Customers...
Can I point out that the joke...

"can I help you, sir/madam?"
"yes you can help me find my wife/husband! I've lost them HA HA HAhaha"

Is NOT funny. You're not the first person to make that joke, and wont be the last.

Also, don't be lazy. I am a 19 year old girl, you are a burly 45 year old man. don't hand me your 5 piece saucepan set and expect me to walk it to the till for you. Then AFTER it gets put through the till tell me to deliver it to your house as your car is to far away. Then, don't demand that we give you a timed delivery (which costs us 18 quid by the way).
When I say we don't offer that, don't then gasp as say that's not suitable for you and you don't trust parcel force. Not my problem.
(leftehhhh, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 19:05, Reply)

I work in a call centre
I can see that I'll be making a few posts this week. For the record I work for a British telecommunications company.

Customer phones in (as they generally do to call centres)
"Excuse me, do you sell a phone called Aqua?"
*searches on intranet*
"Yup, it's quite nice too."
"Oh good, what's it called?"
"....Aqua."

One of those moments where I feel like I've turned over two pages at once.

Then, later, I had a fellow phone up wanting to do a homemove - move his account to the new property. He interrupted my opening speil and ordered me not to put him on hold or transfer him elsewhere which pissed me off immediately, but I'm a professional (mostly) so gave him one more chance.
"Ok sure no problem sir, may I have your account number please?"
"I don't have my account number. Your colleague earlier found my details through searching for my phone number, use that."
"That may have been alright for just checking details, but to change anything on an account I would need your account number."

We're really hot on customer validation at the moment with one wrong move resulting in a disciplinary. You can generally bend the rules in exceptional circumstances, but I wasn't going to budge for this pillock. We carried on to-ing and fro-ing, with him trying to bully me into relenting (fat chance!) and calling me obstructive. By this time several of my colleagues had muted their customers and were listening in. Then came the crunch:
"Look, you don't wanna mess with me sonny. I know people who are scary you know!"
"You can't threaten me into bending the rules sir. I'm not willing to lose my job over this."
"You'd better watch your back - I know people who ride motorbikes!"
The fool.
"Sir, I am a person who rides a motorbike, and you know what? SO'S MY MOTHER!"

At which he hung up. My mum's not that scary, honest.
(jamesthegill opens new tabs with his scroll wheel, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 19:03, 5 replies)

The Customer is always WRONG
After many years in customer service related industries, I finally found my true calling: a business where the customer is always wrong. Between being a prison guard, a bail bond agent, and now working in the punishment phase of the criminal justice system, I can tell you that there is no greater pleasure than knowing your 'customers' are always wrong. And thanks to all the theiving little drug-addled shits in the world, I have absolute job security.

Is it any wonder I smile at work so much? Because not only are they wrong, they have to give me loads of money or I send them to jail. I love my job!
( flirting with badgers What? It sounded good at the time., Thu 4 Sep 2008, 18:52, 2 replies)

Where to begin
As it's likely clear to anyone with an IQ over room temperature and a smattering of common sense, IT / comms tends to be a hiding place for total idiots of the worst kind. My suspicion is that these muppets enjoy the miasma of superiority which they feel the job gives them, whilst assuring them of their elevation in status over everyone who just doesn't work in IT. Like I said, twats.

I digress. One thing which has struck me as particularly alarming however is the seemingly abyssal depths to which human intelligence will sink when confronted with technical problems.

Common sense will pack its bags and leave. Previously normal people will turn into slavering simpletons braying about deadlines and escalation. The problem (see what I did there? Problem. Not an "issue" ) will snowball. More drones will be drafted in to exacerbate points one and two. Email chains will spiral out of control and continue for weeks, in some cases, months, dwarfing even the most phenomenal of historical flame-wars. A Hydra-esque solution to the original problem will eventually issue forth from some orifice, which will in turn introduce xN more insanely convolutional variations of the previous problem. Utterly turgid smarmy little besuited pricks will then pick over the remains, take what they like to hear and what gets their stub of a cock hard, and then stab everyone else with a differing opinion (and damning evidence of their ineptitude) right betwixt the shoulder blades.

Unfortunately for me, as is my want, the majority of these people are my customers, for lack of a better term.

Perhaps it's my naive belief that people can't honestly be that stupid, or maybe some ill-founded assumption that everyone wants the best solution, and the subsequent shattering of those thoughts that is consistently driving me to hit the bottle like Ollie Reed whenever coming off deployment with my current client.

Honestly - what the fuck is hard about IT? Why make it hard for yourself? There is an ocean of information from which to refer to on a vast unchartable degree of topics, all of which have likely been done more sensibly, long before you set eyes on a keyboard - are you really that much of an utter hoop that you feel only your vision of the future matters, and everyone else is just too stupid to listen?

Customers? Fuck 'em. I'm off to chop down trees for a living once the mortgage is paid.
(mymilkshakebringsallthemongstotheyard poison hearts, poison minds - joining hate, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 18:51, 4 replies)

Sainsbury's To You
I used to work the late shift on the phones for the home delivery shopping service. On their webshite it states clearly that orders not completed by a certain time wont get delivered next day.

Every evening, shortly after that cut-off time, we got calls telling us our system was broken, had lied, had guaranteed next day delivery, etc and that everyone would starve to death if it didn't arrive.

The best one was a very angry gentleman purporting to be a writer for a broadsheet. He told me the site didn't contain any warnings (despite their being pop-up message boxes and a warning at each stage of ordering) and that if I didn't get him his shopping by tomorrow he'd do a double-page spread about the situation. "That's fine by me, sir. If you write a double page spread on people's inability to follow simple instructions it's just possible that I'll be able to finish at 9pm when the stores close instead of half past ten when I've finished dealing with idiots who think they deserve special treatment."
( CowJam, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 18:46, Reply)

Being a Retail slave.....
Worked in retail for the past two years, short amount of time in the job world, but long enough to have dealt with a large amount of arseholes and cunts, lets start with when I was at McDonalds

Every friday, without fail the same group of mindless scallys would congregate inside, we would have to chuck them out for dancing on table/threatening staff/shitting in the urinals within half an hour of them arriving, they would then follow up by standing outside for the next three hours until we closed.

We used to have a really nice guy who came in every saturday morning to grab a bite to eat, one saturday he walks up to the till, happy as ever, then his expressions goes vacant and I hear him mutter "Fuck".
He then vacates the premises immediately, the bugger had pissed himself at the counter. Bugger them if they thought I was gonna clean it.

Now, on to the second Job, A popular game retailer that rhymes with "Game"
Oh, fuck.

Customer trying to bring back a console he had plainly bust himself. Argues with the manager for a good 10 minutes, until storming off, parting with the comment; "I don't have to put up with this hassle, I'm a doctor"

Few weeks later this pleasant seeming lady comes in to trade in a fuckton of old PS2 games, as is to be expected, they aren't all in good condition, and they don't really trade for more than £2 each.
Since if a disc is damaged, we have to take £1 off the price to be able to take it in, I guarantee her that if something is damaged and trades in for less than £1, I will give it her back, as she would be paying us to take it away from her.
Everything goes through fine, ten minutes later, she comes back.
"I looked at this receipt, and this game traded in for £1"
"I know that"
"You promised me that if it traded in for £1 or less you would give it me back"
"Sorry, I said that if it was damaged and less than £1"
"I want it back"
"Sorry, we ccan't do it, the receipt you signed was a legally binding contract saying that you accept the prices displayed on the receipt"
"WELL FUCK YOU, I'M GOING TO REPORT YOU TO TRADING STANDARDS YOU BASTARD"
(My boss)"Please exit the store"

Also, a few weeks after Easter. I am on a 1:30 (this bit was important) until 5:30
A lady comes in to trade for cash, she seemed happy with the price she was getting, then I asked for the two required forms of ID.
She had one, and this is the conversation that followed;
"You told me at 10am today that I only needed one"
"Sorry, It is a government legislation that we have to take two forms."
"SO ARE YOU TELLING ME YOU LIED TO ME ABOUT THE LAW?!?!?!"
"Sorry, what time did you say you came in at?"
"10am"
"I started today at 1:30"
"Bugger off"

There's more where those came from, available on request.

Oh bugger, how I do ramble on.
(annhialus hasn't had an accident since, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 18:40, 4 replies)

Running a small business in a rural locale
A chap came in to ask about buying a new printer. I talked through the options with him and he opted for a small laser printer. I ordered it and it arrived.

I got a call the next day to say he was having trouble installing it. I went round to discover he didn't have a USB port because his machine was over 10 years old. Being nice and having a spare USB card I tried installing it for him, but his windows 98 SE wasn't having it. I offered to reinstall windows for him and he snapped at me to fuck off and give him his money back.

I politely informed him that he could bring the printer back to my shop and I'll discuss a refund with him. Firstly, he demanded I took the printer away there and that he wanted a full refund there and then.

I explained that as he took it from my shop he could return it to it, and that I wasn't walking a couple of miles in the pissing rain with a printer under my arm. I also told him that as he'd ignored the specs and installation instructions (he'd put the toner in before checking he could actually plug the fucker in) that I couldn't give him a full refund as it wasn't in a resaleable condition.

This was the only time I was thankful for being in the Federation of Small Businesses. When he threatened to sue me for miss-selling the product they stood by me, offering to pay any legal costs incurred.

I did all I could to help. I wrote to him offering to try resell the printer for him (giving him all monies raised), offering him a refund less the cost of a new toner or to reinstall windows for him as originally offered and the cunt kept being aggressive and demanding a refund.
( CowJam, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 18:40, Reply)

Bar Work
I'm sure we'll see numerous stories relating to drink this week. People are rarely more wrong, yet still convinced of their rightness than when they're three sheets to the wind, as it were.

This is one of those occasions.

The pub I worked in was a proper local. The same faces, sat in the same places, drinking the same beers at the same time every single day.

This meant for some good banter between staff and punter and everything was fine and dandy.

Until the management changed and the relaxed "if I can't see it, it aint happening" attitude was replaced with one of "not in my wife's fucking pub, coz I'm fucking well 'ard and used to be in the fucking army, innit".

This upset the natives and turned sour the previously nice, happy atmosphere; where a typical Friday night involved a steady stream of knuckle draggers heading into the toilet and filling their noses with coke before coming back to the bar for Bacardi Breezers and bottles of Bud.

Despite me having already been in the employ of this boozer for a good 6 months. Despite me clearly being very stoned every single evening. And despite me being a music student, who made it very clear I was a music student by inviting my music student friends to the pub and giving them "special rates" on their beers; it was assumed that the change in attitude was down to me being undercover "filth".

I don't think a pub full of customers has ever been more wrong... with the possible exception of when England are playing football, and the punters seem to think it's possible they may actually win.
( Moey, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 18:38, Reply)

Working in Somerfields has to be a high circle of hell
Throughout my two years of work there I was always patronised for being younger. People take one look at you when you are 16 and assume you are the missing link in human evolution. One time I was quite happily doing my job (stacking shelves), and a posh, middle aged woman that the Cotswolds are littered with comes up to me.

"Excuse me," she says, speaking extremely slowly and loudly so mongoloids like me can understand; "Do you have any cru-tons?"

I pause. Not a very common request, even in the Cotswolds. "Um..."

The landrover driving harpy immediately picks up on this, and starts to speak louder, and even slower: "CRU-TONS? CRU-TONS? THEY ARE LITTLE BITS OF TOASTED BREAD YOU PUT IN SOUP? WHERE ARE THEY?"

I smile my most charming smile, whilst thinking "I would happily make you choke on them right now".

"Certainly madam." I say, in my best RP "You're stood in front of them."

She left very quickly. Wonder why
(Urban Hermit Exit, pursued by a bear on, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 18:30, 2 replies)

I've got thousands of these
but one will do for now.

Working behind a bar, a suited gentleman approaches and says "10 pints of beer please"

I pour the pints whilst a frustrated queue of customers glares at me, not at him for some reason.

I finish the drink, put them on a tray and say "£30.10 please". At this point he says "Oh sorry, did I say ten, I meant two."

I told him that he would have to pay for the whole lot as he'd ordered them and watched me pull them all like an idiot. He got angry and said that under no circumstances would he let me 'con' him out of £30.

My boss wanders over, glares at me and says "Just charge him for the two". Smug customer picks up his two pints and fucks off.

Boss says to me later "That's coming out of your wages."
(Waspard has your wank bank account details, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 18:30, 9 replies)

Grumpy old man
Before I sacrificied looking beautiful for looking more masculine via getting rid of my shoulder length hair I had to wear it in a pony tail at my oh so interesting job at a supermarket.

Now sometimes the obvious gender mistake would be made by a customer but I wasn't too fussed by it and neither were the customers. Except one;

To set the scene I was kneeling on the floor tidying the blocks of cheese when I hear an elderly man speak to me;
"Excuse me sweetheart, where is the cream?". Now I couldn't help but be amused by being called sweetheart and was probably cheekily smiling when I got up.
"Are you a man?" He questioned, his tone slightly aggravated.
I replied with a simple "yes" to be snapped back at with "You bloody fool! Get your hair cut!"
(in hindsight I should have replied no and acted offended)
I simply countered that I was getting my hair cut in a few days (which I actually was) and pointed him to the cream which was no more than 3 feet away from him.
Humourless old bugger.
(sailorspoon started wiping his own arse from, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 18:29, 2 replies)

The Nightclub (and diner)
In the town where I live there's a certain Nightclub where practically every student works at some point. This place is infamous for having a high staff turnover, with some people not even lasting their first shift.

But onto the customers. Customers who would edit their Q-Jump passes with eyeliner pencil and look affronted when I rubbed it off.

Customers who would swear blind they were "friends" of the owner or his cronies. If you believed them, everyone who came through the door would be their friends.

Customers who would give you an ear-bashing for not accepting the obviously dodgy £50 note for a £2.50 ticket.

Although by far the worst were the so-called "Glam" nights (I may have given away where it was now... oops). Wearing all black whilst the "music" blared in the darkness and trying to pick up glasses from the floor whilst drunken buffoons of customers either didn't see or wouldn't look where they were going and end up knocking me over.

There were some highlights though, the customers who would saunter off without their change from a £20 note and completely forget about it. Any unclaimed cash would be divvied up between me and my fellow Cash Desk Monkey at the end of the night. Sometimes, we could double our wages for the night if there were sufficient drunken idiots.

(mostly) Good times.
(Meya, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 18:20, Reply)

another one from the wonderful world of creative
'yeah we need an ad' (client works in oil & gas)

'yeah we want to show our 'random facility full of pipes and knobs' plant at Boringsville'

'ok do you have commissioned photography we can use'

'no'

'ok well we work with some excellent photographers we can arrange a quote for a location shoot'

'no we dont want to pay for that do you have pictures you can use'

'well we can use stock library images but they will be generic'

'ok'

designs are put forward

'thats not our' (random machinery X2000)

'well of course it isn't its a stock image'

'well can you not make it look like ours, dont you have photoshop'

utter cunts
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 18:08, 1 reply)

Well...........
I really am a technical sticky-tape salesman as it says on my profile.

I recently was called to a large car manufacturer (that I daredn't name) to account for the inexplicable lack of adhesion of their latest model's rear badges. I got to the meeting and had to endure a tirade about the utter crapness of our product, their superior knowledge of quality, the long history of their marque etc etc. THEN they started with the financial penalties which were currently running at about £10k per day!

With a flourish they produced a box of the offending badges and demande I inspect them.

With some trepidation, I opened the box and looked inside.


My heart sang a hymn of joy.


The tape was blazoned with a competitor's logo.


*smug mode - on*


"This isn't our tape".

"In fact it isn't even approved for this application by your own people".


I offered my company's help, if they were to use tape again, better to be advised by experts, eh?


The trials for their new models start soon.


Guess who's selling them tape on THIS one?



*smug mode STILL on*
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 18:05, 6 replies)

Pearoast: Inbred Customers
Plural years ago, I lived on the Greek island of Kos. Winter jobs were few and far between unless you didn't mind working in a bar. Fab for us foreign girls, as the only Greek girls who'd do bar work were also Ladies Of The Night. Taking my prerequisite tits and eyelashes for the "interview" i.e. a beer with the bar's owner, I started the very next night. 8pm til 4am - top notch, I could sleep all day at the beach. (The "leather saddle-bag" look was de riguer for one's skin in those days.) I digress........

Kos is one of the smaller islands, currently populated by 30ish thousand. Originally however, it was only inhabitted by two families. A case of, "Jethro, Oi married moy sister an' it never did me no 'aaaarm... ye'll be weddin yur cuzin moy son" etc. Descendants of these original inhabitants can easily be spotted today...
Cue the pair I had to not only endure, but humour, as I was their favourite barmaid (no idea why). They introduced themselves as uncle and nephew, Nikos and Stephanos. Thought they were the Greek equivalent of Laurel and Hardy. (I am related to Stan Laurel but that's another digression.) Boy, did they identify with me. Maybe that's because I'm a dog-lover and they had one. Only theirs was imaginary. And it liked to play with me behind the bar. And because I couldn't see the little terrier twat ( I assumed it was a Jack Russell by the tone of it's yap) I'd frequently trip over it as I was hurrying about my work. Kept standing on it's stupid imaginary fucking tale, to which Nik & Steph would supply the high-pitched howls/yelps of agony. The only way to shut them the fuck up was to kneel on the floor, patting Terriertwat and giving him nuts (again, I'm making assumptions with it's gender). All in a night's work, for which I was renumerated with 7000 drachma and 750mls of Cutty Sark.

Worse still, on the odd occasion I got a night off, say every couple of months, they'd spot me out with my dog. Who was Real. Lovely dog he was, Gorby - a pointer whom I'd hand-reared. Gorby was quite partial to the odd whiskey himself, so he'd accompany me out for the evening. Cue "Laurel & Fucking Hardy" with their yappy little twat who would attack poor old placid imprinted Gorby. See the psychiatric needs...... Paint them purple...
( Tourette's ( . )( . ) has a monkey hair in her fried egg, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 18:01, 1 reply)

I swear this is true
Working in onetel (again)

Tech support once had a phone call from a guy who couldnt access his broadband. Now, countless people had already tried to help him, countless call backs were scheduled with various managment staff, refunds and compensation had been applied to the account. such was the degree of dedication to get this problem fixed.

Now i should mention that this is when broadband cost about £40 for a 512mb connection, so the term 'broadband' was quite new to the general public.

Anyway, countless notes were visible on the account, all tests we conducted (limited tests i may add, we werent the most technical of teams) came back fine, BT had done numerous tests also.

Then one day. the head of the tech support team picked up the job. He rang the customer.

"Right mr customer, im going to review this problem from the very start"

"ok" customer said, unconvinced as this problem was now 2 months old and running.

"can you do me a favour, go to your pc and turn it on" said tech manager

"What?!?" said customer "I need a PC?!?!"

I swear at this point it was like some one had been shouted Kaiser Soze!!

it all became clear.

This man thought broadband would actually just 'appear' infront of him. I shit you not.

I have more of this kinda thing....
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 17:59, 7 replies)

It started with a "Ring ring"
as these things often do.

Early one Monday morning, 7:45 if I remember right, the phone rings. We don't officially open until 8:30, so generally its a colleague phoning in sick if it rings that early.

WeeWitch picked up the phone and gave the "Company Standard" greeting. In quite a cheery voice for that early in the morning. The thing with these greetings is that no-one actually listens. They just wait for you to stop talking and then its their turn.

A wee creaky, quavery voice, sounding just about old enough to remember when Edinburgh was all fields, proceeds to tell me,

"My home help hasn't come this morning. She's normally here by now."

There was a bit of a silence while I digested this nugget of information, then my brain shoved my gob into action.

"Oooookay, madam, I think you've maybe got the wrong number. This isn't the council. You'll need to phone them." With the emphasis on "them".

"But she's always here by half past seven. I can't get to the toilet without her. I really need to go, you know. Where is she?" croaked the old soul.

"I'm sorry madam, as I said, you have the wrong number. This is not the council. We don't send out home helps. You've maybe mis-dialled on your phone?" Unsatisfied with my complete lack of "home-help sending-ness", she said,

"I'm going to complain about you. I need my home help and you won't send her. Where is she?"

By this time the colleagues around me were all listening avidly, and I was simultaneously trying to keep a straight face and think of a way to get through to the old sod that I hadn't kidnapped her bloody home help. Once again, I tried my best, with my loudest, "talking to a slightly deaf imbecile" tone, to clarify the situation to our mutual satisfaction.

"Madam, I have already explained that this is not the council offices. This is a private company which does not have anything to do with the council, or home helps. I'm sorry, but I cannot help you. You will need to end this call, and redial the correct number to get through to the council. Do you understand?"

There was a brief silence, and I thought I'd won. Not so. Back she came, croaky but magnificently determined that I was going to send her home help round, right reason or none.

"You have to send her now. I can't hold it in forever, you know. She gets cross if I wet the bed. If she can't come, you'll have to send someone else round straight away. I'm going to complain about you."

I repeated my previous statement regarding our lack of home helps and she came back with a variation of what she'd already said. This continued for ten more minutes, as I repeatedly tried to get through to her that she had the wrong number. My patience was wearing very thin, and apparently so was hers. She lost the "polite" war and started swearing at me. Bingo! We're allowed to hang up on our own customers if they do that, far less some random old mad-woman in need of a pee.

I'm not particularly proud of this, but I couldn't resist by then. I asked her, in my sweetest voice, if she knew who I was? When she said no, I said "good" and hung up.

It was about ten minutes before my colleagues had all stopped laughing. We all eyed the phone with some trepidation for the rest of the day, but she never rang back. Thank god.
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Thu 4 Sep 2008, 17:59, 3 replies)

Where am I?
To fund my student lifestyle back in the day I needed a little bit of money for rent and bills, and a lot of money (proportionally) for decadent self indulgence. Sadly it strikes me that the opposite ratio is true these days.

Anyway, I took a job in a call centre. Thankfully it wasn't an outbound call centre, but one where my job was to help people who called up requesting public transport information - bus, train, ferry timetables etc.

It was a pretty cruisy job really. After a while you knew all the major routes and timings so barely had to look things up in the system. But one kind of customer really got on my tits.

Me- "Hello, Transinfo, how can I help?"

Cretin- "Uh yeah, when's the next bus?"

Me- "That depends. Where are you, and where do you want to go?"

Cretin- "At the bus stop. I wanna go to town."

Me- "I see. Buses on that route run all the time."

Cretin- "But I've been here ages."

Me- *clickety* "In fact, you've just missed one."

Cretin- "No I haven't. I'm here at the stop."

Me- "Did you look away from the road for a minute? Maybe at the sky or your watch or something? They're very quick these new buses."

Cretin- "Really? I don't have a watch. What's the time?"

Me- "It's (1 hour past whatever the time really was)."

Cretin- "Oh shit. I'm late."

Me- "Oh, that's a shame. Your bus will be there soon."

*click*
*beep*
(cheez is feeling ergophobic, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 17:54, 2 replies)

A bit of a rant
Recently, I think there's been a bit of a change in the type of customer from hell.

When I was little, you'd often witness the local nutter/thief causing havoc in the Co-op/Gateway/Fine Fare (in the days before Tesco and ASDA took over the world) and you'd just accept it. They couldn't help their situation, they were just plain bonkers and couldn't rationalise the situations they find themselves in.

These days, the customers from hell are the ones who are just ignorant. I worked in a Post Office for 4 years part time and the number of times I'd get asked for an advance payment on a benefit book was amazing. It is plain illegal.

Them: "Oh come on, I'm skint" (despite the fact that they've probably got about 4 benefit books providing a total of the GDP of Mozambique per week)
Me: "I'm sorry sir/madam, you've got one allowance per week and that's it. I can't help you"
Them: "YOU'RE BEING COMPLETELY FUCKING UNREASONABLE, BLAH BLAH BLAH..."

The thing is, we who have to deal with these idiots, aren't.

I can understand the rage of people who have to deal with phone monkeys when their internet is down or their gas bill is clearly miscalculated but in most situations with the 21st Century customer from hell, it's usually completely unfounded.

I'll tell you where it comes from too - their parents.

You see, when I was a sprog, I was shown how to do loads of things by my ma - pay for my own bus ticket, buy my own magazines, ask for help at the supermarket, etc. Little things like that mean that by the time you're old enough to look after yourself properly you're not completely helpless/ignorant of how to deal with situations when being served. In addition, when things don't go your way, you're more likely to be accepting because you've experienced the situation before.

I see it a lot with my students at school - because they've been mollycoddled for so long, they don't understand proper conduct when asking for things or negotiating with people.

It's just "I want" rather than "Can I?", and when their requests are turned down then the fireworks go off. It's a growing problem.

I make a point of getting my little brother to do things for himself when we're out and about in the aim of avoiding him turning out to be one of these cunts who can't understand that sometimes, they can't have their own way.

I'm not a right-wing fascist, I'm as socialist as they come. And whilst most of these stories make me chuckle, they don't half piss me off in the long term.
(scentless_apprentice takes two bottles into the shower!, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 17:54, 4 replies)

I wish I could name names
Unfortunately I can't, as I still work at the same company, and this customer is still a customer.

Anyway...

I was asked to do what seemed to be a fairly routine install, putting software on the customer's PC to link to some machines. Damn and blast, they'd installed some non-standard serial cards, and my software wouldn't work with them. We offered to swap out the serial cards FOC, but they were having none of it.

So off I went to rewrite the software to work with their non-standard card, and amazingly, it worked pretty well. We installed several sites, but the day after a colleague of mine installed one, it stopped working. They reckoned it had never worked in the first place and that our guy hadn't properly checked his work. He swore blind that he had.

I went out and discovered that THEY had installed antivirus software that conflicted with the serial card that THEY had supplied. It locked the system as soon as something tried to access the serial ports. Of course, my program was the only thing that did. They'd installed the antivirus the day after our guy did his work. It was working when he left it after all.

Anyway... Their card. Their antivirus software. Their problem, right? Nope, muggins here was sent to sort it out. I finally found some parameters for the antivirus software that omitted the troublesome area of memory. They weren't really happy with that (they reckoned it compromised the integrity of the virus scanner) but they did accept it.

And years later, it seems that those serial cards have caused them nothing but trouble. Those who were responsible at the time obviously wanted to pass the buck, so the story you're most likely to hear is that I was responsible for insisting that they used these non-standard cards.
( Horatio P Lemming, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 17:49, Reply)

muppetry
I work in advertising and marketing on the creative side. Have done for about 16 years. I’ve seen a few muppets in my time. One of the worst was from a ‘marketing manager’ for a major high street bank, highly paid and in charge of a MASSIVE marketing budget.

“We need a logo”

“sure lets just take a brief then… when can we get back to you with some initial thoughts”

“end of play Friday”

Designs are created rushed to an empty office by courier (5pm Friday – no fucker there obviously)

Client ignores all calls and emails till the following Friday just before lunch. Then calls…

“hi the logos you sent – we don’t like them”

“ok sorry about that, what isn’t working for you”

“don’t know, we just don’t like them”

“ok, is it the graphic device, the font, the colours, the style of execution?”

“yes”

“no which is it”

“look can we get some more different ones, at least 12”

“well that’s quite a lot – it would be more productive to establish what you have in mind and develop maybe 3 or 4 options for discussion”

“no we need at least 12, I need them for a board meeting”

“ok when’s that”

“3 o’clock”

“what today”

“yeah”

“but its nearly 12 now, that’s not really much time”

“don’t you have an apple mac though”

“erm yes”

“well how long does it take to work”

utter.cunts
( spimf ™ is whoever you want him to be, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 17:48, 4 replies)

Not me behind the counter
But i was behind the guy in front of it.

I was in my local fish and chip shop, and the guy in front was being served, and he was taking his time about it.

"Ya wantin' salt an' vinegar?" asked the large woman behind the counter.

"Ooo, do i want salt and vinegar? Hmm...Hmm...Hmmm." said the guy in front.

Woman bhind counter: "It's no the bloody House of Commons, hurry up!"

Later on, after this guy left, the large woman said to her collegue:

"I hate that guy. He's my auntie's second cousin."

"Your auntie's second cousin? What does make him to you?" I asked.

Her response?

"Fuck all, he's an arse!"
(General_Manchego, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 17:47, Reply)

worked for Onetel
one day an elderly customer called us becuase he was having problems on the internet.

Old man " It keeps asking for my email address, i type it in and it doesnt work"

Me " hmm, your email address is valid, i can see on the pc"

Old man" but it says its not valid!!"

I then begin to probe what he is trying to do, as in most cases the customer is mis-describing their problem.

Me " well i can see you're on broadband (circa 2002 dial up was still used) so the problem cant be your access to the internet"

"well i need it fixing, its becoming a problem" he said

We then go on an over the phone run through of what he was trying to do, with each passing moment the elderly man gettin more fed up.

I really felt for him, it must have been very confusing.

Then he sighed and said" listen, im 85 yrs old, I just trying to enjoy myself, Im actually trying to access the porn sites, thats all"

To which i Instantly put myself on Mute and fall into hysterics, which flowed into a massive 'eeeeeewwwwww' as i pictured this old man Fwapping away...

either way, being a bloke i gave him some help on how to get it for free, he went away very happy indeed.
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 17:43, 1 reply)

Wrong number
About 10 years ago, when I was a lowly assistant editor on a lowly magazine about MIDI keyboards and stuff, an old bloke phoned up to complain that we had printed the wrong number for the magazine in our 'flannel panel'.

"I've been trying to get through to you for hours," he barked. "Your phone number is wrong in the magazine."

Are you sure about that, sir? We haven't had any other complaints.

"Well that's probably because no-one can get through to you. The number doesn't have enough digits. Even BT said it wouldn't work."

(Oh, hang on, this will be some bloke who's got an old copy of the magazine, one from before PhONEday - for the scamps, that was when they changed all the area codes from 0663 to 01663 etc. )

Ah, ok, sir, all the phone numbers have changed recently, you need to add a 1 after the...

"NO I KNOW THAT. There still aren't enough numbers in it. I had to phone Directory Enquiries to get your number. Cost me good money that did."

Okaaaay. (Am a bit stumped now.) Sorry, sir, could you tell me which number you're calling?

"It's 0792 2675. And the lady from BT said that's NEVER been a valid number. If you can't get your own number right, how can I trust anything else in your magazine?"

(Complete befuddlement followed by penny dropping about five seconds later.)

Ah, ok, sir, I see what you've done there. You're actually calling our ISSN - the serial number for the magazine. You can tell it's the ISSN because it says ISSN next to it. The telephone number is the one three rows above with the word "Telephone" next to it.

Apologies for length of number.
(ChaRleyTroniC is invincible with his chips and cheese, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 17:42, 3 replies)

when i was
a 15 year old swipe, my dad was a director at one of the big banks, let's say natwest. he sat me down at the end of my summer term and said, "let's talk about your pocket money. how does £4 an hour sound?"

"brilliant!" i enthused, naively.

"then you'll come and work for me mon-fri answering the switchboard at the bank."

oh.

the job was so fucking tedious, spouting "good morning, natwest stockport, rswipe speaking, how may i help you?" about 137 times an hour.

but every now and then it was enlivened by an idiot. such as the woman who rang me and asked to speak to "mr crittenden". i was quite new, and i'd never heard the name. i put her on hold and searched for him. nope. nothing.

"we don't have a mr crittenden."

"you ignorant girl. he's the head of your branch," the woman snarled. "put me through at once."

"but the head of our branch is mr swipe," i said, bewildered.

"i will tell mr crittenden when i get through to him," the woman threatened. this useless debate went on for some time. eventually, she got truly irate, and said, "right. i am going to ring the head office of barclays in london and complain about you."

barclays?

"barclays?"

"yes."

"but this is natwest," i pointed out, as i had done the first second i picked up the phone.

seconds later, all i could hear was the purr of the dialling tone and the egg bubbling all over her face. twat.
( rachelswipe with a fork, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 17:41, 3 replies)

I've got hundreds...
When I was still in school, I used to work in that glorious Mecca of shiny technology, Dixons. I believe my 2 year tenure lead to me despising the general public (individuals can be nice though, I'm not going to be heading up to the nearest clock tower with a rifle anytime soon).

Most customers were fine, but there were always those who just wanted to push and push to get something for nothing. Today's story involves a swaggering, orange skinned mouth-breather, liberally coated with Elizabeth Duke and three days of sweat. He approaches me, ignoring the female staff member who's asking him if he needs assistance, and says "I wanna buy a kam-rah, one o' dem digikal ones."

Plastering on my dead smile, in a vague attempt to keep from sighing, I lead the gentleman over to the cameras. Now, bearing in mind that this was 2000, so digital cameras were fairly new and expensive, I was somewhat perplexed when he pulled a manky £50 note from his pocket and slammed it on the camera, saying "What can ya give me for dis?".

I point to the price tags, which started at £100 for something that my phone surpasses now, and say "Sorry Sir, the cheapest digital camera is more than £50, we do have some 35mm cameras in that price range though."

The Tango'd Man squints at the price tags, his beady little eyes trying to see passed his facial flab, before saying (quite loudly) "Fackin' 'ell! Dis place is a rip off! Alwight, show me wha' I can get for dis fiddy note then, it's for me son, he's goin' away.".

I then spend the next 10 minutes or so patiently talking him through a few cameras, before he settles on one. I mention that, as was the case with most of them, it didn't come with a film or carry case.

"Well, you can chuck dem in, can't ya lad!" He says, smarmily grinning and showing me his green and gold teeth. I explain that I can't, but it's not good enough.

"Nah lad, you don' understand, you can chuck dem in for me, it's for me son.". Again, I say that I cannot, and will not. He pauses, glaring at me in a way that he probably thought was intimidating (it came across more as vacant), before saying he'll buy it. I ask if he wants to buy a film or case for it, which he declines. He pays up, displays his hellish grin one more time, then fucks off.

Thirty minutes later, he storms back in and comes barreling up to me, barging the customer I was talking to out of the way, and gets right in my face.

"You fackin' cant! You said it came wiv a film an' a case! I'm about ready ta throw you through da fackin' windah!".

I recoil, mostly from his noisome aura, and am about to protest in my timid teenage way, when thankfully my boss steps in and simply says "please leave". The sack of shit keeps staring at me, his whole body heaving as he recovers from his ordeal of crossing the room. "Sir, please leave, now." says my boss, before adding in a nice "the police are being called.".

The neanderthal takes the time to weigh up his options (yet more exertion), and after hurling a few more insults, waddles out.

It was a few minutes before I'd calmed down, but it did mean I spent the rest of the day in the stock room, imagining all the witty one-liners I should have said, or picturing myself stamping on his shriveled gonads. Fun times.
( Labia Majora You keep on talking but it makes no sense at all, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 17:39, 1 reply)

Technician
I use to work as head of tech for an independent computer shop. all the time we would get customers coming in to buy parts for their computer (obviously being a computer shop and all that) now, most of these people who don't know what they're talking about are honest enough to say "I don't know what i'm talking about" and happily pay the £25 it was for me to build their 5/6/£700+ system for them. But, of course.. You would get the occasional muppet who knows the meaning of the universe and how god created man in his own image etc etc. queue one occasion, said smug smart arse "blah blah im the king of the world, blah blah adam and eve.. blah blah i know what i'm doing" you can always tell the people who know what their talking about and the ones who are frankly talking shit. So I said to this guy, (who in the act of buying a powerful gaming system from scratch, all the components etc etc.) "I can put that together for you for £25, it means you'll know that its done right and of course the work will be warrantied". "42" said smug smart arse and off he trotted...

Next day he comes in "this is faulty, i want a refund", "just one second" says I, and opened his case up on the counter in front of him, now the motherboard is in diagonally, and yet.. this isn't the worst of it. he had used the *feet* from the case, as risers and folded kitchen roll as insulation to protect the underside of the board from shorting out on the metal case. the board was bent like a banana and clearly fucked. meaning that said knob jockey had not only blown his board, but voided the warranty on every component in his case. A second £140 motherboard & £25 installation fee later. I build this gentlemans computer for him. properly.
( Kingtoke was shit at life on, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 17:30, 4 replies)