Taking The Pettiness Up To Eleven (Cents)

, , , , , | Working | February 14, 2020

(After my father suddenly passes away, I start closing his bank accounts and such. All are payable-on-death to me, so it is pretty easy to get everything done at once. I go to a large national bank chain that’s known for ripping off its customers for one account, and I sit waiting 45 minutes to talk to a banker in a completely empty bank, until the customer “service” person tells me:)

Customer Service: “I’m afraid that [Banker] is too busy doing his own paperwork and therefore he is not going to be available for the rest of the day.”

Me: “But he has no customers!”

Customer Service: “You should go to [Another Branch 15 minutes away] where there is no line and someone can help you.”

(I am ticked off as h***, but I go since I really need to do this and have already traveled to another town and sunk the travel and waiting time into it. Of course, the other branch is packed, and I wait another 45 minutes. The banker is new and has to call the estate department to walk her through the process. Ninety minutes later, the account is closed, and I have a check in hand for the funds. Fast forward two weeks… A statement comes from the bank for that account, which is NOT closed, and apparently has $0.11 in it. So, I call the estate department of the bank.)

Estate Rep: “Oh, I guess the banker didn’t close the account properly. You’ll have to go back to the bank and do it again.”

Me: “No, that’s why I’m calling you. I can fax you the death certificate or mail a copy. But the last time I tried, I spent 90 minutes of travel time round trip, was left sitting for 45 minutes like an idiot at one branch because a banker didn’t feel like dealing with a customer today, then was told to drive across town to another branch, and then spent another 45 minutes waiting and another 90 minutes watching an untrained banker apparently incorrectly close the account despite being on the phone with you guys for tech support the whole time. I’m not doing that again. How do I send you a copy of the death certificate?”

Estate Rep: “You can’t. We only close bank accounts in person. You’ll have to go to the bank again.”

Me: “Really? Literally every other bank, brokerage house, credit card company, and creditor of his did this by mail or fax. Are you really going to tell me that you are the one and only bank that won’t close an account without going in, like every other bank will?”

Estate Rep: “That’s right. We don’t. You’ll have to go in.”

Me: “So… let’s say I decide to leave the account open, instead. It’s going to cost you a lot more than the $0.11 in the account every month to print the statement and mail it. In a couple of years, it’ll become ‘abandoned property.’ That’ll cost you a bunch more money for the paperwork, plus time and overhead looking for who the property belongs to. Inevitably, you’ll reach me, who’ll laugh at you and decline to claim $0.11. Then, the $0.11 will go to the state, requiring yet more overhead and time for paperwork. Are you really going to tell me to come in, or shall I leave the account open and watch the fun begin?”

Estate Rep: “You have to come in. You have to close the account.”

Me: “I don’t gotta do nothin’. I think I’ll leave it open. I’ll consider it my dad’s final gift of laughter.”

Estate Rep: “But you have to—”

Me: *click*

(And as bummed as I was about my dad dying, that is indeed how, for the past two years, I have had a good chuckle every month at that awful bank’s expense, and I’m sure I’ll have more chuckles for several years yet. All for the cost of eleven cents.)

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Rounding Off Against Rounding Up

, , , , , | Working | February 14, 2020

(I go to a convenience store with an attached deli for lunch one day. While the cashier is ringing up my items, I watch the PIN pad in preparation to pay with my debit card. After all my items are scanned, my total is something like $7.03. The cashier pushes a few buttons on the register, and suddenly my total is $8.00.)

Me: “Wait, where did that last 97 cents come from?”

Cashier: “What 97 cents?”

Me: “My total after you rang all the items was only $7.03. Now it’s $8.00. That’s a 97-cent increase. Why did that show up?”

Cashier: “Oh, we’re participating in a donation drive for [Local Charity that runs a one-week fundraising drive every year], so we’re rounding up everyone’s total to the next dollar as a donation.”

Me: “Well, I really can’t afford to donate almost an entire dollar right now. Please take off the donation.”

Cashier: “I can’t. The register rounds up every purchase automatically.”

(We go back and forth a few times before I ask for a manager. The manager arrives and asks what’s going on.)

Me: “Somehow there was a mistake, and my total got rounded up for [Charity]. I can’t afford to make a donation right now, so I would like the donation taken off my total.”

Cashier: *before the manager can say a word* “I tried telling him that it’s an automatic donation, but he doesn’t get it.”

Manager: “What do you mean by automatic donation?”

Cashier: “Well, last week you said that we’re supposed to round up everyone’s order as a donation.”

Manager: “[Cashier]… I said to ask every customer if they want to round their order up. How many customers did you round up without asking?”

Cashier: *staring at the floor as she realizes her mistake* “Um… all of them?”

Manager: “Okay. Well… head back to the stock room for a while, and I’ll re-train you on the register later.”

(The manager proceeded to apologize for the cashier’s misunderstanding and fix my total. At the end of the fundraiser, [Local Charity] had an article in the local newspaper thanking all the businesses who participated. [Convenience Store/Deli] was named as the largest donor. I wonder why.)

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Or Maybe It’s Just Because You’re An A**hole

, , , , , , | Working | February 13, 2020

(I assist people who are applying for certain positions with the company I work for. When we reject an application, we always send an email to the applicant to let them know. Most of the time, the responses say thanks for giving them a chance or ask when/if they can reapply. But sometimes, I do get a response from someone who just cannot handle being told no. This is one of my favorites. This is verbatim, so the spelling and grammar errors are his.)

Applicant Email: “I am receipt of your email, rejecting my application. But I must wonder if my age has an impact on the decision? Or is it that I am a registered Republican, and support our president? Or is it that I am a white male Or could it be that I am a Christian as well? My lawyer may have some interest in your answers to my questions.”

(Our applications don’t ask anything about race, religion, or political association. There was no way for anyone in the office to know any of this until he sent this.)

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The Chaos Chorus

, , , , , , , | Working | February 13, 2020

(I’m a volunteer at a museum. The volunteers and staff carry radios so we can coordinate. We have different channels for different groups so, for example, the tour guides can coordinate tours without bothering the rest of the staff. Our radios are also always simultaneously tuned to a second channel called “general,” which is only used for announcements. The museum is closed for today while we change exhibits. Notably, a site safety staff member is also testing out the PA loudspeakers.)

Site Safety: *on general* “Heads up, loud noise coming.”


Site Safety: *on general* “Sorry, folks… That’s a bit louder than expected. We’re gonna look into that.”

(A few minutes pass:)

Unknown #1: *on general* “Szz fn mph… fllf.”

Supervisor: “Ah, darn it, someone’s leaning on their transmit.”

(Someone’s accidentally transmitting on general without realizing it, usually caused by leaning up against a wall and hitting the PTT button.)

Supervisor: “Hot mic on general.”

Unknown #1: “Fzz whll… mm.”

Supervisor: “Hot mic on general!”

Unknown #1: “Hll?”

Unknown #2: “Hot! Mic! On! General!”

Unknown #1: “Snzzz whrr…”

Unknown #3: “HOT MIC ON G**D*** GENERAL.”

Supervisor: “Hey, keep it professional on the radios!”

Unknown #1: “Shvvv br.”

(Pretty soon, a chorus of voices pop up, all calling in, “Hot mic on general.” Then, suddenly:)


(Long pause:)

Unknown #3: “Uh… hot mic on g**d*** PA.”

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Arriving Panting, Not Pantless

, , , , , , | Working | February 13, 2020

I am not a morning person, but at this point in my life, I was not taking classes and had other part-time jobs that started later in the day, so I was scheduled for five 5:00 am shifts every week at a fast food restaurant. It’s about a 15-minute commute and I value my sleep, so I generally wake up at 4:15 am, shower, get dressed, and go.

One day, I slept through my alarm and woke up at 4:45 am. I jumped out of bed, forwent showering, quickly got dressed, and started driving, intending to call as soon as I hit the road and let the manager know I was late but on my way.

Backing out of the driveway on this autumn morning, I felt colder than I usually do. I looked down to discover that in my haste, I had forgotten to put on pants. I ran back inside, put on said pants, and was back on the road. By this time, it was about ten minutes after five, and my manager called me, instead. Wanting to be hands-free, I put it on speakerphone and yelled, “I’m on my way! I’m late! I had to go back because I forgot my pants!”

I arrived to see a manager and coworkers laughing and teasing me, not understanding how one could forget putting on pants. Luckily, nobody was angry, just amused.

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