We Do Not Cover Crazy Girlfriends

, , , , , , | Romantic | December 12, 2017

(I answer the phone in our office as part of my daily duties. Every once in a while, we get a call in this vein:)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Office], a part of [Company]. This is [My Name]. How can I help you?”

Caller: “I need to know who you think you are, b****!”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Caller: “WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO GET WITH MY MAN?!”

Me: “I’m sorry. You might have a wrong number. This is an [Office] agency. We sell and administer insurance products from [Company].”

Caller: “Oh, don’t give me that s***. You’re trying to mess with my man. This number comes up on his call list every day for a week. Sometimes more than once! Who are you, and what are you doing with my man?”

Me: “Well, does he have one of our products? Perhaps we’re working with him regarding his coverage.”

Caller: “No! I know you’re just trying to steal my man! And if you call him again, I will find you!”

Me: “We are located on [Street]. Look for the [Company] sign that says [Office]. We sell coverage for homes and vehicles, as well as life and financial products.”

Caller: *hangs up*

Can’t Vouch For That Scam

, , , , , , , , | Right | December 12, 2017

(I’m a two-month employee at a popular sandwich store in an outlet mall’s food court. I am the only one in the entire store during the lunch rush. A middle-aged woman in a unicorn shirt and tattered jeans comes up to the line for her meal. She orders a half a ham sandwich, and the process goes through as normal. I’m very stressed, but trying my best to be as polite as I can.)

Me: “That’ll be [total], ma’am. Cash or card?”

Customer: “I have this coupon.”

(The coupon is clearly fake. It’s some Google images put together in Paint, with plain text on the front that says “ONE FREE SANDWITCH.”)

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am; I don’t think I can accept this.”

Customer: “Why the h*** not?”

Me: “I would need my manager’s approval for a coupon of this type, and she’s not in right now.”

Customer: “Oh, that’s bulls***. The management for the mall gave me that coupon because I am a bus driver and I drove 100 people here. That’s a lot of business!”

(The woman begins to yell obscenities at me, including telling the line of now over 30 people to leave because the service isn’t worth it. I am flustered, embarrassed, and on the verge of tears. The mall does give bus drivers of 500 or more people food vouchers for the food court, but they look completely different, and they include the mall’s official seal. They also require the manager’s approval.)

Customer: “I cannot believe this. My daughter would have your head! Who the hell do you think you are, refusing this?”

Me: “I-I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t—”

(The woman suddenly lunges over the counter and takes a swing at me, trying to punch me in the face. I’m skittish and timid by nature and quickly dodge under her fist. She grabs her sandwich and sprints away. I am completely in tears at this point, but people have been patiently waiting. I void the transaction, then run to the next customer in line to begin his order, drying my eyes with my shirt. A few orders go through as normal and nobody says anything about my tears or the violent lady. One of the last customers in the long line asks my favorite type of cookie, orders three, pays for his meal, and then hands me the cookie bag.)

Customer: “These are for you. I think you’re very brave, and I’ve never seen someone tough through service in tears after something like that.”

(Those were the most delicious cookies I’d ever tasted, especially after that kind of day. I quit not long after that incident. I never saw the lady again, though.)

Giving Handicapped People A Bad Name

, , , , , , | Right | December 11, 2017

(I’m the fitting room attendant today. From my post, I can see a man shopping with his toddler. He keeps holding up outfits and making comments according to her reaction.)

Dad: “How about this?” *toddler shakes her head* “I know, stripes and spots; what was I thinking? How about this?”

(They joke around for a few more minutes before coming up to me.)

Dad: “Do you have a family fitting room?”

Me: “Of course. How many?”

(I set them up in the room and return to my post. A few minutes later, a woman on a handicapped scooter drives right past me and towards the family fitting room.)

Me: “Ma’am, excuse me.”

Lady: “Two, don’t bother with a card.”

Me: “Ma’am, that handicapped stall is occupied.”

Lady: *ignores me and beats on automatic door button, which won’t work when the door is locked* “What’s wrong with this piece of crap?”

Me: “Ma’am, the room is occupied. You’ll have to use the handicapped stall in the women’s fitting rooms.”

Lady: *shakes doorknob* “I need to use this one; it’s bigger. Open it!”

Me: “Ma’am, that is the only family stall we have, so families take priority. You’ll have to use the other stall.”

Lady: “I’m f****** handicapped; I take priority! Get them out!” *keeps shaking doorknob and hitting door*

Dad: *pops head out door* “Is there a problem?”

Me: “I’m sorry—”

Lady: “Get out of my stall! You can’t use that; you’re not handicapped! It’s for handicapped people only! This is discrimination.”

Me: “Ma’am, this is our family stall; he needs it because he has a daughter trying on clothing, and they can’t use the other fitting rooms. There is another handicapped stall in the women’s fitting room.” *gives man apologetic look*

Lady: “No, I get to use this stall! Get out!” *tries to push in*

Dad: “I need to put my daughter’s shoes on.” *closes door*

Lady: *pounding on door* “Get out of there, you b******! Why isn’t your wife taking your daughter shopping, huh? I bet you’re a f****** [homosexual slur]! Get out of my stall, you [slur]!”

Me: *frantically paging security with my silent alarm* “Ma’am, please. His child is very small; you must be upsetting her.”

(Security finally arrived to escort her away!)

Please Let The Door Hit You On The Way Out

, , , , , , | Right | December 10, 2017

(I’m a cashier. I am watching over the self-checks when one of them decides to act up while saying, “Please take your change,” to a customer. Thankfully, it dispenses the change and receipt like it should, but the customer is laughing.)

Self-Check Machine: “Please Ta-Please Ta-Please Ta-Please Ta-“

Me: “Sorry, but at least it gave you your change and receipt.”

Customer #1: *chuckling* “It’s all right. Besides, these things are more polite than some of the people in here.”

(I laugh as well while I open the machine top cover to reset it.)

Me: “That’s tru—”

(Just then, I hear another customer.)

Customer #2: “How much is this?!”

Me: “I’ll tell you in just a second.”

Customer #2:No! I asked you now! How much is this f****** thing?!”

Me: “Ma’am, I can’t tell you right this second. Let me get this closed.”

(As I’m standing back up fully and beginning to pull my hand back, [Customer #2] pushes down on the cover, SLAMMING my fingers in between it and the machine. For those who don’t know how that feels, it’s about the same as a car door, particularly as hard as she slammed it.)

Me: *flinging open the cover, biting my lips* “Mmmmmpphhh!”

(Seeing me open up the machine cover again, [Customer #2] huffs.)

Customer #2: “I f****** closed it for you; now you’re reopening it. Fine! I can take a f****** hint, but you will hear from your manager!”

(As she leaves, I close the machine again and head to the watch station, clenching my fingers and using a damp rag to ease the pain. However, I have no idea that [Customer #1] has seen everything until he speaks up.)

Customer #1: “You know what? I’m going to stay here. If a manager does come, I’ll let them know what happened.”

(Sure enough, one of my supervisors approaches, with [Customer #2], while I’m still massaging my fingers.)

Supervisor: “Did you ignore this customer?”

Me: “I was fixing a machine and I told her to wait a moment.”

([Customer #2] opens her mouth to speak but [Customer #1] beats her to it.)

Customer #1: “The machine I was at had frozen up, and he was trying to restart it when she came up asking for price while he still had his head inside of the top part. He politely told her it’d be a moment, and she proceeded to demand it be done at that moment. However, as he was getting ready to close the machine, she slammed the machine down on his fingers.”

(I held out my slightly red fingers to illustrate the point only to notice [Customer #2] turning red.)

Customer #1: “He kept it to himself about how bad it hurt while reopening the cover. That’s when she left.”

Supervisor: *looking at my fingers and then at [Customer #2] pointedly* “What happened?”

Customer #2: “Uh… Um…” *turns red and leaves in a hurry without anything*

Off The Clock And Off The Hook

, , , , | Right | December 10, 2017

(I work in a grocery store. I realize that some people will recognize me and ask for help if I’m off the clock or out of uniform. I have already clocked out, and I have my coat on and my purse on my shoulder. A regular has stopped me to say hello and we exchange a few pleasantries. From behind me I hear a SLAM and I turn and see a woman glaring at me as if I have personally offended her. She slams her cart into the register right behind me and throws her stuff onto the belt. I admit, it has been a long day and I am already at the end of my rope, but the way she proceeds has me respond in a less than professional way.)

Customer: “Well?! Are you going to f****** help me or not?”

Me: “Nope. But one of the ladies on one of the three open registers can.”

Customer: “Are you f****** serious? You’re just standing there slacking off. Now, stop being so f****** useless and help me. I’m a customer. You’re working for me. C***.”

Me: “Ma’am, again. I cannot help you. I am off the clock and headed home.”

Customer: *begins shrieking* “Get me a manager right now! This is ridiculous! I DEMAND YOU RING ME OUT! MANAGER! MANAGERRRRRR!”

(The manager who has taken over for the night shift has run over upon hearing the screaming.)

Manager: “Ma’am… She is a manager. And she’s going home. She has her coat on. But if you bring your items to register one, two, or three, one of the ladies there can help you. And please, I do have to ask you to stop cursing, or you will be asked to leave. [My Name], have a good night!”

(I said goodnight to the kind regular I had been talking to, and as I continued to walk out I could hear the woman shrieking again. I got home to a text that she had thrown her eggs at the night manager while screaming a slew of curse words, and had to be escorted out by security.)

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