Tramp-woman
Working in a pub one mid-week evening and a regular drinker come in with a rough looking woman in tow. He walks upto me and asks for two drinks; he also whispers that he'll keep an eye on her. I glance at her and see she's looking a bit worse for wear, but she's keeping quiet so I don't mind. The bloke himself was basically Mr Bean in glasses and we've never seen him with a woman before so I just ask him to keep her in check and there won't be a problem.
After 5-10 minutes they start arguing by a table opposite the bar, then Mr Bean gets up and walks out leaving her there. Cheers mate. I go over to the table just as the land-lady is walking past.
"Who the fuck is this in my pub?" she says, pointing at tramp-woman.
"Someone I'm about to eject" says I.
As I say that, tramp-woman shakes the sleeve of her fleece and out pops a can of Lighter Fluid. She sticks it in her gob, takes in a deep breath and half-flakes out on her chair. Me and me boss are both a bit gobsmacked by this (not as gobsmacked as tramp-woman though), and turn our attention to getting her the fuck out of our pub.
"Cmon love, get up and out please...." - we grab an arm each and lift her up. Tramp-woman sees that something's happening and looks at me smiling, then leans in for a snog.
"Oh fuck no.....ewwwwwwwwwwwww!" I leave go of her and she slumps back in the chair, and the boss leaves go to piss herself laughing.
Tramp-woman then starts trying to talk.
"Whu....wha...where is he?? WHERE IS HE!?!?!"
Me, quick as some flashy quick thing; "He's outside waiting for you love, cmon, he just called you."
"Ok...." She gets up and stumbles to the front door. She turns right and I shout out "He went left!" She smiles that hideous lighter fluid-sponsored smile and stumbles off to the left, never to return. I dunno if he went left, I was just fucking about, hope he did. Never saw him again after that, most probs too embarrased to bring his dates there.
( Jeccius Steam Borderlands 2 junkie, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 8:59, 1 reply)

Salesmen & Computers .. bad combination
I've worked as a techie for close to 10 years and have enountered plenty of 'end-user' issues in my time..

One that particularly comes to mind was some years ago, I received a call from one of our sales guys who was at a big IT conference in london. (I worked as one half of a two-man IT department at the time - so when a sales guy rang our main reception, and demanded to be put through immediately, we knew there was something epic on the way).

On answering the call, the tirade began down the phone line vented towards me. This guy was due up onto the main arena to make a presentation to the crowd but it's dawned on him that he doesn't have a power-supply for his laptop and demanded that I do something about it immediately. (Of course it's my problem! and not becuase he left his power-supply in the office in order to reduce the weight of his bag)

Small problem.. we're small irish company and he's in london for the day trying to sell to big boys and not look like a tit. Failed on that count, I think!

He being the all knowing and infallible sales guy has an idea...I should ring DELL and have them courier over a power-supply to him.. within the next 30 mins!

So I laughed and hung up.

(It turned out he'd to scurry off to an ATM and take out a few hundred quid to 'rent' a laptop for his presentation) Moral of the story - Don't go pointing the finger at your IT guys for your epic cock-ups, they are the one's who can (or can't) get out you out of the brown stuff... should it hit the fan.
(sarcasmo needs more sleep, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 8:56, 4 replies)

Dog People
I work at a boarding kennel in CA, and while most people love their dog(s) and appreciate the excellent care we give them, there are always those yuppie pseudomums; You all know them-- some youngish couple a year after the wedding who have decided to "practice" parenthood with a dog...

Cue the lady who kept her miniature yapper with us during my 2nd week of training. Perhaps she was the third call I had ever taken, keep in mind. Since she hadn't been in in several months, I went though the whole spiel of dates, times, charges, etc.

It seemed simple enough-- come in Saturday, pick up Sunday, pay $6 per day extra for personal playtime ([$20/day + $6/play]x2 days). I was feeling smug that I'd managed to book a last minute weekend reservation, and my manager was happy with how well I'd informed the gal.

Fast forward to pickup the Sunday in question... Now, six days a week, we have a 'checkout' time, just like a hotel, and if you pick up your mutt by then, no charges for that day apply. However, after that time, they do (natch). Sundays, we don't open until 3.5 hours AFTER that very specific time, so that option isn't offered for Sundays.

Apparently, this hadn't actually clicked with the lady, who was by now toting her shaggy "son" in a Coach carrier. My wonderfully sweet manager stood for 15 minutes listening to all the venom this crab was spewing, included, but not limited to:
"I don't CARE if she's new! She should never be answering the phone if she's going to lie like that!"
"I'm not paying because I was HERE at XXXX o'clock, but YOUR office wasn't OPEN!!!!"
"It's un-fukcing-beLIEVABLE that you are CHARGING me for what YOUR employee screwed up!"

Etcetera

Eventually, Bosswoman called her to try to straighten things out, and ended up getting hung up on.

So she and I went over exactly what the monetary damage that was *so* distressing was:

$26

of store credit.

worth $190.

that she had gotten when Company attempted to
make up for "misinformation/lies" told her by another employee, and refunded her bill.

a year prior.



fecking harpie.

*sigh* that felt therapeutic
(spacecat888 is just gonna finish this page on, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 6:39, Reply)

Health food nuts
I used to work in a busy, over-stocked health food store that sold everything from pointless placebos (sorry, health supplements) to body-building products to organic fruit and vegetables.
Now, as anyone who's ever worked in a health food store can tell you, those places are magnets for weird customers so I wasn't as surprised as I could have been when I encountered this lady, we regularly had to comply to random nonsensical requests from odd customers....
One day while serving a customer at the counter I saw out the corner of my eye another lady who looked like she was waiting to be served but was standing a good 8-10 feet behind the customer I was currently serving. I finished the first lady's transaction and turned to the other lady who waited until the first was well on her way out of the shop before approaching the counter. As I reached out to take her basket from her she pulled back and asked me if I wouldn't mind turning away from her and the food as I was ringing it through the checkout. Initially I thought this was some kind of ploy to allow her to shoplift but, on seeing the confused expression on my face, she enlightened me as to the reason I had to perform these mild contortions while serving her: you see, when food gets handled too much it apparently picks up 'energy' from every person it's been in contact with. This particular lady was extremely sensitive to such 'energies' and if she consumed said over-handled food it made her Very Sick Indeed. She informed me she had deliberately chosen the fruit and vegetables that were nearest the back of the display so as not to pick up the energy of all the other customers and staff who had walked past the fresh produce department (obviously not taking into account the number of people who had previously handled said food through farming, picking, packing and shipping). The weighing machine for the veggies was at a right angle to the counter which meant I had to actually stand with my back to the counter and twist my upper body just enough to grab stuff out of her basket, weigh it and enter it into the till, all the while being careful to never let it cross the front of my chest lest it should be contaminated with my energy. When anyone else came into the shop while I was serving her she'd run away from the counter until they had passed then rejoin me (at a safe distance) when the coast was clear. She wouldn't even hand me the money to pay for it directly, she had to put it on a piece of brown paper bag and slide it across the counter to me in case I accidentally touched her hand or she came into contact with the (swarming with energy) counter.
I was convinced for a while that I was being filmed for candid camera or something as all my colleagues had noticed what was happening and were standing just out of her line of sight taking the piss. It turns out they'd all had to deal with her at some point in the past and had deliberately left me as the only one on the tills when they saw her come in. Bastards!
(antigen is running away from something, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 5:48, 5 replies)

coffee in a bar
Ever seen the Simpson's episode where they go to Australia? Of course you have.

The sceen in the bar, where Marge is trying to get a coffee and the barman wants to give her a beer? OK, to the story....



Coffee was the bane of my bar tending experience.

I understand why the machine is there, I can even make a pretty good cuppa, but anyone wandering into my bar asking for a de-caf soy latte frappicino got the
"c-o-f-"
"b-e-e-"
treatment.

Anyhow, it was midmorning on a weekend, so I was serving alone. In a very not-so-unusual way I had managed to cut myself quite badly on the lemon knife.

I'd just wrenched the knife out of my hand (it got stuck in my nail) and was attempting to stop the bloodflow and get some band-aids onto it when a bunch of middle aged women came in for coffee.

Why they decided on my pub and not the half dozen cafe's within a 2 block radius I'll never know.

I took their orders and apologised, showing them my hand and explaining that, as I was alone, I'd need to finish tending to my hand before I served them.

About 2 minutes later the complaining started.

They wanted their coffee. They wanted to speak to the manager on duty about my personality issues (that was fun, I was the manager on duty). They wanted to complain about our standards of service and the lack of range in our coffee and tea's. (I explained that this was a bar and I had 6 beers on tap, another 10 or so brands in the fridge and 2 shelves of scotch, they didn't seem to understand.)'

Basically, they wanted their coffee's and they didn't care about my hand.

So I made their coffee's. Before I had gotten my hand fixed up. And I bled liberally into each one as I made it and served it. I even wiped blood off the cup in fromt of them and they just drank their coffee in smug satisfaction, knowing they had ruined my day.

To this day I cannot figure it out.....did they not notice? Or not care?
(misskitty reeks of sex and turpentine; laudanum afternoons, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 4:30, 5 replies)

D'agostino's NYC Thanksgiving 1999
Well, it was the night BEFORE Thanksgiving and I was picking up something to chow on at my local D'agostino's grocery store and then getting a good nights sleep prior to jumping in the car bright and early for the drive home for the holiday.

[as it turns out, living on the Upper East Side of NYC and planning on driving ANYWHERE 'westbound' was, because of the Thanksgiving Day Parade, a HUGE mistake!]

But the night before, I was planning on an early evening, staying in and then heading home. So I was standing in the '10 items or less' lane and there is a guy, two people in front of me that has at least 30 items. The guy in front of me had a package of meat. (should have been a warning to the guy with 30+ items).

The guy with the meat package says "Hey, buddy, what are you doing? You're in the WRONG lane. You've got FAR too many items for THIS lane." (may not be his exact words)

The guy with 30 items? A relatively squirrely guy, turns 'round to the meat package guy and says "Oh yeah? You can COUNT. What the fuck do YOU care?!" (Those however, WERE his EXACT words!)

Meat package guy didn't even hesitate. He casually tossed his package of meat (two steaks I think, and I fear he intended on eating them raw) and proceeds to hit the 30+ items guy STRAIGHT in the mouth.

30+ items guy goes down IMMEDIATELY and the cashier, not skipping a BEAT slides the remainder of his items to the end of the register, reaches over to the meat package and says "Is this it then?"

As I paid for my items, the cashier gave me a look that simply said "THAT WAS FUCKING AWESOME WASN'T IT?!" Then as I was leaving 30+ items guy was just starting to get up. I seriously contemplated giving him a kick, but figured: he has learned his lesson.
( Citadel Because the world needs less morons, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 3:53, 10 replies)

Motability scooter
As mentioned in a few posts previous, i work for a breakdown company that it advertised by Vinnie Jones.
We have the motability contract which means we cover all vehicles that are provided to disabled people on the motability scheme.
(more stories for other posts methinks)

I got a call one day from man who tells me his vehicle will not start, as the battery has died so just wants a jump start. So i ask him for the registration as per usual. "it doesnt have one" he replied. This confused me some what, so began to question him.
After about 10 minutes i finally find out that its actually his electric motability scooter that wont start! (An electric one that is charged by plugging into a socket at home)
I tried to explain that i couldnt send a patrol out to jump start an electric scooter, but this guy would not take no for an answer.
Got his sob story, his life story, everything!
ME: "sorry sir but it isnt a licensed road vehicle, i cant send a patrol out to help you"
CUST: "so you are leaving me stranded, a disabled old man in the bookies, on my own, with a vehicle i use as my legs??"

This actually went on for 30 mins of me just repeating that i cant send a patrol to jump start an electric scooter - (it would probably blow it up)!!!!
He even spoke to my manager who thought i was winding her up. 45 mins later he is off the phone, but called in 2 more times to get help!!

He didnt even follow our suggesting of just taking a taxi home, with the scooter so he can plug it back in his plug socket to charge the battery!!!

It makes going into work worthwhile as it still makes me laugh!
(VodkaMargarine When there is no Brandy Butter..., Tue 9 Sep 2008, 1:12, Reply)

I want to know
Who did this?

Not a customer from hell, but some of the best graffiti I've ever seen.
It's in the toilets in a bar in York, just so you know...

Come on, own up!

(Apologies for the crap image/massive size, I'm new to this image lark...)

*edit - now much reduced in size and shopped for better contrast*


(UXB you said it man. Nobody fucks with the Jesus, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 1:04, 10 replies)

cigar stores
i think it's probably time to quit my job. i have to take one of my old customers to court next year for assault and TBH just for refusing a return that he admitted he'd wrecked himself. fucking wannabe gangster fuckhead (he was clearly stealing from the store when i started working there, but i was told by my manager that he was too dangerous to approach about it). still, i got four days off work while my boss hired a badass PI to track him down and make it VERY clear that he would be going nowhere near the place again.
a tip. don't work in cigar stores: for every unbelievably cool person you meet, there are at least five people who will do everything they can to fuck up your day.
( the brass moustache putting the ass moust in brache since, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 1:02, Reply)

McD's
Having now spent a year at this hellhole I have devised the following rules for customers from hell to follow:
1) Asking for McChicken McNuggets Mclarge McFries and a McShake is neither clever nor funny nor original. The amount of times we serve people who puncuate their speech with "MC's" who think they are the first to have done so is suprisingly high.
2) Bah-Bah-Bah-Bah-Bahing us and then demanding free food when we don't reply "I'm loving it" will not work. Whoever started this myth has a lot to answer for, as we have on average 10% of all customers trying this stunt and getting angry when they find out it's not true.
3) Asking for a "Large Zinger meal" or a "Medium Whopper meal" is old and been done 1000's of times before.
4) Ask for your burger without pickle if you don't like it, we don't mind cooking it like that. We much prefer it to having to pick up your discarded pickles from the car park, from tables, chairs even urinials.
(NotSaying lurking is fun, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 0:59, 7 replies)

Where to begin?
I worked for the high-street everything store that isn't Woolies for about 7 years, including during 6th form and uni, in that time rising from temporary bag-packer to Assistant Manager. And by heck did I have to deal with some stupid customers.

A seasonal one: it's Back to School time, so the store is full of promotional displays of school-related items. Over towards the kitchenware section is a stand piled high with lunchboxes. Above it, a large sign tells you that these lunchboxes are on some offer. Two aisles away, we also sell lunchboxes, of a completely different type. Surprisingly enough, these are not on the same offer, and as such have no offer ticketing. I had somebody screaming blue murder about how "misleading" it was that only the boxes with the sign above them were on offer...

Then there's the lady who actually burst into tears in the lighting section when I told her I couldn't sell her a display light fitting (mostly because it was bolted to the ceiling and couldn't be removed without dismantling half the shop).

My favourite one happened on a day when, for whatever reason, the world and their dog descended on the store, and we were exceptionally busy. I had all the tills open, and headed to the customer service desk where I planned to open the second till myself and try to get the queue down. Until I was stopped in my tracks by Mrs Important.

Her: "I want to speak to a manager."
Me: "I'm a manager, how can I help?"
Her: "I think it's unacceptable that I have to queue like this. I want to return some items."
Me: "I'm sorry about the queues, but we are very busy today and doing everything we can... if you join this queue we'll be get to you as soon as we can."
Her: "But most of the people in this queue are just paying for their items!"
Me: "They may well be... but we have no way of knowing what people in the queue are after."
Her: "Well aren't you going to tell them to go and queue at the checkouts instead?"
Me: "No, because they are queuing patiently, and I'm not prepared to inconvenience them for you. If you want a refund, you need to join the queue."
Her: "Have you seen how long that queue is?" (by this point it's down to about 6 or 7 people)
Me: "It would be moving quicker if I was on that other till helping to serve people."
Her: "Well why don't you just do that then?"
Me: "Because I've been dealing with you for the past five minutes..."

She left, muttering about calling head office. She didn't, though. If there's one thing I hate, it's people who think they're more important than anyone else and so should be able to queue-jump.
(moogal has eggs, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 0:43, Reply)

Dumb things customers say. Part two.
'Well can I have someone else's?' In response to being told that the last item or appointment has been reserved by someone else.
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Mon 8 Sep 2008, 23:51, 1 reply)

Walking is effort.
For the last 2 years I've worked part-time in a large department store in an incredibly long shopping centre.

When (old) people buy things from us, they quite often need some help getting their tv/microwave/light to their car which we don't entirely mind but just ask that they are parked relatively closely.
Customer from Hell: Oh, this light is far too heavy for me! Could one of your strapping young lads carry it out for me?
Manager: Of course, but whereabouts are you parked?
CfH: Oh not too far away but not in your car park.
M: Well if you could move your car into a space reserved for our customers then someone can bring it out for you.
CfH: ABSOLUTELY NOT! I'VE JUST HAD AN OPERATION IN HOSPITAL!
To avoid causing a scene at this point, my manager decided it would be better just to send someone to carry this box to her car, so out goes my colleague.


25 minutes later he returns, as this stupid woman had parked in the furthest possible car park away making him carry it all the way, and thus we vowed never to help old people ever again.

Apologies for length, it's my first time *groan*
(Freeman999, Mon 8 Sep 2008, 23:50, Reply)

Dumb things customers say. Part one in an infinite series.
"What colour is this?" Always best when shouted across the shop.
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Mon 8 Sep 2008, 23:42, 1 reply)

Shoes
One of my flunked jobs I had when I left the Isle of Wight was to sell shoes as a trainee manageress in a retial chain Portsmouth.

All shoe customers are a pain but this one took the biscuit.

He was a driving instructor. I was polite, pulled out 10 pairs of different shoes so he could try them on - the heel was an important issue. The ones he liked were twice the price of the ones in the sale, but he wasn't prepared to pay that price.

Me : But sir, they suit you and they are exactly what you want, and will last you a long time, whereas this pair that are inferior will last you a quarter of the time, so isnt it best you pay double the price and get 4 times the wear out of the shoe?

DI : Och well no love, I just need something practical and cheap

Me : Yes sir but these aren't that expensive (£40 back in 1985)

DI : Och, I don't have £40

when he bought the cheaper pair he took £100 out of his wallet to pay for them.

I don't have anything against the scots but that was memorable.

I saw him in a pub 2 days later.

DI: Hey, thanks for the shoes, but they are bit tight

Me : Fuck your shoes, you're tight you bastard

Oh well :-)
( Tiggy the diver, Mon 8 Sep 2008, 23:37, 3 replies)

Observation skills part II
Dave Likes Cheese's story reminded me of when I was working in the photo labs. 90% of labs these days are in shopping centres. Our lab was situated on the bottom floor of a large centre (one of the largest in the country when it opened. Was named after one of the NSW Colony's Governors if that helps).

When the power fails in shopping centres, they become pitch black catacombs.

The power failed in the entire centre. All the lights and machines went off. No processing was to be done, if we could actually see to do any of it anyway.

We still had customers come in asking for their films to be processed. Including the cun....er....gentleman who when the power failure was pointed out to him, and the generally dark nature of the entire shopping centre was shown to him with a flourish of the hand, asked "Is the power out in the whole place?"

Why is it that idiots are often the most fertile?
(David CopAFeel Used to be The_Elcat - Spouting crap since 1970., Mon 8 Sep 2008, 23:27, 3 replies)

I hope you're reading this, you arse
For many years I worked in an bookshop and have dealt with many a rude customer in my time. An example from my early days...

One busy Saturday lunchtime a man (who we'll call Mr Johnson) comes up to the counter and says "I'm here to collect my book - I had a call this morning to say it was in".

Me: OK, sir, and what is your name?

Man: Johnson

Me (turning to reservation shelf): And the name of the book?

Man: Birds of South Africa

Me (searching shelf): That's odd, it's not here. I'll just -

Man (loudly): But you said it was in!

Me: I'll just check to see if it's still inthe stock room. (reaches for phone and calls stock room).

Man: Hmph! (a mildy annoyed queue begins to form)

Me: (puts phone down) There's nothing waiting to come out. Can I just check your order on our system? Mr Johnson, was it, or Johnstone?

Man: J-o-h-n-s-o-n, Dick Johnson. (then loudly): Well, it should be here! You called me this morning!

Me: (still polite) That's odd, I can't find a Dick or Richard Johnson on our database.Are you sure you ordered it from here? I'll try searching by the title - "Birds of South Africa" was it? (typing rapidly)

Man: (speaking very loudly to make sure as many customers can hear as possible) What do you mean? Of course I ordered it from here! I've been waiting three weeks for ths book, and now you've lost it! What kind of bookshop is this?

Me: (polite, but starting to crack) ...in fact I can't find any indication that we've received a copy of that book recently. You're sure about the title? (to ever-increasing, grumbling queue) Sorry about this!

Man (almost shouting, with a certain gleeful rage found only in those who are so small minded they get a kick out of making a fuss in front of a crowd): Oh for goodness' sake! How ridiculous! You've lost my details, you've lost my book! (Turns to the customers behind him with gleeful scorn) I'm not getting my books in here again! How badly run is this place?

Me (flustered and deeply insulted): Look, I'm sure there's an explanation-

Man: Ha!

Manager (who has been rapildy serving customers on the next till while making a phone call): I've found your book sir.

Man: Finally! I must say I don't think much of the way you train your staff! This one here couldn't-

Manager (smiling thinly and waving the phone): I've just spoken to Waterstone's. THEY called you this morning. Your book is ready for collection. Please leave now, and don't ever come in here again.

Man: (his face transforming from gleeful scorn to pale shock at the enormity of his stupidity, he cannot speak and leaves rapidly, avoiding eye contact with the queue that now hates him)


The really crap part is this sort of thing happened a lot - there are a lot of arseoles out there. Of course, once you know that some people are too stupid to remember where they ordered a book from it becomes almost routine to check with the competition - and they called us for the same reason more than once.
(Plyck, Mon 8 Sep 2008, 23:26, 2 replies)

Turnaround, schmurnaround
This occurred early last week. I'm in a vaguely technical job, by the way.

C: We need this project complete by Monday.
Me: No worries. When can you get us the materials?
C: Well, how long will it take?
Me: Errh, I suppose at least two working days, there's only me assigned to this type of project at the moment.
C: Okay, I'll send someone over - or email you the information - by Tuesday afternoon.

You can guess, I'm sure... Thursday:

Me: (Via polite email) Hello there, any idea when you'll have those discs?
C: Not quite finished yet. Oh, by the way this is due on Monday, I might have everything together by tomorrow.
Me: I don't think--
C: WORKING ON IT.

Friday, unsurprisingly, dawns.

C: Have you had a chance to look at it yet? We sent them last night, any feedback?
Me: I've only just gotten in, but I'll take a look in a mo'...
C: I'll be over in a bit.
Me: Eeerrr.
C: Any progress?
Me: Not...quite.
C: Well, just so you know, we're on a tight deadline.
Me: Yes, of course. I had a question, by the w--
Guy: Gotta go!

Et cetera.
(Rem Sir, why are you thrashing about on the floor?, Mon 8 Sep 2008, 23:21, 3 replies)

Police Tape
Its stretching the qotw of the week a bit but it all fits into unreasonableness by the general public.

When part of a street is taped of by the police with the usual 'Crime Scene Do Not Cross Tape' ala CSI why do people think they still have the god given right to wonder across my scene?

The fact that there is a 6in gap between the lamp post where the tape is tied and the edge of the road does not mean you can squeeze through said gap and claim you didn't realise it meant whole road was closed - Perhaps the tape, the fire engine, ambulance police vehicles should have given you a clue.

The amount of dogs that suddenly get walked whenever something is cordoned off is amazing.

Also the fact that you live 'just down there' 'just want to pop to the shops' or 'don't know another way' cuts no ice with me, perhaps you'd like to walk the long way round just this once while this murder/serious accident/or fire is dealt with? Or in the case its a crime scene maybe you'd like to be arrested, after all every good detective knows the murder always returns to the scene, maybe its you trying to contaminate the forensics to give yourself an alibi.

Also should an area be cordoned off, a lot of fire engines in attendance and smoke coming from a building, its no use comming up and saying ' Whats happened here then?' Chances are believe it or not its a fire!, the same if a lot of vehicles are scattered about the road with bits missing off them - its likely to be a road accident and not a burglary.

Recent conversation stood on a cordon:

'Can I come through here?"
"No sorry its cordoned off at the moment due to the fire"
"Well thats not very polite"
imagined reply "Well what else would you like me so say, should I right that down in a gift card with flowers for you? Would you like to be covered with 16 thousand gallons of scalding oil should the place explode"
Actual reply "well you can follow that path over there which will bring you out the other side"

If somewhere is cordoned off its cordoned off for a reason, If by chance you happen to live at one of the places caught up in a cordon then speak to the people there and they will find a way through for you if its safe.

Otherwise use common sense and go a different way.
(Titanix, Mon 8 Sep 2008, 22:48, 4 replies)

I've worked in a bookshop for a while
And I've dealt with my share of complete nutters, tramps, hyper children, awful parenting, chav packs, dodgy old men, scary old women. I've been shouted at, flirted with (not in a good way, that's the dodgy old men), spat at, treated like an idiot, treated like scum, and I've kept my polite smile on through it all until I felt like my face would crack. It's not all bad though, occasionally someone nice comes in, talks about books, is polite and friendly and makes me feel better.

There is one person though, who I think is worth mentioning in some detail. He came in just the once. An old man. In the most startling outfit I have ever seen, on anyone, ever. From the top, then:

On his head, a dirty silver wig.
Makeup: Bright red scrubbed into scatchy old cheeks. A streak of sky blue over each eyelid. And pink lipstick smeared inexpertly around his puckered old mouth.
A sparkly silver jacket, worn over a tight faded leapordskin top, with grey chest hairs poking out of the top.
A bright pink miniskirt.
Dirty yellow leggings.
Silver trainers.

He had that musty old man smell mingled with cheap perfume.

He ambled over to me, the ever helpful smiling shopkeeper, and asked if I had any books on CHANGE.

(I did as a matter of fact, it's a book called Change, I showed it to him, he pointed at the £3.99 sticker and asked, "how much is that?" He bought it, though it probably wasn't the sort of "change" he was after)
(anomalous anonymous, Mon 8 Sep 2008, 22:37, 3 replies)

I can't look at aftershave now without being baffled by my actions.
I was in a foul mood. A really bad one.

The best thing about going on unpaid work experience is that you don't have anything to lose when some jumped up little Hitler saturates the air around you with foul language at the counter in Superdrug.

A fat, piebald, whiny old arse came stamping up to the counter where poor me was on work experience. He gave me a dull tale that could have taken 5 seconds but he spent 5 minutes raging that a bottle of aftershave (which the tight bastard had received as a GIFT) lost it's smell after an hour and it "smells like bollocks after half an hour anyway then there's no smell at all! What good is no smell at all???"

I started to giggle for the first time that day, he had essentially said he had a desire to smell of bollocks!

A silly woman who took her shitty job way too seriously actually tried to explain to the complaining bastard about the chemicals in the bottle. I interjected with this:

"If you want to smell like bollocks all why not leave the aftershave with us and let your stinking fucking body do it's magic???!!"

I had no idea that was going to pop out of my mouth. I was probably more surprised than he was...

The girl at the counter shouted over me but the whinger had heard what I'd said and refused to speak when I was still within ear shot. They later tried to accuse me of stealing to get rid of me and my mouth, which was funny, as all the toiletries in my hand bag, get this, ha-ha, WERE NOT PRODUCED BY THE CUNTS THAT ARE SUPERDRUG.

Superdrug made me want to take drugs, everybody who works there should be thrown into the air like clay pigeons and shot to pieces.

Indeed.
(trippeh, Mon 8 Sep 2008, 21:27, Reply)

Horse owners are not nice.
Back in the olden days when I was a racetrack groom, I had a horse named Eddie. He was a big bastard for a racehorse, young and not handled much when I got hold of him.

Ever seen "Sea Biscuit"? Remember the scene where the horse was chewing up the stalls so they put a goat in with him to calm him, and the goat ended up being kicked through the air?

Yeah, that's what Eddie was like.

So here I am, the newest guy in the barn, as green as they come, with this monster of a horse whose favorite game was to stomp as hard as he could on my feet, and to try to crowd me against the wall of his stall as I was cleaning it. He was also head-shy, which meant I had an awful time putting his bridle on as he would panic and hold his head high, the whites of his eyes showing. I'm sure the other grooms loved the thought of me working with this.

Only thing is, I'm not quite what they thought. When given something like that I don't quit- I get mean and stubborn. So when the horse crowded me, I planted the tines of the pitchfork in the floor and held out the handle and let him ram his belly into that. When he bit me, I wheeled around and rammed my elbow into the base of his neck. When he tried to stomp me I rammed my knee into his belly.

It took a couple of weeks, but he learned not to fuck with me.

Then I took the opposite approach- when he behaved himself I fed him half a donut. If he was especially good I brought him a little can of orange juice and fed it to him. When he stood still and docile I spoke softly and fuzzed up his head.

Within a month I had him calm and mellow as any horse, easy to care for and relaxed. He stopped being so skittish and trusted me as I put his bridle on, and we got along pretty well.

Then one day his owner showed up, a big burly Italian guy with all the subtle graces of a stevedore on the lash. He was loud, obnoxious, filling the barn with his voice and his raucous laugh, slapping people on the back and generally being a clot. After lots of loudness in the barn he came over to see Eddie as he was in his stall. I can still remember him booming out, "So there you are, you big ugly son of a bitch" and giving the horse what I'm sure he thought of as a good-natured love pat, but what was in fact a full-arm slap across the horse's head.

The boss saw me flash red as I held the pitchfork, and furiously gestured me back. I kept a death grip on the handle, waiting for this lump of salami to leave so I could get to my horse and calm him. Ultimately the boss got rid of him, and I immediately went to Eddie's stall and spoke to him gently, stroking his neck until he stopped shivering. Now I knew why he had been so head-shy.

That ginzo might have been paying Eddie's bills, but I swear if I had seen him again he would have been twatted with the nearest heavy thing I could find and thrown into the shit pile.

I don't know what ever happened to Eddie- he was a very young horse at the time, so maybe he went on to better things. But I do know that he deserved better treatment than that.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Mon 8 Sep 2008, 21:11, 5 replies)

The worst customers in the worst bar in the worst part of the worst town on the planet
I used to work in a dockside bar that was, to put it mildly, a little rough.

It all began after I moved to this well-known (and utterly crap) port town. The town itself was bad enough, rammed full of ne'er-do-wells and a smorgasbord of freaks, but the closer you got to the port the worse the punters became. The vile clientele that poured through our doors was continuously topped-up thanks to the convenient location of the bar. It was the first watering hole the transients clattered into as they stepped off their ships onto terra firma. Some of our customers wouldn't have looked out of place in a zoo and a couple still make me shudder when I remember how nauseating they were.

The bar itself was a monumental shithole. The drab interior got wrecked most weeks by the locals fighting with the fleeting (then fleeing) masses. The owner had tried to add a pointless touch of sparkle by hosting live acoustic jazz bands most nights, but the contrast between the music and the atmosphere was laughable. Imagine a clarinet concerto in the aftermath of the Brixton riots and you'll be halfway there. My job as chief barman was without question the worst means of paying my rent I've ever had.

I'd only been working there for six months but I'd just about had enough, what with having to blindly ignore the constant criminal activity and put up with the ebb and flow of human detritus that wafted through. I’d developed a bit of a cunt's attitude to my customers, as it was the only way to get through the nights. The final straw came on a particularly busy shift. To give you some idea of the kind of bullshit I had to put up with, earlier in the day I'd endured a full sweep of the place by the authorities to assist them with a fucking manhunt. It was definitely not shaping up to be a good evening. I was serving a particularly short-fused customer with the motley jazz band in full swing when the door swung open. I knew at once we were due for big trouble.

It was a group of four drifters who looked *completely* out of place; that is, they looked relatively normal compared to our usual patrons. The first problem was that two of the members of this group were obviously flaming homosexuals and this was *not* a gay-friendly bar. The taller chap was a sight to behold. He was worryingly camp, wearing a lurid gold outfit that Liberace himself would have sent back to the shop for being too ostentatious. The short, fat one was relatively straight-acting but I’d already made my mind up. This feckless bling-clad mincer and his stumpy companion were attracting exactly the wrong kind of attention from the burly crowd assembled in front of the bar. I had to do something quickly, so I made it clear that I wouldn’t be serving either of them. The young bloke in the group had a quick word and thankfully, the sad-faced queers retreated rapidly towards the exit in order to avoid what otherwise would've ended with a merciless beating. I felt bad, but it was better than clearing up their body parts.

The other two gentlemen stayed in the bar. The old fellow wandered over to one of our regulars and started chatting, which was a little strange as I knew the guy couldn’t speak English at all. It seemed that they were acquaintances though, so I turned away from the bar for a moment to collect my thoughts. Almost as soon as I’d turned around, I felt a tug at my shirt. It was the young guy again. He gave me an understanding nod but didn’t actually say anything. I still felt rather grateful and relieved for his swift help a few moments earlier, so I handed over a free drink which he silently accepted.

Barely ten seconds later, it all kicked off. One of the foreign dockhands in the bar spotted my act of charity for this stranger and took exception to his special treatment. I turned to see this fearsomely-ugly thug march over to shove him hard and begin a drooling tirade of unintelligible drunken aggression. One of the dockhand’s mates joined in with the intimidation tactics. They were both very drunk, but I overheard him slur something about a criminal record followed by a death threat. That was par for the course in this place. The young stranger kept cool, but the altercation had obviously unnerved the poor chap. Before he’d had a chance to think about retaliation, his elderly friend had left the chit-chat with my regular customer and stepped into the situation himself.

The old man tried his best to calm things down, but by now it was too far gone and a fight was ready to break out. Without any further warning, the dockhand’s mate grabbed the younger guy and flung him across the room into a table full of drinks. I spotted a gun being produced so I ducked behind the bar, where I then heard a terrifying scream. The commotion died down and I re-emerged to find the assailant lying on the ground, one arm completely severed and the old man standing there wielding a glowing energy sword. I watched blankly as he returned it to his belt, my customers continued with their business and the band continued playing their god-awful music as if nothing had even happened.

Like I said, it was a fucking shithole.
( chart cat has an itch, Mon 8 Sep 2008, 20:59, 34 replies)

Sorry for the shit quality, but fp n all
I'm an electrician so I meet quite a few people in their own surroundings. This leads to quite a few annoyances, especially when you hate people, but I'll just stick to toilet related stories so i can carry on at my convenience.

My dad and myself arrived at a house having an extension built, this day there happened to be the builders, the plumbers, carpenters and ourselves on site, so loads of blokes at this house with only the one toilet inside the house. Literally 2 minutes after we arrived, the lady of the house comes storming out of the house with a mop and bucket demanding to know who had pissed on the floor of the bathroom and that they immediately clean it up. Fair enough, someone did piss on the floor, and not a little bit either we were informed, ALOT.
Nobody claimed to have used the bathroom this morning.
So she starts demanding everybody leave the house NOW and not to bother coming back. Cue her husband calling her aside rather sheepishly, little chat and much thrusting of mop and bucket in husband's direction followed by wife storming off and husband following. HE had pissed all over the floor and left this yellow sea on the tiles.

Whilst changing a light fitting in one of the plentiful and widespread toilet facilities in a large office building, above the gents urinals if you must know, a rather nice, ungreasy and polite chap barges past the out of order sign the cleaners have kindly put up outside the door for us, over my toolbox and proceeds to unzip and start having a slash right underneath my ladder, in the torchlight.
My cries of "Mate! We're working here! Can't you go to the ones round the corner?" are met with the guy just turning round mid stream to say "It's alwight mate, I'll be done in a second."
If only I had the balls to "accidentally" drop my battery driver on the guys head! Alas no.

There's also the occasional job where you get a customer following you around their house whilst you work; making sure you don't steal anything, damage their floorboards, put their underwear on your head etc etc.
This can be rather off putting at times, especially when the nice old guy is regaling you with stories of his misspent youth and national service "oh how they should bring it back!" (They should by the way). All of a sudden there's an awful smell, like bigfoot's dick crossed with the back of a kebab shop. It isn't me, this i'm fairly certain of, and the guy hasn't stopped for breath so he can't have smelt it yet. He was rabbiting for at least five minutes with me gagging and trying not to say anything before he said he had to dash, and looking up as he left the room, sure enough, there was a lovely brown stain on his trousers!
I was so glad he gave the cheque to my dad!

Length? 15cm and spreading.
(FurQ2 Where the hell is my grilled cheese?!, Mon 8 Sep 2008, 20:49, 2 replies)

there are sooooo many!!!
I work for a breakdown company who had employed Vinnie Jones to advertise their service.

Ive had people threaten to hunt me down and kill me in my sleep unless i send a patrol out. etc etc
I've also had a man refuse to speak to me, because i'm a woman and couldnt possibly understand what the problem with his car would be (a flat battery).

The worst seem to be middle aged women, like this particular call:
Me: "the patrol will be with you within an hour and 15 mins, im sorry but we are very busy today."
Woman: "Well that isnt good enough, i'm a woman on my own. you cant expect me to wait that long. I'll get raped."
Me: "Unfortunatly i cant prioritse your job as you are in sainsburys car park and its 12pm in the afternoon, if the supermarket has a cafe you will be safe to wait in there."
Woman: "so you are telling me you are going to leave me stranded here??" and so she continues and rants on, i keep on explaining that she is in a safe location blah blah blah
She even wants to speak to my manager, which i say is a waste of time as everything i stated would be repeated.
Finally she got bored and hung up, not before the usual line of "well ill move my business to another company then" like its to hurt me personally. i dont actually care because then it means i dont have to deal with twats like you! ha!
(VodkaMargarine When there is no Brandy Butter..., Mon 8 Sep 2008, 20:47, 2 replies)

"Take a chair sir...
...and we'll deal with you as quickly as we can"

So he did.

And threw it through the plate glass window before storming out to his car, from which he produced an air rifle which he used to take pot shots at the staff until a nice police marksman shot him in the kneecap.

Another happy, happy day in the life of Reading Dole Office.

Of course, when we looked at his case file, we found that he would have got a lovely fat cheque to spend down Threshers if only he'd sat still like a good boy.
( Scaryduck LIKES EGG, Mon 8 Sep 2008, 20:42, 3 replies)

Wasps
Are during the summer the bane of my working life. I don't mind them so much, but get dirty looks from customers whenever they see them in the shop - which over the last couple of weeks has been just about all the time. I can deal with the wasps - don't bother them and they don't sting - but every so often, there comes a customer who really doesn't like them. I can sympathise with people who are scared of them - but do they really HAVE to wave their arms around and end up, as happened the other day, hitting the wasp straight at me, so that I get stung on the face multiple times? I may be here to serve you, but did you really, really have to then laugh at my pain? It HURTS.
(And yes, I mean you, the bloke in the Man U football shirt with the three kids and the wife/girlfriend/gibbon in a crop top and jeans who looked rather too similar to you.)
(Pretty strangers and promises, Mon 8 Sep 2008, 20:20, 5 replies)

Another one from my Hotel days
Bridezillas are full of strange ideas:

'If the hotel burns down, do you have an alternative venue booked?'

...yes love, for every wedding booked there is an empty venue that we pay for to stay that way, just in case. I'm waiting for a transfer there so I don't have to deal with any fuckwits like you.
(minlan no longer barks at bancleys, Mon 8 Sep 2008, 20:11, Reply)

I was a customer from hell, in Hull
but it was the cashiers fault.

When I was visiting England in August, I decided to pop into Hull city center to do some shopping.
I was in a store, and found a couple of dresses and some shoes, so took them over to the counter to pay for them.

I took out my credit card and the cashier said "stick it in there and enter your PIN".

Me: "Aha, it's an American credit card, it's not C&P, you need to swipe it"
Cashier: "But you're English, so it must be C&P"
Me: "I might be English, but I live in the States. It's an American card, it needs swiping"
Her: "But you're English, so it must be C&P"
Me: "Look, this is a foreign credit card, it's not C&P and just because I have an English accent doesn't mean my card is English".
Her: "Well, I'm not allowed to swipe it. All English cards are C&P, and you're English"
Me: "You're obviously from Hull, aren't you? Which school did you go to?"
Her: "Newland"
Me: "Ah, that explains it. I went there but I was one of the lucky ones that escaped. Most of my schoolmates were as thick as you are"
Her: ".."
Me: "Get me the manager"

Manager: "Is there a problem?"
Me: "Yes, she won't swipe my card, it's American and is not C&P"
Cashier: "But she's English, so her card must be C&P"
Manager: "Go on break, NOW. It's a foreign card, remember, we swipe those?"
Cashier: "But she's English!!!!"
Dumb idiot goes on break.

The manager apologized profusely, asked how long I was home for and gave me a 20 quid gift voucher which I promptly spent 2 days later.
( Batshitmentalist is sane for once, Mon 8 Sep 2008, 19:40, 4 replies)