” with Auntie M in the role of Gravekeeper. For those who don’t know, the goal is to remain perfectly still while the Gravekeeper is watching, but go somewhere else and take a different pose when they aren’t.

After making it to the end of two or three rounds in a row without getting caught, I start getting a bit more bold, and decide that the game needs to be a bit more challenging. So in the middle of the next round, while Auntie’s back is turned, I summon up everything my preteen mind knows about stealth, carefully sneak up behind her, and silently and suddenly place my fingers on her back, posed as though attacking her with claws.

Auntie jumped about a foot in the air, leaving me plenty of time to hold that pose before she turned around. ALL the other kids were doubled over laughing. She seemed to take the whole thing in stride as she declared me the winner of that round… but looking back on it, I think there was a reason that was the last time we played that game.

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