Not Taking Stock Of The Situation

| Matteson, IL, USA | Working | August 14, 2012

(I am shopping in a store where you pay for your items at a register in the back, then go up front to get the merchandise from the stockroom. I purchase a clock radio after asking the sales clerk to verify that they have the product in the stockroom. After handing over my receipt, and waiting for at least 10 minutes, this is what follows.)

Stocker: “I’m sorry, but I can’t find this radio in the back.”

Me: “Your salesperson said you had two in stock.”

Stocker: “Let me go check again. Be right back…”

(He goes back in the stockroom for at least another 10 minutes, and then returns.)

Stocker: “Nope, we are out of stock.”

Me: “This is why I asked the clerk if you had any in stock. I guess I will just take a refund.”

(Note: the total sale on the receipt is $19.82.)

Stocker: “Fine.”

(He does the return and counts back the money. It comes to about $17.00.)

Me: “The total was $19.82.”

Stocker: “Yes, there’s a 10% restocking fee.”

Me: “What do you mean ‘restocking fee?'”

Stocker: “When you return an item, there is a 10% restocking fee for the return.”

Me: “But I didn’t return it. You didn’t even have it!”

Stocker: “This is a return. Store policy says there is a 10%—”

Me: “Get your manager.”

(A very young assistant manager joins us at the desk.)

Assistant Manager: “Can I help you?”

Stocker: “She doesn’t want to pay the restocking fee on her return.”

Me: “I want a refund for an item I paid for in back, but you don’t have in the stockroom. Your associate is charging me a 10% restocking fee.”

Assistant Manager: “Well, ma’am, there is a 10% restocking fee.”

Me: “I don’t think you understand. I am not returning the clock radio. I paid for it back there, but you didn’t actually have any in stock. I only want my money back for an item you don’t have.”

Assistant Manager: *very snotty* “No, ma’am, YOU don’t understand. There is a 10% fee for our inconvenience when you return an item.”

Me:  “I DID NOT RETURN THIS ITEM. YOU DO NOT EVEN HAVE IT.”

(This goes on for about five minutes until I insist they call the store director at his home on his day off. The assistant doesn’t explain to him the real story, only that I don’t want to pay the return charge. I insist she give me the phone.)

Store Director: “Ma’am, store policy—”

Me: “Look, here’s the story. I bought the clock in the back, your computer said you had two in the stockroom, but when I got to the counter, the stockboy said there were none in the back. I want a return on an item I paid for that you did not have.”

Store Director: “Ah, okay. Give the phone to [assistant manager].”

(I hand the phone to the assistant manager. I can hear the store director yelling at her through the phone. The assistant manager eventually hangs up and turns to me.)

Assistant Manager: “So, your total was $19.82. Here you go!” *slaps the money into my hand, gives me a dirty look, and walks away*

(Needless to say, I never went back there. Not surprisingly, this company went out of business only a couple months later.)

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Of Emissions, Digressions, And Bad Impressions

| Ontario, Canada | Working | August 13, 2012

(My province of Ontario has mandatory car emission testing prior to allowing license plate registration, so I bring down my vehicle to the mechanic.)

Me: “Hi, how are you? Just here to pick up the results of my emissions test.”

Employee: “How are you?! I’ll tell you how I am… f***ing s****y! Want to know why?”

Me: “Okay…”

Employee: “A wasp stung me in the eyeball at a backyard party this weekend. I’m not talking around the eye. I mean right in the f***ing eyeball… right in the corneus!”

Me: “The cornea?”

Employee: “Ya, whatever you call it… the f***ing eyeball! So, I was rolling around on the grass for like ten minutes, and my buddy Hank goes, ‘Wanna lie down inside?’ No f***ing way I was gonna lie down! I was gonna kill every last one of those bastards! Hank’s a welder, so I asked him to go get his acetylene torch so I could blast them to extinction, but he goes to me, ‘I’m all out of acetylene!’ What kind of welder is out of acetylene? Answer me that!”

Me: “I don’t know. Actually I have an appointment soon, so if I could just—”

Employee: “So THEN, I call up Tim ’cause I know for a fact he’s got a f***load of blowtorches, but his old lady answers the phone and she goes, ‘Tim’s passed out drunk on the lawn!’ Then, I got like the best idea I’ve ever had, and ran into Hank’s garage. Wanna know how to burn-up a wasp nest?”

Me: “I don’t have a wasp problem, so—”

Employee: “What you do is get a can of WD-40 and a lighter! Spray a bit at the nest to soak it, and then once it’s spraying you take a lighter to the stream! It’s like napalm! One can gives you like 20 seconds of burning. Trust me, that’s more than you need. I made those wasps pay… ALL OF THEM!”

Me: “Thanks, but I really need to get my emissions test.”

Employee: “Oh yeah, I’ve got the results right here. Your car did really well. In fact, these are some of the lowest carbon monoxide readings I’ve ever seen. Guess you’ll have to run a different car in the garage if you want to kill yourself!” *laughs*

Me: “Okay, will do.”

Employee: “Times are tough, man. This car won’t do the job. You need some old clunker that belches out monoxide!”

Me: “I don’t want to kill myself. I like my life.”

Employee: “In case you change your mind, think late-model car!”

Me: “Thanks…”

Infinitely Loopy

| UK | Working | August 13, 2012

(Our company has just changed over from an internal memo system to a new email system. I am fairly computer literate, but this system isn’t a standard one that I’m used to.)

Me: “Hey, how do we log into this thing? I thought it was going to be the same ID and password as we used to use.”

Manager: “Oh, yeah, we couldn’t do that, but we sent you an email with your new user ID and password.”

Me: “…So, you sent me an email that went to the new mailbox, with details of how to get into the new mailbox?”

Manager: “Yep!”

Me: *speechless*

Bigot Bait

| Montreal, Canada | Working | August 13, 2012

(My ethnic heritage is a bit of a mish-mash. On one side, I am of recent European immigrants, while on the other I am native and English. This occurs on the first day of my first job as I am sitting with coworkers and my supervisor in the lunch room. My coworker is getting increasingly vocal about his disdain for native Americans due to recent news items including a blockade of key roads in the Montreal area. The conversation takes place in French.)

Coworker: “Natives are s***! They don’t pay taxes. They’re into smuggling and criminal gangs, and they all drink themselves into prison. I hate them!”

Me: “Um, I’m part Mohawk.”

Coworker: *embarrassed* “Uh, I have to go and compile that program…”

(My coworker leaves. My supervisor, who has overheard everything, approaches me.)

Supervisor: “Well, that ended wrong, didn’t it? I guess every generation has its problem with one group or another. In my day, it was the f***ing DPs. You know what a DP is? Displaced Person. God, they flooded the city after the war. Useless, and I bet most of them were Nazi sympathizers. They were filthy and they brought disease. They took jobs away from good Quebecers!”

Me: “Um, my mom was a DP. I’m part German.”

Supervisor: *laughs* “I put my foot in it that time didn’t I? Well, at least you’re not English.”

Me: “Um…”

(I quit very shortly thereafter.)

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This Is Shameful!

| Working | August 13, 2012

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