Unfiltered Story #100064

, , , | Unfiltered | November 13, 2017

(I retail gas barbecues and I am showing a customer an upmarket model with a generous storage cabinet in it’s base.)

Customer: “What would I keep in the cabinet?”

Me: “What ever you would like.”

Customer: “Yes, but what would I put in there?”

Me: “It would be your barbecue; you could put anything in there that you want.”

Customer: “I want you to tell me what I would put in the cabinet.”

Me: “Well, you could keep a vinyl cover in there, perhaps some barbecue utensils, or even sauces or spices that you regularly use.”

Customer: “Oh, that’s silly, I wouldn’t put that there.”

Unable To Register That Much Entitlement

, , , , , | Right | October 4, 2017

(In our store we have three tills, side-by-side, on a reasonably long desk. The regional manager doesn’t allow us to use the left-hand till for transactions, so we only use it to search inventory. We are mid-sale, and the queue for check-out is as long as the store, and a coworker and I are frantically working away. I am on the right-hand till, and my coworker is on the middle.)

Me: “Next, please!”

(The next customer in line approaches the left-hand till, despite the fact that it was no more effort to side-step right instead of left.)

Me: “Can I just get you to come to this till for me, please, sir?”

Customer: “No! You’ll come to me, because that’s service!”

(It’s a tight squeeze behind the counter, especially with random bits of product from returns, holds, and such lying around while we’re busy, but I edge behind my coworker and take the first item the customer is holding up. I return to my till, and scan it, before edging past again to take his other item he is brandishing in my face. Again, I go back to my till, scan the item, and squeeze back to the customer)

Me: “That totals [amount]. Do you have a loyalty card?”

Customer: “[Amount]?! How much was [first item]?”

(I sigh, and my coworker stifles a giggle. I push past again and check the amount. Having lost patience, I shout to the customer remaining at my till. He agrees and shows me his bank-card before sliding it in the scanner at the non-functioning till.)

Me: “Sir, I’m going to need you to use this one, please.”

Customer: “Why? What’s wrong with this one?”

Me: “It doesn’t work.”

(The customer’s face dropped, as if he had lost the victory he thought he had over me. He quietly paid and left.)

Hand-Shaken With The Realization

, , , , | Friendly | September 12, 2017

(I work at a supermarket on the checkouts. I am about 17, but I look incredibly young for my age, and I am quite sensitive. I am serving a very irritated, middle-aged man on the express lane, and there is a married couple behind him waiting. The irritated customer abuses me to the point where I am I tears. He leaves, and I notice the man behind him leaves the store while his wife stays behind to be served. The wife is making sure I’m okay, and telling me not to worry and that I’m doing a great job. [I have also closed off my till after these customers, so I can go out the back to calm down.] Before I finish the transaction, the husband comes back…. this is the conversation that follows.)

Husband: “Are you okay? He was a real jerk.”

Me: “Yeah, I’ll be okay. Thank you.”

Husband: “I have something that might make you feel a bit better.”

Me: *stare*

Husband: “I followed him out, stopped him, and offered out my hand for a handshake. He took it with a confused look and I said, ‘Congratulations, mate; now the whole store knows how much of a jack-a*** you are.’”

(That dude made my day.)

Their Complaining Spree Has Hit A Bump

, , , , , | Right | June 23, 2017

(My colleague is seven months pregnant. She’s quite petite so it’s obvious that she’s carrying a child, and most of the customers she’s helped out have noticed and congratulated her. It’s currently summer and our store can get quite hot, so our boss has allowed her to sit on a stool behind the checkout and have a small fan on her counter. I am working at the counter next to her when a customer approaches her.)

Customer: “There’s a product on the very top shelf that I need you to get down for me.”

Colleague: “Of course, ma’am. [My Name] will be happy to find a ladder and help you out with that.

Customer: “What?! How dare you try and just palm me off onto somebody else! Why can’t you just do it yourself?!”

Colleague: *gesturing to her bump* “Well, as you can see I shouldn’t really be climbing up on ladders in my current condition.”

Customer: “You lazy cow; what’s that supposed to mean?”

Colleague: “I’m sorry, but I can’t get up on a ladder because I’m preg—”

Customer: “No, I don’t want to hear any more of your excuses. Clearly you think you’re in some sort of privileged position with your fan and stool behind the counter while your poor colleagues slave away in the heat. Go and find a ladder right now or I’ll call and complain to your manager.”

(Overhearing the entire conversation, I decide to step in.)

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but my colleague has been trying to tell you that she’s obviously quite pregnant and for medical reasons cannot put herself in a position where she risks a fall.”

(The customer looks at Colleague’s bump, the light bulb clearly switching on in her head.)

Customer: “It’s not very high up! She’s still supposed to be helping me. She should go and fetch it!”

Me: “You wouldn’t want to be responsible for the death of an unborn child, would you? Now, if you show me what you need from the top shelf I’ll happily get it down for you.”

(The customer glared at me and started barking orders. At least she left my poor colleague alone after that.)