One more from the world of spangle
Ooh, just remembered a more hellish story about my time in the internet filth industry.

A customer once sent a letter to our office, addressed to 'Lindsay', one of our models. Apologies for any dreams shattered by this next revelation, but any mail sent to the models would get opened by the office staff; Partly for security reasons, partly because the models were freelance and usually photographed on location, partly because it was a bloody good hoot. Alright, mainly because it was a bloody good hoot.

So we opened this letter to 'Lindsay', and were taken back by the contents. It was a side of A4 filled with beautiful prose, the writer pouring out his heart, telling 'Lindsay' of his love for her and his admiration of her work. "How sweet", we thought.

Then we turned it over.

On the other side, the author had provided a biro drawing of 'Lindsay', legs akimbo. It was nothing short of gynaecological in detail.

And there was more.

At the top right of the page, the artist had drawn a circle. An arrow pointed to the circle. At the other end of the arrow, he had written the instruction;

"Lindsay, sniff here"

Have you ever seen the way Steve Irwin would leap back when a crocodile turned on him? Imagine that with a group of men and a crusty sheet of A4.
(costas, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 13:34, 1 reply)

Porn Free
I once had a great job in the happy world of internet pornography. Sadly for the rest of the world, my role was strictly limited to web-programming (sure, they begged me many times, "Please, just one photo-shoot, delight our female readers with your sheer manly physical perfection", but, y'know, my morals forbade it) (That's despite it looking like a Victorian policeman's truncheon with a peach on the end) (Really). Customers From Hell were a rare thing - It's surprising how few people feel the urge to phone up and complain about the bongo-site they've subscribed to. We did, however, get some lovely letters.

We once produced a free sampler CD-ROM which included some free nudey photos and acted as a grubby gateway to our sites. We advertised this in a number of skin-magazines, some of which were popular in Ghana, of all places. One day we received a letter from a Ghanaian reader.

"Please would you send me your free CD-ROM"

Which we did, poste haste.

A couple of weeks later, we received another letter from the same chap.

"Thank you kindly for the free CD-ROM. Please could you send me a computer to use it in."

You can't blame him for trying.
(costas, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 13:17, 1 reply)

Being in IT support can really get on your nerves
and for many reasons.

Fortunately, I'm a fairly nice chap, so my experience with irate "customers" (read users) is rather rare.

However, that's not to say I don't get my fair share of irritants. such as:

* You spend hours of time working on a single job, something horrendous usually involving all sorts of brain screwing madness. What thanks do you get? None (or next to none) however, the simple act of turning on a printer earns you more praise than Jesus got for the fish & bread thing.

* Somehow knowing which way up a CD goes in the drive makes me a Genius. I'd rather get a simple thanks than minutes of forced praise

* Just because I wrote the system DOES NOT mean I know what you're supposed to be putting into it... Yes I wrote the invoicing reports, No I do not know what we're charging XYZ company.

* A user not pressing the right button IS NOT a system error. It is human error. The system works just fine when you tell it what you actually want thanks.

* I don't mind explaining how to do something, or how something works. I don't even mind doing this 2 or 3 times. But phoning me each and every time you do it and asking for the 50th explanation gets a bit tiring after a while...

* Okay, your file went missing, because you deleted it... So why is that my fault? Why are you getting narky with me? I'll restore it from the backup if you're nice. If your not, I'll just get awkward.

* You don't work for my company. Why are you asking me for IT support? You have your own IT support in the same building as you. I only sent you your data export.

And my personal favourite is the numptys that can't use Winzip. As a brief explanation, the company i work for has call to send confidential information. The kind that could cause issues if it wound up in the worng place. Therefore we encrypt data (Are you listening HM Gov't?). The easiest method to encrypt data for our various different clients is to use winzip, and encrypt the zip file. To decrypt the file all you need is Winzip9 or greater, and to pay the dirt cheap registration price. Simple?

Well it seems not...

Windows doesn't read highly encrypted Winzip files. This causes problems for clients who only know how to use the built-in zip function in windows.

In fact a lot of clients use the windows zip tool, or some zip tool that doesn't support encryption... and it's somehow always our fault that they can't decrypt data that's required to be encrypted by law. My personal favourite being the client who demanded encrypted files, then phoned up two days later explaining that their IT department remove any encrypted attachments in their email... :-/ Joy

/Rant

(Am I supposed to apologise for length?)
(TarranT, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 13:02, Reply)

i don't like to complain,but...
I recently visited a high-end,expensive bookshop ( I travelled all day - I'm that kind of twat).
It was a good day.The sun was shining,the trees were,well,you know.
I approached the till at a jaunty angle,swivelled my face in the direction of the sales assistant (name Jeremy(really?),bright eyes,fluffy hair,shoe size 8 and a half).
'Excuse me' quoth I,'Can you please tell me where the bibliography section is?'
'Er...what's a bibliography?'
Crestfallen,I went home and wept for the education system.
(Fuckpig "That's not even a pound a midget.", Thu 11 Sep 2008, 12:53, 5 replies)

Probably BT's fault.....
but I pay them for a number of BT Business Lines for my own home based company (I am currently reviewing comms contracts, so it might not be BT in the near future). Anyway, the main telephone number that I use, and got printed on letter heads etc. is the easiest to remember. Unfortunately, BT gave me a number that was until recently used by a recruitment company.

So, on a daily basis I get calls that start "Hello, is that XXXX recruitment?". I used to explain that this is their old number and no longer in use, but now I start having a little more fun, and tell them that they all died of syphillis/blue tongue/leprasy etc.

I also get calls from people who start calls by asking for the address of XXXXX recruitment so that they can send me their CV's. I helpfully give them my neighbour's address as he is a twunt.

I also had one guy who used to repeatedly call my second line at odd times and leave messages on the answer machine. He was complaining that he had placed an order for penis growth pills from my company. Each time, he had a rant, then left his number for someone to call him back.

He sounded like an old geezer, a bit weird in his tone as you'd expect anyone who buys penis growth pills to be. This went on for about 8 weeks, then I finally got a message to say that he had now received his pills, and he wanted to know how many pills to take.

At this point I rang him back, and explained that for best effect he should neck 'em all, and make a new order as soon as possible.

He never called again.

Length: Same with the pills as without.
( Piper Alpha is being a grumpy northerm bastard on:, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 12:31, 4 replies)

This QOTW is haunted
So I'm writing on here yesterday about idiots in fire evacuations. 2 hours later I'm working away and I smell burning...

So, standing outside yesterday evening in my horrible day glow fire wardens jacket, side stepping onrushing fireman, an idiot lady walks up to me. Bear in mind, there is a cafe in our library

Idiot: I need to go in and get my phone.
Me: I'm afraid not. The building has been evacuated due to a fire.
Iditot: Yes, but I was in the cafe.
Me: I think the cafe is flammable too.
Idiot: But you don't understand - my husband is on his way to pick me up.
Me: I don't think that will stop the building being on fire.
Idiot: But...but...I'm from the council!

I'm not sure if she thought shouting this would have some kind of Jumanji effect and put the fire out. Anyway, in the end she huffed and stormed off, hopefully accepting the fact that Fire beats Working for the council. In the end it turns out some piece of machinery had started smouldering in the theatre on the second floor.

Still, it's weird how what I typed happened...

So, I was beating John McCririck to death with one of my many sacks full of gold bars the other day...
(GONEism, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 12:31, 1 reply)

Spoolmeister
Just reminded me. I used to work in a pet shop, too. I'd had a few days off before hand, so had no idea about what this chap was talking about.

Anyway. He'd come in to the shop, saying he wanted to complain about a bird he'd been sold from said shop.

Problem being, that said bird is known to hibernate. Explained this to the customer. Customer didn't believe me. So I rattle the cage that the bird is in. Bird moves. Job done, right? Wrong. Customer thinks that the bird only moved because I shook the cage. Sigh.

The customer is almost apoplectic with rage now, takes the bird out of the cage and twats it on the counter. "Now that's what I call a dead parrot". Thing was, I've no idea how he'd managed to do it, but the bird was still breathing. The bird was probably pining for the fjords or something - I'm no expert on them.

The customer was almost having a prolapse now, spouting on "'E's a stiff! Bereft of life, 'e rests in peace! If you hadn't nailed 'im to the perch 'e'd be pushing up the daisies!
'Is metabolic processes are now 'istory! 'E's off the twig! 'E's kicked the bucket, 'e's shuffled off 'is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisibile!" (Did I mention the shop was in London?). I was getting a bit tired now and really just wanted the guy to fuck off, so offered to replace the bird.

Go out the back, have a look, none left. Bugger. Only thing left is a slug. I offer it to the customer, who says "Pray tell, does it talk?"

It's a slug. What do you think? Obviously, being in a customer service role, I sweeten it up with a "Er, not really". In the end, I just ask him to go to the other shop that the owner has in Bolton.

Sigh. Customers, eh?
( shadyron, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 12:29, 1 reply)

Customers from Hell?
What about shopworkers from Hell?

Here's a hint to the till staff at Stockport Tesco. Just because a courgette has a light-and-dark pattern on its skin, it doesn't follow that it'll be identifiable to the laser scanner. I promise.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 12:09, 8 replies)

Blue Shirts again
Ok...I swear this IS on topic. I, as an employee of a public service am paid by taxes. Which means that everyone (including me and my colleagues) are my customers. That makes sense right?

Right.

Colleague CSO comes back into the base with a massive grin pasted across his face, and proudly announces to the packed office that he's just caught two people "Going Equipped".
Given that this particular CSO proves that much of the current public perception of us is dead on, we naturally wanted a few more details. Had he caught two masked men holding crowbars? Or perhaps a gang of hoodies stood outside a bank with a blowtorch?

Nope.

Apparently he'd been walking along the local park, when he'd spotted a couple in their 70s walking towards him. He was holding a step ladder, she a basket.

He had stopped both of them, called for a patrol car, and tried to have them arrested for going equipped to steal apples from a publicly owned tree.

(postscript: yes, the poor sods who were in the patrol car did apologise to the couple and told him to fuck right off)

*Sweet alcohol eases the pain*
(Caveat Emptor, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 12:04, 3 replies)

QVC
Open apology to the staff at QVC. There was a period where my friend Clive and me would phone relentlessly in to QVC and harass the poor staff. In a polite, pranky kind of way, but enough to solicit a call from some management asking us to politely fuck right off.

It all started whilst stoned on saturday afternoon. We worked in a tech support call centre and like to wreak revenge on poor unsuspecting losers that eek out a living flogging poor computer products on cable telly. As we worked in a call centre, we knew all the shitty things that customers did and said to us, it was time for a little payback.

Again, sorry QVC. First off. Confusion.

"Hello QVC can i help you?"

"Certainly. I'd like to purchase a product"

"Of course, can you tell me the number on the screen please."

"Yes its 0. 8. 0. 0. 5. 0. 4. 0. 3. 0."

"thankyou, just hold on a minute. . . . erm that numbers not comi.. ah I see thats actually our phone number sir"

"Thats the number that was on screen."

"Yes of course its our phone number. Do you have the product number."

"Yes. Its 0. 8. 0..."

"Thats the phone number sir. What was the PRODUCT number on screen at the time"

etc. This could be carried on for ages.

Eventually, I described the product. In this case, Microsoft Encarta.

"And what type of computer do you have sir?"

"A VAX VMS. None of this PDP11 nonsense" i said in my most pompous old skool IT voice".

"Erm yer wha?" The scouseness would normally increase (call centre was in Knowlesley I think)."

I would normally get to listen as the operator would shout around the call centre, asking other staff if they had ever heard of VAX VMS and other such nonsense.

After about 15 or so calls, we'd have some names of staff. And phone up asking for them.

"Hi is Jen there please?"

"Sorry this is the mainline, for staff you need to call the private line"

"yeah I've forgotten it, I'm picking her up in 5 minutes, what is it again?"

Bingo, got the private number, i can extrapolate the DDI's now.

"Hi, its Steve, can you pass on a message to Jen - tell her I'm out the front, is she ready to go yet?"

You can pretty much carry on like this as long as you like and have all the girls running round the office, looking for all the Jennifers, and seeing if they will go outside to meet Steve etc until the management call you and threaten restraining orders etc. It was fun.

Sorry QVC girls

(Does anyone else think that Eastenders was invented by the Government to condition people into thinking 'at least my life isn't as shit as it is for people in eastenders' and thus prepare them for call centre work? I watched it the other day and wanted to tear my face off with a fork. Its so fucking bad why do so many people watch it? Is it a class thing? Are people that fucking retarded that watching Eastenders gives them some kind of pleasure. I'm turning into Travis Bickle I think).
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 11:50, 5 replies)

...
First?
(powervator and NONE SHALL PASS, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 11:47, Reply)

Security In B3ta
.
I suppose you could class us lot as customers of b3ta. Or clients. But you wouldn't believe the torrent of abuse I got when I found a security hole in B3ta and posted it on links.

You see, found that I could fuck with the cookies from B3ta and take snapshots of peoples Gaz messages. I couldn't open the messages but I could see who was talking to who and the subject titles.


www.daftdoggy.com/b3ta/b3ta.jpg

You'd think that people would be pleased I found a bug and publicised it. Not on your Nelly.


Legless Edit: Don't bother clicking unless you run Firefox. I only code for proper browsers

Cheers
( Legless Mister Stabby - shanks for the memory, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 11:08, 6 replies)

One born every minute...........
Not really a customer from hell but I thought would be worth a mention.

My mate used to work in a pet shop (we will call him joe because thats his name),
A customer turned up one day and the conversation went something like this.....

Cust:- I would like to buy some frogs for my garden pond please.

joe:- Sorry sir, but we don't sell frogs, they generally just turn up and if they like the pond will decide to live in it.

Cust:- oh,,,,,, Is that the same for fish?

Joe:- hmmmmmmmm
( Gooch Is neither here nor there, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 11:02, 8 replies)

I love the arguments
that end in :

"...I know somone who works for the paper, I'll tell them about how crappy your service has been - just you wait"

haha, as if a paper will run a story on how a man/women received shoddy service in a shop.

Queue spinny paper with shock headline.
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 10:57, 2 replies)

Jim Davidson
I work in the entertainment industry, I do lights/sound/whatever. In 2003 I was stage managing a Jim Davidson gig.

He turned up 45 minutes late, with the support fella, I think they may have been drinking.

He took a look out a peephole into the audience, and saw two or three people in the front row who use wheelchairs. They weren't drooling mongs, they just had legs which didn't work for one reason or another. They had queued to get tickets, and they had even queued overnight to make sure they got front row tickets.

Mr Davidson requested that they be moved. A direct quote, "What are those fucking cripples doing in the front row?".

I send the house manager out to have a word, because he won't go on until they're moved to the back- we weren't happy about it, but bear in mind Jim Davidson fans are not the most relaxed people in the world anyway, and the auditorium had 2500 of them who had been waiting 45 longer than expected and were mostly drunk - and before she can say a word, one of the fellas in a wheelchair says, "I know what you're going to ask, and no we won't move, we paid for these tickets because we wanted to sit here."

Quite right.

Jim Davidson - "they don't know where they are anyway, they're just here so the helpers can get in free" gets back in his Merc and fucks off.

"Bugger", I said.

It's now 8.30pm, and the show was meant to start at 7.30pm.

I have approximately 2500 drunk, impatient, Plymothian Jim Davidson fans sitting on the other side of that curtain, and now I have to tell them that he won't be performing.

A sober Jim Davidson fan is bad enough. 2500 of the fuckers who have been drinking shit overpriced lager is a whole room full of unpleasantness. One of them tried to steal the sound desk.
(meat2veg hello!, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 10:49, 9 replies)

I once served a drink to Courtney Love.
She was a customer from Hole.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 10:42, 1 reply)

Just reminded of this one....
An irish bloke with no internet connection.
Me - "Can you tell me when the light on the modem has gone solid please?"
Him - "Ok........ok it's on...it's off again...it's on..."
Me - "So...it's flashing then."
Him - "So it is, aye."

Muppet.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 10:33, 3 replies)

Phone Call
At work we used to run a line for a client where we would take calls for orders from the general public.

Unfortuantely due to what we sold mainly older people who had retired would ring up.

On one such occasion I picked up the phone and said the usual greeting to have an elderly lady reply with "Yes what do you want".

"You called me I believe...'

"NO I didn't you called me, what do you want..'

This went on for 2 minutes of me trying to explain the situation until I got fed up and finished off the conversation and hung up.

Phone rings again, I answer, same woman, however this time "Don't hang up on me when I call you". was her reply.

"AH HA" I shouted, "So you admit it you called me!".

She hung up, I turned into gloaty gloat boy for the rest of the day.

I hated those phone calls.
(Opanoid Look sweats dripping off them, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 10:31, 1 reply)

I get calls
This is tenuously on-topic, but sort of relates to the "customer is always right" mantra... if, that is, your definition of "customer" is wide enough to cover "mad stranger".

The scene: 10:15 last night. The phone goes. It's an Irish voice* on the other end.
"Can I speak to Pat?"
Not on this number, you can't.
"I want to speak to Pat."
You've got the wrong number. There's no Pat here.
"There is. Stop messing around. I want to speak to Pat."
Really, this is the wrong number.
"No it isn't. It's the number Deirdre gave me."
Then Deirdre gave you the wrong number. There's no Pat here.
"Could you just put Pat on the phone?"
No. I don't know any Pat. What number did you ring?
"This one."
Well, yes. But what number was that?
"2xx 1xxx."
OK, that's this number. But there's no Pat here.
"But Deirdre said that this was Pat's number. I want to speak to Pat."
It isn't Pat's number. There's no Pat here.
[pause]
"Does she live on your street?"
I don't know anyone called Pat. Or Deirdre, for that matter.
"Could she live next door? Could you knock on your neighbour's door?"
It's unlikely that anyone next door is called Pat. They're from the Philippines.
"Would you try next door?"
I don't know anyone called Pat.
"Look - I want to talk to Pat."
I believe you. But you have the wrong number.
"Come on now. Let me talk to Pat."
I don't know anyone called Pat.
"Deirdre said..."
I know what Deirdre said. She's wrong.
[pause]
"If you see Pat, will you tell her I rang?"
I don't know Pat.
"But if you see her, will you tell her I rang?"
I don't know who you are, either.
"Who're you?"
I'm Iain.
"Well I'm Pauline. If you see Pat, will you tell her I called?"
I still don't know anyone called Pat.
"Will you let me talk to Pat now, then?"
No. There's noone of that name here. You have the wrong number.
"Can I talk to Pat?"
No.
"Well you tell her I rang when you see her?"


Christ. Anyone'd think that the Irish had a reputation for being a bit simple...



*No, not that Irish voice...
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 10:23, 5 replies)

I went to London last night
To a b3ta bash, in Covent Garden.

I had a good time, but had to leave early, to catch my train home to Essex, but I left the pub in plenty of time, and decided to walk to my overground station, as it was a nice night, and I wanted to have a few cigarettes.

After about half an hour I found myself walking through the dark streets of Whitechapel, as a certain famous individual had, over a hundred years ago.

I stopped to light a cigarette, leaning against a shop window, lost in my thoughts, when a soft, sweet and obviously female voice caught my attention:

"Can you spare a cigarette?"

I turned around to see a stunning young lady, admittedly not wearing very much, but managing to get away with it rather well.
She was, clearly, a prostitute.

I nodded slowly and held the packet out to her, watching her dark-painted nails slowly slide out a cigarette.
I sparked up my lighter, holding it out to her, the flame revealing an innocent looking face.

I smiled to myself. She would be perfect.

I wanted none of that pointless build-up conversation, so I decided to cut straight to the chase.

"How much?"

Her eyes flicked upwards to meet my gaze.

"Fifty. Pay first."

I nodded, and passed her a few folded notes.

She smiled and held onto my hand, whispering "Follow me..."

I walked behind her, grinning to myself, nervously anticipating what was only a few minutes away.

I followed her around a corner, down an very narrow alley between two building. A few skips, no CCTV.

I wiped the sweat from my palms on my shirt, and reached into my pocket, taking out the knife that had waited there so patiently.
I quietly opened the blade, my whole body tingling as I felt the nearly silent *click* of it locking into place.

Griping the wooden handle tightly in my right hand I closed the distance between us in a few strides, before grabbing her hair, yanking her head back and slicing her throat so deeply I could feel the blade run across her neck vertebrae.

She crumpled soundlessly to the floor, and I waited for her to stop twitching.
Soon she was still, the pool of blood around her head was like a growing halo.

I sliced her open and took out the kidneys, the liver and the heart, wrapping them carefully in layers of cling-film, before putting them into my bag.
I cut out part of her left lung and tried to eat it, but it made me feel sick, she had obviously been a heavy smoker, I could taste it in her.
I took back the notes that I'd given her, along with several others. I'd not expected to profit.

I cleaned myself up, and wrote on the white-washed wall, in her blood "JACK LIVES".

I guess it's true, you could call me a customer from From Hell.
( Cawl, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 9:59, 17 replies)

I'm reading through the answers this week
And, to paraphrase Douglas Adams, in the same way as a series of clicks speeding up become a constant tone, everyone here is a fucking miserable moaning bastard.

You're probably all justified in your complaints, but if I ever need to ring up a customer helpline or whatever, I'm not expecting you to be helpful, I'm expecting you to be obstructive.
For instance. I want to change my contract mobile phone over to a pay-as-you-go thing, for whatever reason. Tell me how that happens, how much it costs, and then do it. Don't try and change my mind for 27 bastard minutes.

Basically. When someone says they pay your wages, because they pay money to the people who employ you, then broadly speaking they do. Stop treating them like cunts, perhaps they won't act like one.

And those of you here who work in Bars. You must be all the good ones, who know how to pour Guinness properly, know exactly who should be served next, and know when Ale tastes like cider it's not right. I've bought beer from some of you, you were very nice. You do work with some people who can't do any of those things, though, don't you?
(meat2veg hello!, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 9:50, 10 replies)

Another techy related answer
I used to work on providing support for a very early TV Internet package, where the customer was sent a box which had dialup settings built into it's software and a basic browsing, email and chat package all thrown in. The device itself was a bit cumbersome and tended to get fucking boiling hot, but alot of the elderly liked having the fire risk in their home as it gave them INTERNETS without needing a computer.
As well as the elderly, we had some right pervs who used it and due to the nature of the system (ie not Windows based) it encountered alot of conflictions depending on what the customer was trying to browse. It couldn't download any files, any attachments on emails would cause it to crash, it didn't support many versions of Flash etc etc. It done bugger all really, except generate alot of work for me.
3 customers from hell stand out on this, plus 1 good customer too (it involves some happy days).

1. The customer called us, having trouble getting his email. I clone the account into Outlook Express on my office computer and setup an IMAP account (this allows me to read the emails waiting on the server and delet any problem ones). Only 3 emails waiting, one of which has an attachment. There's his prob thinks I, and I mention it to the customer. He asks politely "What's in it then?" I open it up rather foolhardily and find 3 jpgs in there. "Oh, just 3 pictures sir, nothing to worry about." I open up the first pic and am happily greeted by two boys, one of which is sucking off the other. I flick the mute button on the phone very quickly and shout "WHAT THE SHUDDERING FUCK!!!??", to which my manager runs over and goes "What the fuck are you looking at? GET IT OFF THE SCREEN." Me hitting high pitched "It's not fucking mine!!! It's this dirty bastard on the phone, fucking hell!" Odd looks all shift from the manager ensured.

2. Another customer cannot get into his emails. I do the same thing as above and find he's got 200+ emails sitting there. "That's your problem sir, you got too much stored in there. Can I delete them to make space for the new emails?" I get the verbal nod and start to check each email that he's got as I am deleting them. They all had some embedded pictures on each mail with him and his missus drinking in a pub....then him and his missus in bed. Then him and his missus doing each other in bed. Then his missus chatting to another girl in the pub. Then him doing the other girl in the same bed. Then all 3 of them chatting in the pub. Then all 3 of them in bed.
Lucky cunt.

3. LOL, I cannae fucking count.
A guy called RRM for short, as I can still remember his fucking name. He complained about EVERYTHING, swore at me and other staff and any occasion and I got every sort of decision critisized and scrutinized by this bastard of a man. I got him fixed, as in I got one of the boxes sent direct to me, I got all of his details stored on it and sent it out ready for him to use. He still rung back complaining about the courier too. One of his greatest comments was when I asked him "I know you have had lots of problems getting this going, so for me to get the best idea of what is going on with his, I'm going to need to start again from scratch. So firstly can I take your email address please?" "DO YOU THINK I'M A FUCKING MUG?" "No, I would've just called you that mate. Seriously, what is your email addres please?" Utter utter cunt.

4. A happy granny calls in and announces that the only time she can get the tv internet box working is when she punches the side of it. "Cool, that makes you the FONZ! When you hit it, do you shout "EHHHHHHHHHHHH, Sit on it!" Please say you do." I got her to do it too while getting a few guys on the team to listen in :D For a granny she rocked.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 9:49, Reply)

I got a death threat from my old job as a civil engineer
I know you're supposed to go into things and be more interesting in an anecdotal manner, but I really can't be fucked because it was a shit time in my life that I don't need reminding of.

Rather than a shit lie, that people have to remind me about.
( GrandmaOfShoes, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 9:49, Reply)

Customers who smell
Strictly speaking, they aren't customers, because I can't charge them (Dog knows I wish I could!), but the "patience" that dial 999 for my help on an ambo really outshine most of the posts so far...
Last week a drunken gay man was being assessed for injury when his equally drunken gay friend asked me "why don't you go back to murdering homosexuals?", to which I replied "because I'm on duty".
If the customer is always right does this mean that I should do as he suggests or not?

Please please please keep in mind that we may be "care prostitutes", but we really have turned up to help and we are only (sub)human.
We have feelings too, so don't abuse us, tell us how to do our jobs or waste our tucking fime!

Rant over.
(stygof, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 9:46, 3 replies)

This QOTW was made for Miraclefish
Having been a steward at festivals, barman, nightclub (trainee) manager, customer service agent, sales bitch and journalist - I've had them all. Allow me to give you roughly (wa-hey!) one from each era of the Fish.

"'Ere, mate, let me go over the barrier to the front."

"Sorry, I can't. Not allowed."

[10 minutes of arguement]

"Oh, go on you twat, let me though."

"If you go, the next guy will demand I let him go over, too."

"Then just let me and not the next person, idiot."

"So I let one person through, but not the next one?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry, mate, I let the guy before you through. Now fuck off."

------ Bar Staff ------

I once found a turd in a pint glass after the student night. Enough said?

------ Customer Service Agent ------

Aside from the legions of abusive, misunderstanding customers, I personally (at last count) have been reported to Watchdog 14 times. I wonder when they'll be in touch...

The best one was this:

"Why are you still charging me? I sent my phone back and you didn't replace it or stop my contract. I want a refund and compensation."

"Ok, when did you send it back? Do you have the recorded delivery reference?"

"Two months ago. And no I didn't send it recorded."

"Right. This was six months into your contract. You can't just cancel it. And you have 14 days at the start to swap your handset."

"This is an outrage. I sent it back and you did nothing."

"Did you let us know you were sending it back?"

"Why should I? I didn't want it."

"Because we need to know, or we won't do anything about it. Did you enclose a letter with your handset when you sent it back?"

"No. Cancel my contract. Now."

"Ok, let me run this past you. You decided, half way through your contract, to send your handset back. You didn't tell anyone, you didn't send any information with the handset and you don't have any proof you sent it?"

"That's correct."

"Right. Then it's gone forever. You can buy a new handset if you like, and you'll need to buy a replacement SIM card."

"This is unacceptable."

"Yes, but it is all your fault. Goodbye."

------ Sales Bitch ------

"Hello, I would like to buy the W990i (the most expensive phone available. Is it free?"

"Only on the £75 a month contract, sir. Otherwise you're looking at about £200 for a mid £30s tarriff."

"I will take the free one."

"Ok... you realise the contract then will cost you over a thousand pounds?"

"Yes. And can I have one for my wife?"

*Sigh*

"Ok, and your name, sir?"

"Ntenge Smith."

"Do you have a credit or debit card in your name, registered to your address?"

"I have my brother's card..."

etc...

------ Journo Tart ------

Pick your choice. It's either 'you journos don't have a clue what you're on about', people saying all sorts of crap in an interview then regretting it afterwards, calling you a liar and requiring a copy of all your notes, a transcript of the review and all kinds of legal bullshit before they slink away or 'I shall be cancelling my subscription because the review on the 1972 Triumph Stag referred to the incorrect valve size. Good day, sir.'
(Miraclefish How appropriate, you fight like a cow, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 9:14, 1 reply)

All-the-time-we're-open-breakfast
A lady comes into my cafe just as we're closing up. She starts to place an order.

"Sorry, we're just closing I'm afraid" says I.

Cue a look of disbelief. "But your sign says all-day breakfast!"
(jacob, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 6:45, Reply)

If they weren't from hell they're certainly ending up there...
I've got 3 -

I used to work at a big high street bookstore as a weekend job. Said bookstore stocks what it calls 'erotic photography' and everyone else calls 'porn'. Now one day I was innocently minding my own business at the till when an ordinary looking guy comes up and asked me if we stocked a book called 'Natural Beauties' I searched the system and indeed we had a couple of copies in stock under erotic photography. I pointed him in the right direction and added helpfully that it was £17.99. He looked me in the eye and said 'that's a good price to keep me out of jail' Only later did I find out from a colleague that Natural Beauties is a book featuring girls who, whilst being over 18, tend to look much younger. Ewwww...

2. Didn't happen to me but a colleague. She went into the erotic photography section and found a man, with a book open, being er... intimate with himself. She ran off and got the manager to deal with it. He marched up to the man authoratively and said 'Sir you are going to have to leave the store immediately' The man looked back at him cooly and said 'I'm not finished yet'. Classy.

and finally, not from hell, just very very very weird -

3. It's a friday morning at the bookstore and we've been open for all of 5 minutes when the phone rings I answer it with the customary 'Hello this is (bookstore's name), Immy The Great speaking, how can I help you?'
'Is this (bookstore's name)?'
'Yes Sir, how can I help?'
'Do you sell calor gas?'
'Ummm no sir this is (bookstores name) the book shop'
'So you don't sell calor gas?'
'No sir, we sell books and a few bits of stationary'
'This is (bookstore's name) on the high street, opposite the shopping centre correct?'
'Yes sir'
'Will you be getting any Calor Gas in?'
'No sir, we don't have calor gas and won't ever stock it'
'Oh I see, well goodbye'

Apologies for length but I've been lurking for a year and I couldn't hold it in any longer...
(Immy The Great gave himself to Jesus, but now Jesus never calls, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 2:50, 3 replies)

not really customers from hell but worth a mention
i was serving some customers and their toddler son had rammed a wet flannel in his mouth. he was clutching a plastic bag with another wet flannel inside. i looked up at his parents.

his mother sighed and nodded her head. 'he's a flannel chewer.'

like the many other flannel chewers...??
(ladyintheradiator, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 1:49, 4 replies)

Recruiters.
I am not sure this is on topic, however.

A friend of mine dislikes recruitment agency and frequently ignores them. He works for a local council and they needed to use an agency. So his boss had a meeting with one of the guys from the agency. They were trying to get them to agree to an exclusive polciy, basically they would promise not to use/contact any other agency for 3 days while the this agency looked for a suitable list of candidates. The line "you promise us exclusivity and we will put 100% effort and man power into finding you the right person" or words to that effect. The boss responded with, so if we don't you will not give us 100%? Lots of back peddling and assurances that they would of course give 100% if they used them with out the exclusive promise.

Why advise if you are the "client" keep in mind they will bend over backwards for you and they have a budget for entertaining clients. Feel free to abuse it :P.
(StyX is staring at you, yes YOU!!!, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 1:26, Reply)

You're going to Romania and you'll like it
At work there's a team who take and make calls with new customers. It seems we share a similar number with a travel agent, and get the occasional call intended for them. A quick explanation and a quick apology, and they disappear to try again.

But not Mr Watkins. Mr Watkins was very sure he had dialled the right number. It took quite some persuasion to make him go away and try again. And he did try - and fail - again, coming back through to the same chap in the new business team.

This time he insisted that he had dialled the right number for the travel agent. It seems our chap had had a less than stellar day, and really couldn't be arsed playing this game. And so it began. Mr Watkins wanted to confirm some details about his flight.

"Can I take your booking reference please?" He made sure the headset picked up the sound of his keyboard being randomly tapped as Mr W read out his number. "And that's a family of four going to Romania mid-August I see".

There was a fairly long pause here. I suspect Mr W was not intending to visit Bucharest with Mrs W and the kids. "Nooo, it's definitely Romania - let me take the reference again?" More random keys. "So you want to upgrade to first class you say? Lanzarote? Nooo, we've not got you down for Lanzarote. No, you're going to Romania and you'll like it."

Our chap stopped talking. Mr Watkins had gone, in a spluttering rage, screaming something about incompetence. His wife called back a while later. "Sorry, you've got the wrong number." She made several more calls throughout the day and got the same answer each time.

We never found out what happened to the Watkins family. We suspect Mr W ultimately exploded, while Mrs W sold the children to a Romanian orphanage and became destitute. Or perhaps they just started dialling the right fucking number like they got asked to in the first place.
( the ghost of last tuesday, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 0:24, Reply)