Unfiltered Story #204331

, , , | Unfiltered | August 7, 2020

*Note I was in sales not customer service but had access to view accounts to try and upsell services.*

Me: Thank you for calling this is (name) how can I help you?

*the man then started on a huge rant about us robbing him by raising his rate then threatened to come in and shoot us.*

Me: SIR! I’m going to stop you there! You are talking to the wrong department, you just threatened to kill us, we are in a secure building, and I have your name address and phone number on my screen! Do I need to call the cops?


Boss who had been doing scheduled monitoring at the time: Jesus! No one f***s with you!

Me: Nope!

*Goes back to under my desk with a bean bag chair and reading a book till the next call*

Here We Pokémon Go Again, Part 43

, , , , , , | Right | August 5, 2020

It’s 2012 and I’m working a slow night shift at our deli. A customer comes and asks a question about a meat I’m unsure if we carry, so I ask a senior coworker if we do. While she goes off to check, I stay to chat with the customer. Gam, I immediately recognize the game she’s playing.

Me: “Ma’am, may I ask what your daughter is playing?”

She looks to her daughter.

Customer: “Oh, I’m not sure. [Daughter], what are you playing?”

Customer’s Daughter: *Looks up* Pokémon Crystal. My older brother let me play.”

Me: “That’s an awesome older brother you have! I wish my older brother would have been nice enough to let me play his systems; I needed to get my own just to play! Who’s your favorite Pokémon?”

Customer’s Daughter: “Pikachu!”

Me: “Awesome! Mine, too! I know it’s a bit of a reach, but high-five me!”

I reached over the tall service counter to give the girl a high-five, which she returned. Unfortunately, we didn’t have the meat her mom was looking for, but I’ll never forget that little girl and her nice older brother, letting her play games from a generation gone-by!

Here We Pokémon Go Again, Part 42
Here We Pokémon Go Again, Part 41
Here We Pokémon Go Again, Part 40
Here We Pokémon Go Again, Part 39
Here We Pokémon Go Again, Part 38

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Geeks (And Doctors) Come In All Shapes And Sizes

, , , , , , , , | Friendly | July 31, 2020

It’s the middle of winter with a decent amount of snow outside, late in 2006, and I am waiting in line at a shop. The little girl standing right in front of me, about eight, maybe ten years old, is wearing a big, thick, puffy, bright pink winter jacket and a purple hat and gloves.

The little girl turns around and looks up at me, very serious-faced, her head tilted to the side.

I smile down to her and nod in greeting.

The little girl pulls off her gloves, dangling them at the ends of strings, and then unzips her jacket. She pulls one side open and reaches inside to pull out a blue-light sonic screwdriver. As I watch in surprise, she scans me foot to head, head to foot, and then she tosses the screwdriver a few inches up and catches it sideways, staring at it as if examining a readout, in perfect David Tennant style. Then, she gives a satisfied, serious nod, tucks it back into her jacket, zips it up, and turns back around.

“Did… I… Wha… Did you just sonic me?!” I say in shock.

The little girl’s dad turns around to give me the biggest proud grin and then turns back to sign his receipt.

This story is included in our Feel-Good roundup for July 2020!

Read the next Feel-Good Story here!

Read the July 2020 Feel-Good roundup!

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Unfiltered Story #201667

, , , | Unfiltered | July 30, 2020

(Long ago I managed a high end store. We got a lot of foreign customers over the holidays looking to send stuff to their families. I for some reason I have an easy time understanding other languages so I always stepped in if an employee looked super confused.
In this event an employee flagged me down because a Japanese family was having problems telling her what they wanted. I traded places with her and helped the family and walked them all through checkout. They only spoke Japanese and I only spoke English but we understood each other and they walked out with quite a bit of stuff and big smiles.)

Next customer to come up to the counter: Ugh! Don’t you hate it when those foreign kind don’t speak American!

Me: I don’t care where they came from as long as they are decent human beings. Also, American isn’t a language.

Customer: I think they shouldn’t let any foreign types in!

Me taking their box and putting it behind me: Your ancestors started as foreigners. You are also sorrounded by them *gesturing to the line built of Russians and Arabs*. Oh and that’s my boyfriend over there *pointing out the window to a kiosk* He’s here on a work visa.
I’m refusing the sale for your being rude. GET OUT!

Customer: You can’t do that! I’ll report you!

Me: I can, I will, and it’s done. *big smile* Bye!

(She stomped out. My employees looked at me like I was going to get my head chopped off. Other people in line complimented me. I got on the phone really quickly with all the other foreigners in the mall and spread the word. A half hour later I saw the woman stomp by without bags. Looking really mad. My friends refused to serve her and pretended they couldn’t speak English.
My boss only heard the story from me because I fessed up quick as I don’t believe in hiding. He laughed.)

This Guy Is Worse Than “Red Asphalt”

, , , , , , | Learning | July 29, 2020

When I was in high school, our school offered a driver’s ed course. It was a classroom-only course to learn the rules of the road; there was no practical driving in an actual vehicle. I’m convinced that the teacher they’d chosen for this class hated teenagers. Why he was teaching in a high school, I’ll never know.

On the very first day of class, he told us all that he “believed that no teenager should ever drive a car” and that his own teenage son was forbidden from taking a driver’s ed course until [Teacher] was satisfied with how much he knew about driving. I always wondered how the poor kid was expected to learn enough to satisfy his dad without taking any classes. 

Throughout the class, the teacher would tell us graphic stories about what would happen if we drank and drove, used our phone while driving, or even had the radio on in the car. Here are some of my favorites.

He described getting into a car accident and getting thrown through the windshield because, of course, we aren’t wearing seatbelts. This one included a handout with a graphic play-by-play of the horrific damage done to your body from one moment to the next. 

He described taking a run turn too quickly on a motorcycle, losing control, and crashing into a cornfield. In this particular lovely scenario, both of our legs are broken, so it takes three days to drag ourselves back to the road so anyone can see us to rescue us. I’m not sure how far into this hypothetical cornfield he imagined we’d be thrown.

By the end of the five-week course, half of the fifteen- or sixteen-year-old students in the class that had been so excited about getting a license were now completely terrified of going anywhere near a vehicle. 

This was a fine example of a teacher with no interest in teaching. He didn’t want teenagers to drive, and he certainly got what he wanted. I don’t think a single one of us felt prepared for behind-the-wheel practice after that class.

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