over friendly teenage alternate type
not so much customer from hell but Satans shop assistant...

popped into my local threshers, i'm the only person in a fairly largish shop i'm looking at some wines a good 10m away from the till when i hears the fateful line…

"whit ye up tae"

I actually did that looking around to see who was talking and was it me there were talking to thing.

Then i spot the bloke on the counter. Im assuming 18 to work in an offy, but looked younger. Fat. Random band metal t shirt, mullet - not even remotely ironic. Test drone for Clearasil.

"sorry"

"whit ye up tae"

"erm, buying some wine"

"naw the night, whit ye up tae"

(is this guy chattin me up)

"erm, just some wine and a dvd"

"aye? cool what dvd"

this went on to the point i stated to feel distinctly uncomfortable. A long list of “an have you seen X dvd as well – brilliant”

he then started banging on about some dvd coming out the following week he was insistent i should see

his parting shot was

“aye so Monday (insert random dvd name) let me know what you reckon”

“eh?”


!
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 17:11, 1 reply)

I've been in retail for over 10 years
where to begin?
Well, there was the most recent one, when a customer complained because he couldn't read the small print. I explained it to him, politely, and would have given him a refund had he not hung up after being rude to me.
Aside from that, I've often dealt with people who "know their rights" (they never do), those who wish to complain to the manager (That would be me. How can I help?) and the ones that really get me fuming.
- "I'm one of your best customers." - No, you're not. If you were, I would know who you are. You are a shouty tosser with boots several sizes too big.
- "I'm looking for a decent red wine about £2 a bottle." Good fucking luck. UK duty + VAT is approximately £1.94, so if you wish to pay 6p for the actual liquid, you have my best wishes for not dying of severe toxicity.
- "I'm a shareholder." So am I. I didn't get any bonus this year. You did. This does not improve my regard for you.
- The best one of all: "Any chance of a discount to help with the petrol?" This from a driver of a 3l Jag. We offer a free delivery service. I didn't quite tell him to fuck off, but I did suggest that if the fuel bills were beginning to bite, he might think about changing his chosen mode of transport.

I love my job. I just hate the wankers who make it difficult.
( wynoh kills threads by his mere presence, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 17:08, 2 replies)

my one and only night as a glass collector
picture the scene; it's summer in the early '90's, hot and sultry with not a breath of wind. i'd sat in uncomfortable stickiness, wishing for air conditioning, whilst my mother got ready for her shift in the local club. due to the oppressive heat, i may even have dozed.
after giving me a quick kiss on the cheek(i'm almost 34 now, she still does it), mum left for her 6 hours in the booze mines. i settled down for an evening of crap t.v.

half an hour later, my reverie was rudely interrupted by the telephone. it was mum's boss, in something of a state. it seems that four of his glass collectors had gone out the previous night for someone's birthday and now were all struck down by the 'flu. ken dodd was performing at the club that night, it was a complete sell-out, but he had only one glass collector left. could i possibly fill in?
i thought about this. i'd never worked in a pub or club before, but i knew that glass collecting was simplicity itself and i was familiar with the layout of the place. also, i was skint and bored. i agreed, telling him i would be there within 20 minutes. he informed me that i would have to wear black and only black.
unfortunately, on this swelteringly hot evening, i was going to have to run around a packed-out club all night in the only black clothes i had that were both clean and ironed: ski pants and a roll-necked jumper(sweater).
nevertheless, i had given my word, so off i set.

it was hard work that night, the main room, where mr. dodd was performing, is on 3 levels. i had to run up and down the stairs all night collecting glasses, then down even more stairs to the kitchen to fill ice buckets, then back up the stairs to deposit said ice buckets onto each bar. staff drinks were free, but only soft drinks were permitted. these helped to cool me off temporarily, but i still felt as though i was melting. by 9p.m, my smile was a grimace and my head was throbbing.

after a 5-minute smoko, mum tells me to fetch the empties from the balcony bar area. sighing, i trudged up the stairs and began to collect glasses.
towards the end of the balcony area was a large table. seated around it were 2 of the regulars and their wives. there was quite a collection of empty glasses on their table, so i started to pick them up.
"oi, what do you think you're doing?" one of the men asks angrily.
"collecting the empty glasses" i reply, as if it isn't obvious. customer/utter titbox points at the pint glass in my hand. "do you call that empty?" he asks. "there's at least quarter of a pint left in there! put it down!" i looked at the glass, in which about 3 drops of warm beer were huddling together. "there's only a few drops in it." i said. "don't you want me to clear the table?"
"NO!" he roars. "I PAID FOR THAT DRINK, I'LL SAY WHEN IT'S FINISHED! GO AWAY!"
ignoring the other empties strewn about the table, i walked back downstairs to the main bar.
"mum, barry won't let me take his empty glasses, he says they're not empty." "don't worry," says mum, "he's always like that, he'll take them to the balcony bar himself." satisfied, i continued in my drudgery.

several hours later, an exhausted smash is rounding up the last of the glasses as the stragglers are being gently but firmly ushered out. last port of call is the balcony bar area.
there weren't many glasses left to collect at this point. that is, until i got to barry's table.
there were glasses covering every square inch of tabletop. there were glasses under the table. there were glasses under the chairs. there were glasses on the chairs. there was what appeared to be at least 3 packets of crisps tipped out under the table. there was beer in the ashtray.
i was not pleased. i got 47 glasses from their table and its surrounding environment, most of them with more drink left in them than the first one i had tried to take away.

that wasn't the worst of it. barry the wank-biscuit had complained about me to the boss, saying i was trying to take his drinks when he'd "only had a sip or two out of them, honestly!"

even worse than this was when time came to be paid. for 5 hours of hot, uncomfortable, irritating and extremely tiring work, my mother's twat of a boss wanted to pay me...





...£5.

yes, you read that right. a measly fiver.
when i realised he wasn't joking, i let rip with the finest torrent of abuse i have ever been able to muster. i would gladly have paid £50 just to have him stand there and take it, which he did.
i still only ended up with £10(after my mum had a go at him too), but to this day, if anyone starts on me, the boss will shake his head and say "don't bother, you'll never win against her."

length? over 20 years he's had that club, nobody else has ever put him in his place! :D
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 16:18, 9 replies)

This job'd be great if it wasn't for the fucking customers.
Years and tears ago when I was but a whey faced hobbledehoy I had the misfortune to be employed in an off license in a small country town.

By and large it was an OK gig, turn up, jockey the till and zone out. After a while I got to know the local turps nudgers - some were blatant as only the chemically dependent can be, others like John, were more subtle.

John would come into the shop at 1001AM bid you good morning and proceed to count out the price of two cans of Kestrel Super from his change bag. This would continue 5 or 6 times in a day - Whether he was trying to give himself or others the illusion that he didn't have a raging drink problem I don't know but as the day progressed he'd become more and more pissed and would enlist the assistance of his ratty but cowed wife for booze acquisition runs.

One night John was evidently in a bit of a state as his wife came in and bought 2 tins of Super and a large packet of dry roast nuts at about 8ish. But calamity! John's wife had bought the wrong sized packet and in he wobbled at about 9PM ....... "YOU SOLD MY WIFE THE WRONG NUTS - I WANT A REFUND!" He bellowed at me.

A conversation ensued which ended up in me pointing out that if he was dissatisfied with his wife's purchases then I would have happily exchanged them for him as he was a regular but as he had actually opened and eaten 3/4 of them so a refund wouldn't be forthcoming. I explained that I didn't spend my time trying to get customers to buy larger bags of nuts in a bid to make more money nor did I actually give a shit what they bought.

John mulled my words through the Readybrek glow of the booze and said "Fair enough son .... I'll just have a couple of cans while I'm here."

I got out a week later
(SpunkyMcSpunkbubble Diddled your nubbin on, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 16:08, 3 replies)

I used to work in a sex shop.
Full of wankers.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 15:56, 1 reply)

And another one...
My mum (the same mum from a few posts below!) is a drinking, swearing, Metallica-loving bundle of smiley blonde aceness, and nowadays she works in a bar.

I happened to be in there a few weeks ago, and as it hadn't long opened and was quiet Mum & I were chatting away, as you do.

Anyway, a couple walked in - not regulars, I later found out. My mum greeted them with a cheery "Good morning, how are you? What can I get you?"

They looked at each other, and blankly back at her. One of them then said "Stella". That's it, no please, no hello, nothing.

Off to the Stella pump goes my mum, and whilst pouring 2 pints looks back at the pair of them and says "You see, usually that would have been the bit where you said 'Hello, we're fine thanks, two pints of Stella please'. It wouldn't have delayed me serving you, and it would have been so much nicer..."

They still said nothing.

There, that's it. Not much of a story is it? But, as I've mentioned on here before, ignorance and inconsideration really piss me off. Why would anyone speak (or indeed not speak) to someone like that? Whether it's someone providing a service to you or just someone in the street who you'll never see again, why can't people just be nice?


/rant
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 15:42, 2 replies)

Fast food and cinemas
I have had the lovely joy of working at both major burger chains. Amoungst the pleasures I had:

* The customers who wanted to skip the queue because all they wanted was a drink.

* The customers who ordered something that was made fresh (as we didn't sell enough to keep them made) then got annoyed at the delay despite us telling them there would be a wait for that item when they ordered it.

* The customers who got annoyed because they ordered something we didn't have made at that exact moment and didn't ike the wait as they only bought it to have change for the bus (the opposite of them were the ones who would ask what we had ready and buy one of them).

Then there was the drunk customer who walked in and started eating something he bought somewhere else. Just as two officers of the law walked in. They asked me if I wanted them to escort the gentleman outside and I said yes. They took him out, searched him and then took him to the police HQ.

Then I worked at a cinema where the joys included:

* The gentleman who thought I was joking when I informed him that I couldn't let his 5 year old son in to see the 15 certificate Bond film.

* The lady who was apparently very surprised that we couldn't let her 18 month old child into the screening of Alien: Resurrection.

* The man who accused us of ruining his childs entire birthday weekend because while his son was now old enough to see the 12 certificate film (no 12A at the time) he had chosen as a birthday treat, his younger sister wasn't.

* Not to mention all the kids who were mysteriously trying to see a film that they would be old enough to see the next day (the law dictates that it's the age on the certificate on the day).

* The gentleman who decided to avoid the huge cue at the ticket desk by queueing at concessions to get his tickets. After he'd waited ages, I took no small amount of delight informing him that he had to wait in the queue for the ticket desk. Which had since grown.

* The customers who insisted that I could serve them an undercooked hot dog as they'd waited till the last minute to get food/tried to get one before, went away, came back too late to get any of the ones that were cooking then. I felt like asking them to sign something stating that they would not report the cinema/me for serving them undercooked food in the case they got food poisoning.

And if you think this lot was bad, I later worked tech support...
(williamthebloody, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 15:31, 4 replies)

Many, many years ago (it really does feel like a lifetime)
My mum and (then) evil-stepfather used to run a greengrover's shop.

Over dinner one night my mum told us how a little old lady had been in earlier that day and asked for a couple of pounds of potatoes, but "just small ones please as I can't carry the big ones".

That's not really from hell, just amusing. There was another woman though who used to come it every Saturday morning and if I was around ask my mum if I could help her take her shopping home, as she couldn't carry it all. Every week, without fail, we'd get about 100 yards up the road and she'd remember something she'd forgotten, and send me back for it. While I was gone she used to swap all the bags around so that mine were spine-crushingly heavy, then when I'd staggered home with them, she'd give me 20p for my trouble. I know I'm talking about a few years ago now, but even then 20p was fuck all.

Length? It seemed a lot further once the bags were so heavy...
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 15:30, Reply)

I used to work in
Chicago's...





Bindun?

/coat, if so.
(Dr. Scambolic, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 15:01, 10 replies)

Just keep smiling
I'd been having constant trouble with my ex-manager after she'd got rid of me on spurious grounds so she could employ her brother-in law (stay with it, I promise it's a customer related story)
After months of low level agro, and one screaming hissy fit, she decided to come into the pub I was now working at when her pub was playing mine at pool.
Instantly she starts to throw her weight around. There she is being loud, waving a big-fuck off homemade jolly roger flag to support her team. Behaving like a total cock.
Somewhere during this charming night I may or may not have said something to her that reduced her to tears, causing her rather large boyfriend to ask me to step outside for a "chay".
Fuck knows why, but I merrily sauntered outside with him, where he instantly pins me up against the wall by my neck. He's screaming in my face about how I'm the most evil person ever and how he can get his mate's down from London to break my neck.
At this point my brother has come outside and is looking fairly panicked and trying to calm the situation down, when yours truly opens up his mouth.
With a big (albeit very fucking scared) shit eating grin creeping across my face I reply "Well. I've got some mates in the pub who'll willingly break your legs. And they wont take an hour to get here." At this point my brother looks like he's about to faint as he can't bear watching me get beaten like a ginger step child.
Luckily for me, one of my mates, who has offered me cut price leg breaking services in the past and is a large, psychotic, ex-army boxer, sticks his head round the door and asks if I need any help. Cue other psycho weighing up the odds and walking away muttering.
See, as long as you keep smiling and keep your calm all will be alright

edit: it's not always alright, as you can see from my profile pic, sometimes a cheeky grin and a smart answer will get your face rearranged and you wrist shattered in 13 places
( monkeyboyalpha jumping on the bandwagon since, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 15:00, 4 replies)

Not necessarily from hell.

Not exactly from earth, either.

I was occasionally loaned to a sister pub during my stint as a bar steward. They were short of staff, I needed additional cash with which to buy hash and so it seemed a heaven made match.

A couple of nights a week I would clamber into a cab at my usual boozer and be escorted deep into the the Hertfordshire country side to pull pints for the generally pleasant yokels that frequented The Bull.

On one otherwise typically forgettable evening a regular approached, as he had numerous times before, and I happily held a glass beneath the nozzle of his chosen pint when our oft repeated exchange was broken:

"I don't like you." he stated.

Bearing in mind I approached bar work with a smile and a willingness to engage in whatever meaningless conversation the punters felt was important, this came as something of a surprise.

"Okaaaay." I replied. "Um, would you still like your pint?" I really didn't know what else to say.

"Look." he demanded "I really don't like you."

Unsure what I'd done wrong, but not really giving a chimp's chuff, I responded in kind: "Honestly, I don't know what I've done to upset you. Would you still like your pint?"

"You think you're so good, don't you?"

I really didn't.

"No, I really don't." I confirmed.

"Don't fucking give me that. I've been watching you, you think you're the dog's bollocks."

All too sudden he had the spittle coated lips of the babblingly insane, and his eyes held the look of a man with bodies beneath his patio. I wanted shot of him and poured his pint without response, hoping he'd leave me alone.

"Got nothing to say for yourself, hey?" he challenged. "Not so fucking clever after all are you, student boy?"

"..." I managed to say, as if in confirmation of his previous point, before another local sidled up beside him and requested he "leave it" before paying for his pint and leading him back to his table with a comforting arm.

For the rest of my shift he glared at me over the top of his pint glass before flouncing out into the cold night at closing time.

A couple of days later I returned for another shift. First customer? The formerly wild eyed one strolled directly up to me and, nice as a kitten, asked for a pint of Best, and whatever I was having, if I'd be so kind.

I don't think I've ever poured a better pint in my life.
( Moey, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 14:48, 2 replies)

I worked as a waiter
For a Chinese restaurant that also did home delivery. It was called The Tse House. Tse in China is pronounced "kah" apparently but when the family came to England they changed it to be pronounced "say"

Me - *answers phone* "Good evening, Tse House."

Them - "HOUSE!" *click*

Happened about 10 times a night, every night.

Twats

*edit Apparently its not pronounced kah so I've got my wires crossed but it doesn't affect the story*
( Peej, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 14:29, 4 replies)

We had a right fuckwit in our shop the other day.
He was about 50 and pissed out his gourd, nothing too out of the ordinary for the patrons of a betting shop I will admit. He couldn't speak, he shouted then gave the thumbs up and was annoying the punters. He asked to borrow the lav key, which resulted in him turning the floor into a miniature lake. 20 minutes later he asked again, we told him no as he made a mess last time, so he pissed himself in front of the counter. On his way out he tried to nick the racing post, whilst yelling "piss off" but then brought it back. He came in later and appeared sober, so we let him collect his bet, but wouldn't serve him another, he pissed himself again. After that we turned the magnalock on.
( Slippery Mick ‏, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 14:28, Reply)

Maybe not from hell...
I thought this was quite cute but I'm glad I didn't have to talk to him .... this came through email support (I work for an auction website). He was 76 years old or something.

He just couldn't log in because he needed to reenable cookies in IE.

....................................................

You say --"where to go to turn cookies on---etc" I've tried that with no result, just a blank page on the web.
It appears I haven't got a "cookie" but that's not my fault. If I had one I may have lost it when changed to another computer some months ago. You have money in my account after sale of skis etc some time ago.Surely you can get me out of this debacle and give me my money back? I should never have been dumped like this.

....................................................


And I had an old guy reading out loud an abusive email that someone he had traded with had sent to him today.. it ended with 'fuck-knuckle'.. . Ah geriatrics.
(Sammyj, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 13:49, 1 reply)

Compensation culture
Computers always seem to bring out the worst in people,and now more people want "compensation" for anything that goes wrong!

A few years back a lady came brought back a computer we had sold her about 6 months before with a fault.
We soon found the hard drive had failed, so under our guarantee we replaced the hard drive, re-installed Windows and her programs and when she came to collected it we explained that unfortunately the original drive was too badly damaged for us to recover any data from it and the following conversation ensured.

CUSTOMER: “So all my holiday photos from last month are gone then?”

ME: “Yes, I’m afraid so. Have you backed them up onto a CD or anywhere else?”

CUSTOMER: “No, I was going to, but hadn’t got round to it” (So she knew about backing up, but hadn’t done it!)

ME: “Well they might still be on the card in your camera”

CUSTOMER: “No, I’ve deleted them from the card”

ME: “We might still be able to recover them if you haven’t taken too many more photos”

CUSTOMER: “I’ve filled the card with new photos”

ME: “I’m afraid they are gone forever then”

CUSTOMER: “It’s your fault the hard drive failed, so it’s your fault the photos are lost! I demand compensation! You have to pay for me go to back to Thailand and take all those photos again!”

She spent another 20 minutes telling us that “she knew her rights” and she was going to:
A. Never come in our shop again (Is that a promise?).
B. Tell everybody how bad our service was.
C. Report us (not sure to who).
D. Sue us for her £1,500 holiday (still waiting)
(jethou1, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 13:47, 4 replies)

I finished working at a bookshop last week YAY!
The customers there aren't as bad as in some retail outlets I have worked in, but sometimes you get the classics (if you will excuse the pun)

"You know that Bleak House program? Is there a book to go with it?"

"Has Jane Austin got anything new out?"

Working in photo labs and a camera shop exposed (another pun) me to much more angry and ridiculously demanding customers

One woman came into the lab to make a fuss because she had lost her pictures and the negatives. Apparently we were in the wrong as we should keep copies of everyones negatives

One man (and this is just the worst of these, we had many on this theme) spent ages shouting at us because we couldn't make a panoramic picture fit into a 6x4 shape without a black line at the top or cropping.

His best argument was "BUT IT'S MY PICTURE!"

OK sir, I'll just change the laws of geometry for you

Then there was the woman who double exposed a slide film and insisted that we must have put her film in with someone else's. According to her, that other person's pictures had just dropped off their film and onto hers.

Other than those, in the labs we had a surprising number of people who dropped in films of porn and seemed unaware that we looked at every picture (which seems odd as we were doing this about 1 metre away from the serving desk). Some of these pictures were quite 'gooey'.

In the camera shop, being the only girl there, I spent most of my time trying to convince customers that I did know about cameras (I have a couple of degrees in photography and now lecture on the subject). Most just tried to catch the eyes of the men working there, but one customer was less subtle

"Hello, can I talk to one of the boys please, I need some technical advice."

The question was then about what film he needed. gah!

One more! Sorry, years of retail have taken their toll:

Photography student "I used this sepia filter on the front of my camera and it didn't make my pictures sepia"

my boss (suspicious of this) "what film are you using"

Photography student "Just normal black and white"

Everyone else "..."

She then tried to claim I'd told her this would work, at which point my boss pointed out I already had the degree she was studying for and to stop being so stupid (well in slightly more polite terms).

I'll stop there and just appreciate that I (hopefully) will not have to go back to retail again.
( Citizen Cavy Admires your passion for conformity, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 13:44, 7 replies)

I work at a bar
and luckily Im good mates with the management. This means I can get away with murder. I frequently do as I am incredibly misanthropic, and people have no manners.

Here's why I am the barman from hell:

I don't serve anyone until they say please. Anyone just saying "stella" will just get the reply of "no, my names kernkraft"

I don't serve anyone who asks to be served. Even if it's your birthday, and you say "oi, its my birthday, you have to serve me next" I will say "no, because I don't serve arrogant bitches."

Oi, whistles, excuse mes, over heres, banging on the bar and beckoning with one finger gets you served last.

I don't give away free drinks to those who ask for them, I underpour to these people. Especially scum-ridden chavs who say "go on mate stick an extra one in there!"

If you're getting a free drink then you'll get it without asking. Ocassionally Ill give someone who asks for a free drink a shot of grenadine or soda water.

"Give me four shots" will not get you the popular "four shots for a fiver" dealy, it will get you four shots of belvedere or grey goose at £3.50 each. The question "what shots do you do?" gets a sigh and an answer of "I can do you a shot of lime cordial or grenadine if you want, you ain't gunna enjoy it though."

Fucking about with change will get your money thrown back at you and your drink taken away, accompanied by me saying "you're a fucking dick." It is not funny to pull money away from me at the last second, nor is it savvy to count out £2.50 in coppers- although we technically accept coppers, I don't, because I can't be fucked with them.

Things you can do to not piss me off are

1. Don't wave your money like a fucking idiot, I don't care about it

2. Don't go "whoooo!" when I'm pouring a shot.

3. Don't order drinks one at a time.

4. Don't tell me to "hang on a second" while you ask every one of your mates what they want. You will turn around to see me serving someone else.

Also: My mates get served before everyone else, regardless. If you say "Oi you shouldve served me" Ill say "Sorry, this is my mate"

If you then say "I don't give a fuck" Ill say "Well I don't give a fuck about you."
( KernKraft Gosh, there isn't much noise outside today, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 13:27, 22 replies)

Souper-rude
I spent five years waitressing and I will never, ever do it again.

One lunchtime I had the delight of serving a well to-do mother and her privately-educated seven year old (the ridiculous uniform gave it away). From the moment I seated them they were rude and demanding. She was haughty; the kid was ten times worse.

"MUMMY!" he bellowed, just a second after I'd set down his soup, "tell the girl that my soup is COLD!".

"It's gazpacho," I replied.

I hope he was stolen from his bed by paedophiles.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 13:08, 5 replies)

Oh oh I just thought of another one
Not perhaps strictly answering the QOTW... Customers: can be wrong at the top of their voice... and can sometimes be just plain Wrong.

It happened at another branch of the supermarket I worked in. A poo, an actual poo, was found in the middle of one of the aisles. Mystified as to how it could have got there staff looked at the CCTV footage. They saw a woman stop, casually flick the poo from out of her trouser leg, and continue her shopping as if nothing had happened.
( warmfuzzies Isn't here, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 12:50, 1 reply)

Pizza the action
I work in a restaurant. We get a few idiots in as everywhere does, but the best one I experienced myself was when I was working as a waiter.

Customer: "Excuse me, how big is the 10 inch pizza?"
I, after a mental facepalm, replied
"Oh, about ten inches"

To much laughter from the rest of the table.

Silly customers!
Length? Well, you know that already!
(feels_goodman 's brain cogs whirred at, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 12:49, Reply)

Voices
Back in the days when i used to work for the electricity board ( Used to be eastern electricity if you care) there were a few customers that stood out for one reason or another , this is one of them.

Every so often your electricity meter is required to be replaced by law . Electricity act 1992 if i recall correctly. This is a callibration issue , basically to make sure that the bloody thing is accurate and the bills are correct . This works both ways .

This particular RMC (routine meter change) was in the vibrant london suburb of Wembley oh joy.

Immagine the middle of summer , every fat bastard walking around in a string vest . That was Wembley this particular day.

I found a parking space down the particular road required near the two houses i had work orders for. Unloaded my toolbox and a new meter and set off up the road to the first house. To get there i had to walk past the second house on my list . I heard some voices and noted that bthe windows were open , so i thought " Good at least someone is home "

As sure as eggs are eggs nobody was in at the first address , so i went back to the second.

As i went past the windows i could hear a sort of deep demonic voice. They must be watching the Exorcist or something , I thought .
So i knocked on the door.
"WHOS THAT KNOCKING ON MY DOOR ???"





oh crap , its not a film


The door opens and a young , obviously stoned guy peers out.
" Um hi iv come to change your electricity meter"

" Thats cool mum said you would be comming around , its down there by the door"

So far its ok they know im due to turn the power off for a few minuties while the meter is changed. So i open my toolbox and get started .

About a minuite later i hear a voice behind me

" Hello there Im a pretty princess arent i beautiful . What are you doing?"

Turning around i expect to see a litle six year old girl. Instead what i saw was an aprox 20 year old woman. She must have been 7ft tall and just as wide wearing a duffel coat.

Oh fuck me.

Swigging from a can of cheap cider.

Shit shit shit.

Very obviously skitsofrenic , and pissed and possibly a bit stoned.

shit shit shit

Her brother was the one who had answered the door She had been the one doing the Brian Blessed impression.

Som i had to explain to a pissed up stoned skitsophrenic built like a tank why she couldnt watch the tellytubbies . Fantastic.

All thats standing between me and a possible snapped neck is her stoned brother.

This was possibly the fastest RMC ever done in the boards history . The whole time i was crouched down my fingertips were never more than an inch away from my favourite screwdriver just incase she suddenly snapped.

There is nothing scarier than the general public in their own homes especially when you have to go there on your own .
Trust me when i say that you have no idea what goes on behind closed doors in suburbia .
Talking to them on the phone or having them shout at you with a few securiy guards nearby?? Thats nothing . Wait untill your on the set of "A life of grime" then you will know about things.
(welgar, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 12:38, 5 replies)

Sometimes you get to tell the customer they are wrong... and it is Good
Following on from The Mysterious X, whose wealth of material I shall find hard to beat, here are a few incidents from my five months as a General Assistant:

There was a customer thereafter referred to as the Soup Woman who took up half an hour of my and a supervisor's time complaining about a special offer on Covent Garden soup. It was a BOGOF or two for two quid or something, I can't remember, but it was only on certain flavours, which were listed on the POS (point of sale). Somehow an errant flavour had found its way into the rotunda, most likely placed there by another customer. The Soup Woman had bought this along with one of the others and got out of the store when she realised she hadn't had her special offer. She marched up to the kiosk and got angry with me, an innocent till monkey at the time, and I grew tired of trying to pacify her and called the supervisor. She patiently explained that the offer was only on certain flavours and that they were marked clearly, and refrained from pointing out, correctly, that the woman was an idiot. She even gave her a refund. The woman practically dragged her through the entire store to the rotunda to prove her point. There was no point to prove. But that didn't stop her from spending another fifteen minutes writing a complaint (on both sides of the customer comment card, with underlining, and multiple exclamation marks, and we all know what they mean), accusing us of "defrauding the public" and practising "deliberately deceptive trading" to steal people's money. I mean, she got her 50p back, honestly, some people...

Haha, just remembered this one... There was a girl, a regular customer, who was heavily pregnant. Not the brightest of chavs. She came to my till with her purchases, a punnet of grapes, a punnet of strawberries and a bottle of wine. There followed a series of spackery so convoluted that I am having trouble remembering it in detail... She wanted to pay partly with a voucher and partly in cash. She had a £3 voucher for milk and fruit and vegetables for kiddies. The grapes were marked "save £1" or something, and she had mistaken it for the price. So when she handed over the voucher, which I defaced in the proper manner, and then counted out her measly cash, she didn't have enough. So she said she'd put the remaining pound or so on her card. It was declined. Several times. 'What can I do?' she said. 'Um', said I, 'put something back?' 'OK', she said, 'I'll put some fruit back'. 'Er', said I, 'you can't buy wine with this voucher. It's for your kiddies.' 'Oh', she said, crestfallen and clearly defeated, 'oh... well I'll just leave it all then.' And she made to move off. Didn't occur to her just to put the wine back... must have all been getting too much for her. 'But wait,' I said, 'what about your voucher? I've defaced it so you won't be able to use it again now.' 'Oh, it doesn't matter', she said. 'Well wait a minute,' I said, and called my supervisor. She came and I explained that the card was declined, the customer had changed her mind about her purchases, and the voucher was defaced. 'Do you want to go and get something for £3, you might as well get the use of it', said my supervisor. 'Ok,' she said half-heartedly, and off she waddled. She came back with a larger punnet of strawberries which was more expensive, but still 1p short of the voucher. 'Um,' I said again... We all looked at each other. My supervisor asked her when she was due, starting to worry we might have more to deal with than a punnet of fruit... 'Next week' she said. We looked at each other again. 'Thing is,' my supervisor explained, 'it has to be the amount on the voucher or more. It can't be less.' 'Overtender on this payment type is not allowed,' I helpfully added. 'But it's only one pee,' the girl said. 'Doesn't matter how much it is, it won't go through the system,' I said. 'Computer says no.' There was a long uncomfortable pause while she processed this. Suddenly she brightened up. 'Oh, I've got another card,' she beamed. She went over to the cash machine, drew out a tenner and paid for the lot with it...

My favourite was the woman who actually stamped her foot at me. The carpark is pay and display, it's not ours, it's the council's, but we refund your first hours parking if you spend over £5. It's the most frequent cause of customer/staff standoffs. Anyway, I was on the kiosk with a huge queue and the woman told me, rather rudely, to put her laminated lottery card through for two weeks. I explained that I was pretty sure it would only process the information on the card, and if it said one week that was all she would get. She was didn't have time, she said, for this. She was going away and she needed it for two weeks. I, stupidly, but I was still new and unsure of myself, put it through anyway. The ticket came out for one week. 'Well what am I supposed to do then?' she scowled. 'That's no good to me'. I wasn't sure how to cancel tickets then so I got my supervisor, an amiable chap who deserves far more than he gets paid. I asked him if I was right in supposing that the customer would have to fill out a slip for her ticket. He confirmed that she would. 'Well then', she demanded, 'do it'. Four lines of numbers he copied out. All the while, the queue growing longer... So I put it through and she handed me ten pounds and her car park voucher, growling at me, 'I want that back in cash'. (What was I going to give her? spaghetti hoops? frogs?) Her ticket was £8. I handed £3 back to her. Off she went. I continued to serve. Few moments later she stormed up to the kiosk, pushing in front of the other customers, and shouted 'you didn't give me my car park money back! AND I asked for it in cash!" 'Yes I did' I said, absolutely sure of myself. 'No you didn't!' she shrieked. 'Look, I've still got the money in my hand!' and she held it out for all to see, three of your shiny pounds. Someone once said what joy it would be if you could press a moment and put it in a big book and take it out again for future enjoyment... this would be one of my moments. Everyone was looking.'Yes' I said, speaking slowly and clearly, in fact downright condescendingly and loving it, 'your lottery ticket was £8, you gave me a ten pound note and there you have the three pounds that I gave you which includes the pound back for your car park voucher.' You could see the penny drop, or rather the pound. The man stood next to her burst out laughing. I met his eye and sent him silent gratitude for doing that which I could not while on duty. She stamped her foot, snarled at me and left the building, to approval all round and customers shaking their heads, muttering "some people"... I pitied her. I mean, how miserable must your life be for a pound to be worth so much?

Shortly after this I became a customer service supervisor myself... If a customer wasn't happy with my invariable solution to any problem - giving a refund - I just passed them up to my line manager, a miserable old cowbag who (as much as I hated working for her) never let the customers get away with any such ridiculousness. She would take quite a long time sometimes, explaining just how they were wrong, and being patronising to them while they got frustrated with her. It was a win/win.

One customer came and put two loaves of bread on the kiosk counter, telling me in a conspiratorial way that she was just going to look at something in the foyer. 'Er, ok' I said. She came back and said 'I didn't want to set off the alarms.' I looked at her, mystified. 'You have alarms?' she said. I kept a straight face while I explained that alarms would only go off if our stock was electronically tagged, and we don't actually tag bread. Apparently some people think that everything's chipped, it's in the barcode, and scanning it somehow 'unlocks' it. Christ on a bike...

Then there are the little things... the ways of getting through the day... There is a long list of petty annoyances which, when frequent enough, become enough to make you lose the will to live. One of my colleagues, Matt, developed techniques which I also adopted and found that they actually made live worth living. Take baskets for instance. People leave them on the counter at the kiosk, assuming perhaps that we have a special place to put them. We don't, we just have to put them on the floor and fall over them until the trolleyman takes pity on us and puts them away. I started to push the baskets meaningfully towards the rack (a mere two yards from the customer, but a long trek round for us) and if the customer didn't get the hint I would just leave them there cluttering up the counter, just to make a point. Matt and I had spent a constructive afternoon discussing the coping strategies we'd evolved for such occasions. His were better than mine. On walking past the kiosk if he happened to notice a basket left there he would say loudly to me "WHO'S left that there!" then shake his head and say to me "would you like me to put this away for you?" to which I would reply "thankyou Matt, that would be so very helpful, that's very good of you to do that, when you have such a busy schedule". And he would take two exaggerated strides to the rack and drop it in emphatically. Also people leave their baskets on the conveyor. Again, we have nowhere to put them behind the till. Matt would leave them until they reached the monitor which they would crash into, and then he would make a meal out of pretending they were stuck and trying to disentangle them. He would tut and shake his head and say things like "it's no good, it's totally jammed in the workings, I'll have to call the manager"...
Yes of course it would be easier just to ask the customers to put their baskets away... but simple things and all that... Until you have worked in a supermarket you have no idea how important a part of your life these small victories can become.

I lost my job last week. I think I may have just landed a new one which will pay me £5 grand a year more... which is a damn good job because it's still in Customer Service, as it's the only transferrable skill I have... Yes, the extra money might just give me the will to live again...

No apologies for length, it's my first proper post after years of lurking, so consider this to be all the typing I didn't do then and pretend you've been reading small ongoing installments instead.
( warmfuzzies Isn't here, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 12:34, 5 replies)

fuckspawn
I’ve been reading through these - turning out to be a better QOTW than we all seemed to think initially… real eye-opener.

I did post quite early on moaning about some the idiot clients I have to deal with in the creative industry (if that’s not a contradiction in terms) but reading some of the horror stories here of dealing with the great unwashed (I used the term advisedly, it would seem I could also quite rightly say the great knuckle-dragging, illiterate, inconsiderate, shit-spattered fuckspawn – but from what I have read but that might well be too kind).

What I have realized reading the posts is how bloody lucky I am. I had forgotten the ‘joys’ of working Saturdays in a shoe shop as a teenager. Dealing with animated lard crudely spooned into ill-fitting polyester to an 8-hour solid backing tune of piss-poor chart covers on a merry-go-round loop from hell. The pleasures of working a double shift in a heaving bar full of pissed up rugby twats (who were a picnic compared to the braying student nurses) had been gently shrouded by the mists of time.

What I can say without hopefully sounding (too) smug is that clearly I am damned lucky to have a job that I enjoy, allows me to do something creative, something that if I’m honest comes as naturally to me as walking yet is regarded as being rare elusive and worth paying for. Compared to the b3tard who posted about being a paramedic I am paid a small fortune for a pile of old wank that benefits no one.

My job is also supposed to be pressured and I have succumbed to stress in the past but as my good mate Frazer pointed out one late evening trying to meet a deadline – “we don’t actually make anything worthwhile, it’s not life or death stuff and in 6 months time no one will give a fuck anyway.”

What is clear to me is that life is rich and varied and people can be great, but the public are a bag of cunts.

!
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 12:31, 2 replies)

more bike shop tales of woe
we had this steretypical asian rudeboy come in (lines shaved in hair & eyebrow- check. comically large avirex leather jacket with more logos than a designer's portfolio- check. large diamante stud earring- check. 'innit' in place of punctuation- check)
so this guy's got an issue with his bike (not bought from us- some catalogue thing) he bring it in for a quote. we tell him, £30 if we can salvage the part £50 if we have to replace it. he leaves a contact number, goes, we do the work.

when he comes back in, he starts arguing the price. we tell him it's not negotiable, he agreed it, and if he doesn't want to pay we can simply remove the new bits, replace the broken ones, and he can have it back. so he starts calling us all every name under the sun, then , in an almost unbelievably disingenuous manner, he flips to 'polite' mode and syas ok, let me take it for a test ride.
so OBVIOUSLY we ask for a deposit before he leaves the shop (no WAY was he going to come back and pay)
he starts screaming, 'are you calling me a fuckin THIEF blud? i'l fuckin BANG YOU blud, you don't know me, etc etc.. eventually settles on leaving the massive diamond stud earring (i was out back, i'd NEVER have taken that £10 argos piece of shit as security, despite his claims it's £500 gucci bling)
so obviously, he fucks off and doesn't come back.
so we ring the contact number one more time before we give up, it's a landline, and hey presto, who do we get?
a local imam (his dad!!)
we explain the situation, and the guy's attitude.. within one hour, the dad is in asking to see bills and so on, another half hour passes, and the dad, complete with VERY embarassed looking rudeboy, come back in, dad makes him apologise, pay up, and then starts tearing this guy a new asshole in the shop, saying how he's ashamed, and the kid's a disappointment, and how he's not allowed to drive the car and so on.. man that was nice. karma's a bitch.
(UppityDamnPrimate LET'S OPEN THIS F*CKING PIT UP, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 12:18, 9 replies)

welcome to Hellfords, how may i help?
so it's christmas. that bright, hopeful, giving time of year, goodwill to all men and all that shit.
it's about 5:26pm on christmas eve.
i am finishing the last bike of the day, when this little self-important red-faced man strides in and requests, nay DEMANDS a little bike for 'the boy'
so i go out back and grab him a boxed one.
he then pays, and DEMANDS i build it for him. i explain that the bikes i have been building all day have been booked in for weeks, that we are closing, and i have no time to do it.

he starts going 'what the FUCK am i supposed to do with this? i DEMAND to see your manager AT ONCE!

so i calmly explain thatthe manager is busy with other customers (true) and that the bike comes with instructions and all the tools he needs.
he starts off on this massive rant about how little timmy or whatever the fuck his hellspawn is called is going to be disappointed and he hopes i'm happy ruining a child's christmas (there's other people to serve at this point so i'm multitasking, and giving him the priority he deserves)

i step out form behind the counter and he gets up to his full height, looks me square in the nipple, and screams 'WELL? ARE YOU FUCKIN HAPPY?'
'yes, i replied, perfectly happy. i just finished work *big smile*'

he got RIGHT up to my face, and hissed 'you really are a cunt aren't you?'

i replied 'well sir, being as how my presents are wrapped and ready under the tree, and you're the one screaming at a complete stranger because you didn't bother getting your beloved son a present until closing time on christmas eve and now can't be bothered to build a bike for him, then one of us is DEFINITELY a cunt.
now considering i finished work *checks watch* five minutes ago, i'm no longer representing the company, so if you don't get that chubby digit of yours out of my face, i'm gonna break it off and make you eat it you jumped up little shit.'

i actually got a small patter of applause form the rest of the customers and staff who were still concluding last minute business, and had heard the little exchange.





he waited for me in the car park outside.




and offered me £30 to build it for him then and there.

i told him to get fucked.
(UppityDamnPrimate LET'S OPEN THIS F*CKING PIT UP, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 12:02, 2 replies)

I'm going to have quite a few of these....
...but for now I'll start with one I overheard, rather than one that affected me directly*

I was in a pub having a meal once and there was another couple at the next table. The guy was moaning about everything. It was starting to get on my nerves, but the moment of glory came when he berated his waitress for bringing his food with the bones still in, why couldn't it have been filleted, it was shocking that he had to do it himself, what was he paying them for, etc etc etc.

It was a rack of barbecue ribs...


*I say it didn't affect me directly, but when I heard the thing about the ribs I really wanted to go and remove his fucking bones, the moron
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 11:58, 1 reply)

Various muppets
So I've worked as a despatch rider (10 years), a (bicycle) shop assistant (~1 year) and for the past two years have worked for a London borough. Lets see:

As a despatch rider; called to an urgent pick up by my controller, job needs to get from eastcheap, ec3, to poland st, w1, by 5pm, it's quarter to five. So I'm in the pick up at ten to five. Instead of just leaving the package at reception as normal, so I can come in, smile at the receptionist, grab the package (oo-er) and jot back out again, the besuited wanker has to come down to hand it to me himself, and start telling me how 'I know this package is already late, I just need you to get it' at which point I cut him off to point out that 1) the package isn't late yet, it has ten minutes to get to it's destinatio, and 2) that by lecturing me, he's cutting down the time that I have to do it.

Walk into a photographers studio, for a job going to another studio that were frequent customers. Am handed a McDs cup closed with duct tape, and the question 'Don't you want to know what's in it?' (no) 'A pound of rancid fish' thanks.

Go into a hospital, to be given a bunch of plastic bags with biohazard labels (that three pointed thorn looking thing) containing vials of blood, to then be asked by Dr. Spacktard "Are you going to put it in a bag, I don't want it to just be carried in the hand". No, this satchel, the one on my back, I only keep kittens in there.

The benefits of the job were the relaxed attitude to days off (you're self employed), good money, not taking too much shit from people, and some truly hot receptionists, plus working for firms who had modeling agencies as their major clients - an hours (paid) waiting time in their foyer? sure, no problem!

In the bike shop:

Michael, don't remember his surname now, 60-ish. Came in and started telling me how he'd want his bike fixed once his benefits money came through. As he was talking an immense glob of snot ran out of his nose, and then just stretched, till it reached his solar plexus, hanging unbroken. I asked 'would you like a tissue for that, sir?' and fetched him one. Now I was his special friend, and whenever he came in, he asked for me specifically. Due to this, I learned that he wasn't born damaged, but fell out of a tree when he was a lad, lived in the nursing home down the road, and suspected someone of following him around, letting down his tires (One part of me says spack paranoia, the other part says local kids, probably).

Not customers from hell, so much just dumb, were the ones who would drop of their bikes for service, then come in to collect them;
dumb customer: 'I'm here to collect my bike'
pins: 'Ok, which one is it?'
dc - 'I don't know'
pins - 'What make is it?'
dc - 'umm, sorry, I don't know'
me - 'what colour is it?'
dc - 'umm... black?'
I'd go and look out back - no black bikes with green tags to show job completion.
me - 'did you get a call to say the bike was complete?'
dc - 'yes'
me - 'what's your name, please'
dc - 'A. Dumbass'
Look up their job sheet, go and fetch the bike, it's red.
dc - 'ooohh, I thought it was black! hee hee'

Or on the phones:
me - 'Good afternoon, Friendly Local Bike Shop'
dc - 'hello, I have a problem with my bike......'
me - 'ok'
dc - 'can you fix it?'
me - 'well, whats the problem'
dc - 'it doesn't go'
me - 'bring the bike into the shop and we will give a free evaluation'
dc - 'can't you tell me over the phone?'
me - 'not without knowing what the problem is'
dc - 'well, I don't know what the problem is'
me - 'you'll have to bring your bike in, for us to be able to help you'
dc - 'I can't'
(etc, etc, etc)

The other ones were the ones who would walk in, and demand to have their bikes serviced, I would ask what level of service they required (bronze, silver, gold or platinum), walk them through the different levels, evaluate their bike, and then tell them the earliest date that we could do the work (summer we were often booked 6 weeks in advance) to be met with "What!? You mean you can't do the work now? That's not very good, is it?" Depends how you want to look at it, sir. I'd say it's rather good for us that we have the workshop fully booked for the next six weeks.

At the council, luckily not an customer facing role, but sometimes they get through, and sometimes it's internal staff.
*phone rings*
me "Good afternoon, Name Of My Department" (I was/am often accused of sounding posh, not because I've a plummy voice, but because I speak well, taking my time to elocute clearly)
Random Idiot "Hello, is this Housing Benefits?"
me "No, this is 'Name Of My Department'"

Those are the ones that stop to ask, not the ones who just launch into incomprehensible tales of woe. I used to try and find out who or what department they wanted, and put them through. Now I just shove them back to the switchboard.

Apologies for legth and lack of funnies, but it feels good to have vented that a bit!
(pins, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 11:50, 1 reply)

Selling sex guide books
Having just posted a story about a dumb bookstore cashier I must now admit to having once worked in a very large bookstore... but NO, that dumb cashier was not me!

Anyway, as you can imagine some customers find it difficult to buy books related to sex or pornography. As staff we're told that we shouldn't comment or laugh, just serve the customer as best we can.

I'd always managed to keep a straight face when either asked about such books or selling them. But then there was the guy with a whole basket full of sex guides. I kept a straight face as I began to scan each one and my colleague managed the same as she placed them into a growing number of bags.

But imagine how difficult it was for me not to laugh when to my horror I reach the last book in the basket and read the title 'Making Home Movies'.
(CH88, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 11:07, 2 replies)

..
I once worked here http://images.google.co.uk/images?hl=en&q=shop&um=1&ie=UTF-8&sa=N&tab=wi

'nuff said
(Freddles, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 10:57, 13 replies)

Books
I was paying at a bookstore when the female cashier stopped scanning my books and politely pointed out that I had two copies of the same book.

Being a witty git I replied by saying, 'I know, I plan to read it twice'.

It confused her more than I could ever have imagined possible.
(CH88, Sat 6 Sep 2008, 10:56, 2 replies)