(I do data entry for a company that supplies drug stores with their merchandise. The way our system works is that the customer will phone our office, get our answering machine, and leave a recorded message with their order. I will then play the message later and enter the order on my computer. I can count on the following happening at least once a week:)

Person On Recording: “Hi, [Company]. Here’s my order…” *gives order*

Me: “Oh, great. They didn’t give their name or their store, and the computer won’t let me start entering their order unless we know who it’s for.”

Person On Recording: *continues*

Me: “I hope this is a short order…”

Person On Recording: *keeps talking*

Me: “Maybe I can recognize their voice? …Nope.”

Person On Recording: *keeps talking*

Me: “Please, please, have them say who they are at the end of the message! I’ll have to rewind and listen to the whole thing again, but at least I’ll be able to enter it.”

Person On Recording: “…and that’s it. Thanks!” *hangs up*

Me: “Aw, crap.”

(We don’t have call display in these days, so I have no hope of knowing who the order is for. Then, the next day, this usually happens.)

Caller: “WHERE’S MY ORDER?!”

I am the most junior worker at a specialty manufacturer, so I get to answer the phones when it rings. This is in the mid 90’s, well before map apps.
Me:”<Manufacturer>, how can I help you?”
Customer: “I need to bring some material down to be cut, where is <our street>?
Me:”It runs parallel to <major street> between <street> and <street>. If you’re coming from the west end of the city, don’t speed on <our street>. There’s a speed trap, lots of people visiting us get tickets.
About an hour later, the customer arrives.
Customer: “I got a speeding ticket on <our street>!
Me: “I did tell you about the speed trap, sir.”
Customer:(sheepishly) “…yeah…”
The whole reason I started telling customers was all the complaints I heard about people getting tickets…

(I used to work at the reservations desk for a dinner theatre.  Since this was pre-Internet, people would often call to find out some information about the play before deciding whether or not they wanted to see it.  These calls would be the most frequent when we had a new show starting and word-of-mouth hadn’t happened yet.)

Caller:  Can you give me some information about (new show that just started)?
Me:  Of course!  It stars (b-list actor from old TV series), and its plot is (details).
Caller:  Is that all you can tell me?
Me:  Um … it’s about 3 hours long, including the time to serve the meal.
Caller:  No, no.  You’re not telling me anything useful.
Me:  What else would you like to know?
Caller:  Well, is it funny?
Me:  I’m afraid I can’t answer that – I’ve never seen it.
Caller:  What?  Why not?
Me:  Um, I just haven’t.  (Note:  employees used to get free tickets to the opening night of new shows, but the theatre had recently ended that practice.  Since I was a poor student, I couldn’t afford to buy the tickets myself.  I didn’t think it was appropriate to tell the caller that, however.)
Caller:  This is ridiculous!  How am I supposed to know whether or not to buy tickets if your information is so limited?
Me:  I’m very sorry that I couldn’t be more help.
Caller:  *click*

A week later, the theatre received an angry letter about how useless “the girl” (i.e. me) had been, and how they would never buy tickets to any of our shows again if that was the level of incompetence they could expect from the theatre.  My boss was furious and vowed to fire whomever was responsible.  Luckily, the caller didn’t mention my name, so I kept that job for a little longer until I found something better.

(I work as a cashier at a big department store.)

Customer: “I’d like to return this hairdryer.”

Me: “Sure. Do you have a receipt?”

Customer: “No, I don’t.”

Me: “Okay, in that case—“

Customer: “I bought this hair dryer for my son. He’s got a terrible illness, and the hairdryer was meant to cheer him up, but he developed an awful rash when he tried to use it.”

Me: “Um—“

Customer: “That’s why I need to return it, see? The poor guy has been through enough; he doesn’t need a rash on top of everything else. His life is so hard. He lost his job recently, and money’s tight, so we can’t afford to waste money on hair dryers that give him a rash, and—“

(The customer keeps talking and talking while I keep trying to interrupt her so that she can start the refund process. During that time, I suddenly realize that I recognize the customer from my last job as a cashier at another big department store.)

Me: “Will you excuse me a moment?” *goes to find manager* “Hey, [Manager]? I’m pretty sure that customer is trying to pull a fast one. I recognize her from my last job. She was notorious for trying to return stolen items for cash.”

Manager: “Are you sure?”

Me: “Oh, yeah. She’s got this tell: she always talks too much and gives a lot of unnecessary details about why she’s trying to return something.”

Manager: “Nice catch. I’ll call the loss prevention guys.”

(The LPs hauled the woman out of the store while she loudly screamed that she needed the money for the hair dryer because of her poor, sick son. The funny thing is that if she hadn’t been such a chatterbox, I might have just processed the return without looking at her too closely.)

(I get my first apartment when I am 22 and am pretty naïve about how the world works. I expect that my landlord will be a nice, honest guy that will do his job. This turns out to be untrue. For example, after we have a massive blizzard — Google “Winnipeg Snowstorm 1986” for more details — he keeps making excuses about digging out the parking lot, which means that my car is unusable for more than a week. He doesn’t live in the building himself, so he doesn’t care. After a few more experiences like that, I finally have enough and decide to move. I contact the landlord to conduct the apartment inspection so that I can get my damage deposit back. He calls me a few days later.)

Landlord: “I did the inspection, and you’re not getting your deposit back.”

Me: “What? Why not?”

Landlord: “You left a lot of damage in that place.”

Me: “Like what?”

Landlord: “Well, for starters, you stole the plastic hallway runner.”

Me: “That runner was mine. My parents bought it for me.”

Landlord: “No, it was mine!”

Me: “They have the receipt. Want to see it?”

Landlord: “Okay, never mind. You left a huge mess in the oven.”

Me: “That’s not possible.”

Landlord: “What do you mean?”

Me: “I never used the oven.”

Landlord: “What are you talking about? You lived there for a year.”

Me: “Yes, and I never cooked in the oven. I either used my microwave or got takeout.”

Landlord: “Well, regardless, that place was pristine when you moved in!”

Me: “Is that so? I found mushrooms growing on the bathroom carpet, and the shower curtain was covered in slimy mildew.”

Landlord: “You spilled something sticky on the living room carpet!”

Me: “Yes. I did do that, and I’m more than willing to pay for the carpet to be cleaned.”

Landlord: “You’re not getting your damage deposit back.” *click*

(I ended up having to contact the Better Business Bureau, who ordered him to give me my damage deposit, less the amount that it would cost to clean the living room carpet. He very reluctantly agreed to do so but he insisted that I come over to his house to get my cheque. When I got there at the agreed-upon time, he was wearing nothing but a bathrobe. Yuck. I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.)