Elfinpunk's story below has reminded me
of all the clueless idiots who used to walk into the coffee bar where I worked, gaze around at the bags and bags and bags of coffee beans we sold, then turn to me and ask in thin, doubtful voices. . .

'Do you sell coffee beans?'


No. We do not. Try the shoe shop down the block.
(louveciennes , Volvospotter, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 1:30, 6 replies)

well then...
I work as a stocktaker/auditor for a company that deals with many high street stores, and therefore my customers are actually the store managers. Most of the time I get to deal with friendly little Scottish stores, in pointlessly small towns that are lovely and neat and warm. The customers from hell tend to occur in the bigger chain stores, where the idea of politeness seems to come second to the manager's need to waft their power hungry cocks in the collective face of humanity. I remember one shift vividly.

There were a crew of about 40 of us working a pointlessly large household store in Clydebank, Glasgow. if you know the area, it's the one just across the road from the chip shop that's a boat. Starting after driving in the pelting rain and wind for just under 3 hours, I wasn't in the best of moods. This was compounded by the fact that the store manager gave us a bollocking before we'd started, saying their last stocktake "was a load of shite, people trying to hurry work and get away early. If any of you pull that again I'll make sure you're fired." Considering that hadn't been our company, and some of the folk on our team had travelled up from Newcastle at the orders of the manager, we weren't too happy.

Having been told that the shop and stockroom were "clean as a whistle, and better fucking stay that way," we proceeded into the hell that was stock room one. It was full of manky cardboard boxes, piled about 10 feet high. Now this particular store has a policy for its stock to be single scanned - that is, if you have a pile of 5 baskets, even if they're the same, you scan them one by one, rather than the logical approach of scanning one then pressing the appropriate number. This would be fine in a small shop, but in a shop this size, scanning 3,000 single identical bars of soap was a fucking joke. Many of the crew had only joined the team after their retirement, to shore up their pitiful pensions, and seriously weren't up for this. one old boy was about 85, and was sent home at about 11 at night as he passed out. Not fun.

Add to this the fact that their "clean" stockroom had clearly not had any attention paid to it, so many boxes were filled with dust / rats / rat's shit / broken glass. the lack of attention also meant that a fair bit of the stock was no longer made any more or had lost its tags. now in a store where sanity prevailed, an item without a tag could just be scanned as a multiple of one of the 2,999 other identical items in the box, but no. We were told by the store manager to put any unmarked items at the checkouts, and duly did so. Creating 3 mountains of stock each the size of a transit van. At which point we got another bollocking from the manager, saying how we were all unprofessional shits. this from the woman who had liberally doused my lovely Latvian co-worker in shards of glass by knocking a lamp off the shelf above said Latvian, then blaming the poor woman for her clumsiness and trying to get her fired. very professional.

so you see, it's not just the general twattish public that are hellish, it's your bosses too... and, well, pretty much everyone.




length? 15 hours in a freezing shop, where the only ways of leaving were apparently a 3 hour drive home (at 5 in the morning), passing out following a mild heart attack (his first day on the job as well) or getting clobbered to death with a cheap lamp wielded by some arse hatted moron.
(DonMorte Cake is a made up drug, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 0:49, 1 reply)

They love a sale
Customers love bargains.
Customers also apparently love films about the army.

Customers like to queue outside the shop on the first day of clearance, before we open, preparing themselves for the task ahead. A few stretches to limber up, maybe a little jogging on the spot.

9am hits. The shutters slowly grind into life and start to ascend.

ARMY CUSTOMER SPRINGS INTO ACTION, performing a perfect commando roll under the shutter so they can be the first to be slightly disappointed with what's on sale.
Other customers, not wanting to miss out on all the bargain's this first man is not going to get, all start ducking the shutter to get inside.

This is all because they can't go shopping for 2 days over Xmas.
(Freeman999, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 0:32, 2 replies)

A Short One, While the missus is asleep...
I used to cut keys. I had a massive board that stood 3 feet from my counter when I managed a shop and it had thousands of blank keys dangling glitteringly from it.

One day a lady walked in and looked at me. Looked at the keys. Looked at me again and then asked "Do you cut keys.?"

I looked at her, looked up at the 20 square footage of blanks and looked back at her and managed to keep a straight face as I said.

"No sorry."

I had to shout after her I was only joking when she walked away.

Dozy bitch.
(elfinpunk Touching Cloth Since, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 0:24, Reply)

Ohhh and one more while I am here.
Last year I was faced with an old guy who had paid £10 for a calculator. Nothing bad there, until he pointed out an old sale sticker that had been on the item when it came down the conveyor and plopped into his hands, £7.50 it read.

Now knowing my consumer law (SPECIFICALLY because some of our customers are such total retards that pretend to know all the ins and outs that I took it upon myself to make sure I was ALWAYS right) I pointed out that it was an error that was clearly genuine and I was unable to give him the difference as he was informed when he paid of the correct and full price. I offered him a full refund and was lovely and polite.

But oh no. This guy WANTED his £2.50. It was very important to him. He NEEDED his money (despite the fact he would have paid the full price albeit for that sticker).

I have never been closer to leaping the counter and nutting a customer. The old bastard rounded his tirade off with an accusation to me of "I know what is going on here, you have your hands in the till." Where upon he left with me shouting "Thank you VERY much Sir" (in the style of Penelope Keith from The Good Life) as he left.

I hope he got AIDS from his fucking calculator.
(elfinpunk Touching Cloth Since, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 0:20, 1 reply)

Few years ago..
I was working one morning on a till out on my shop floor when a man walked up to me. He presented me with a catalogue number (guess where I work, hmmmpfff) and a cheque as well as a cheque guarantee card. I managed to deduce within the first three seconds of him talking to me that he was a bit of a tosser and when I pointed out that the card he was trying to use with his payment was his wife's card. "So what" he asked, "It is a joint account".

I mentioned something about a sex change and him copying her signature and he stormed off.

Half an hour later he reappeared clutching a pre-printed cheque from the bank. Sadly he had made a slight error and it had the incorrect price on it and as he didn't want to pay an extra £30 for his item he grabbed the cheque and zoomed off out the door muttering under his breathe.

As the end of my shift came and I went to leave my little till point, he reappeared once more, veins popping from his head. I was already edgy with the time as I had two exams for my electronics and discrete maths courses (part of my degree) and I wanted to make a quick exit. He said something along the lines of "Don't you dare move from there" and brandished the cash and the cat number one more time.

I thought I was trapped... I thought there was nothing I could do to this wanker until I typed the cat number into the till and God took a hand in the matter.

"Sorry Sir" I said.

"That's now out of stock".

Eyethenkewe.
(elfinpunk Touching Cloth Since, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 0:14, Reply)

I have no tolerance for stupid people.
To fill you in... I work for an electrical sales company... the biggest in Europe for that matter, and we provide the sales of Digital TV boxes. The UK is switching over the Digital TV as a standard and starting from 2007 (and ending in 2012) the old analogue TV will get shut off. Our shops can check availability of the signal of the area by a postcode, and then sell the boxes.

Here is a fairly accurate transcript of the phone conversation. It shows quite nicely how I argue with stupid people...

"Good afternoon, How can I help you?"
"I got the number, IM7..."
"WOAH THERE! What are you talking about?"
"For digital TV, IM7..."
"Slow down! You need a postcode check to see if you can get digital TV. Let me get to a terminal"

(Goes to a terminal in the office)

"Hello again, so what's the postcode?"
"IM7 2EN"
"Right, just so I'm sure, is the first part I - M for mother, or N for November?"
"IM7 2..."
"Hang on... is it M for mother or..."
"LISTEN!!!... IM7..."
"Stop! Please, is it M for MOTHER or N for NOVEMBER???"
"Tsk.... M for mother"
"Right, thank you... Right, it says that it's unlikely you'll get any digital TV in that area."
"BUT I BOUGHT THE BOX FROM YOU!!!"
"Erm... right..."
"And what happens in 2007 when the aeriel is shut off???"
"Er... did you check the postcode before you bought the box?"
"Yes! I used it here in Maidstone and it was fine, but I've given it to my parents in the Isle Of Man for a gift, and it doesn't work!"
"Right... and you didn't check the postcode for their place before you gave it to them?"
"That's right!"
"So... er... that's not our fault then, is it?"
"But what's gonna happen when you shut off the TV in 2007???"
"We're not shutting it off ourselves, we just sell the boxes."
"But you're a TV shop! So you're in charge of it!"
"No, the government is in charge of that, we have nothing to do with it."
"Well you're all the same!"
"No, we're a company that sells electrical products, we have nothing to do with the digital system."
"BUT YOU'RE A TELEVISION SHOP! OF COURSE YOU HAVE EVERYTHING TO DO WITH IT!"
"Stop shouting. I have no idea why you're having a go as us when WE HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH IT."
"SO WHAT HAPPENS IN 2007 WITH MY PARENTS TV???"
"Again stop shouting. Now, unless the government pulls their finger out of their backside and sort out the transmitter in their area, they'll have to go to satellite or cable TV."
"BUT I BOUGHT THE BOX FROM YOU!"
"And again, what does that have to do with us and the government shutting of TV?"
"YOU'RE A TELEVISION SHOP..."
"WE SELL CAMCORDERS TOO, DOES THAT MEAN WE CONTROL WHAT'S ON TV TOO??"
"Don't be silly!"
"Well, it's the same argument, isn't it, by your reckoning!"
"Erm..."
"Right madam, a simple yes or no... Do we, the shop and our company, control the country???"
"No."
"So what do we have to do with the government, who controls the transmitters?"
"Erm... nothing?"
"That's right! If you have a problem with the shutoff in 2007, then you take it up with them, not us!"
"Erm... sorry"
"THAT'S WHAT I WAS WAITING FOR! An apology"
"So who do I contact then?"
"Try the local council for that area, and find out what's going on with the transmitter."
"Erm... okay. Thank you. Bye."

(Click)

Cue hysterical laughter.
(Starglider is a rare breed of alien, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 0:05, 2 replies)

BALLS!
Selling school uniform this fine summer, the stocks of trousers rapidly deplete.

In walks Customer from Hell with Child from Hell, short and chubby.

(As you may or may not be aware, boys school trousers tend to increase in size by some weird exponential function, designed to prevent them fitting for anyone but about 6.8% of the population.)

And thus, Customer from Hell becomes increasingly exasperated at our pretty crappy selection of trousers, she starts turning on any shop assistants in sight:

'Why don't your trousers fit?!'
'Um, because the manufacturers don't send us every conceivable size' (That's code for, 'your kid is too short and fat')

Moments later, as child tries on latest pair of trousers:

'BALLS! The crotch is far too big for a boys balls! They look ridiculous!' etc.

Thankfully, she stormed out of the shop with fatty with the usual bollocks about never shopping here again. Shame really, we could have Specially Ordered the bloody trousers. Bint.
(Freeman999, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 23:58, 2 replies)

oh that movie!
me: Hello and welcome to HMV. How may I help you sir?
him: I'm looking for a Van Damme movie but I don't know the name of it.
me: Hmm.. Ok well describe it for me and I'll try my best.
him: It's the one where he hurts his finger.
me: ...
(KnackerDwarf, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 23:54, 7 replies)

Determined Old Lady Tale
Today at the till next to me an old (but by no means elderly) woman had, unusually, got round the shop, chosen the items she wished to purchase, placed these items in her basket, taken them to the checkout and they had all scanned, no trouble at all.

The problem occurred when it came to entering her PIN, the machine seemed to take it as being entered too soon, and she complained that the buttons weren't all working properly, highly doubtful thought I since it had functioned just fine for the last 4 hours I'd been working.

Anyway after a lot of people got held up the assistant assigned to help this poor woman endeavoured to ask whether or not she used glasses, a suggestion which was flatly rebuked. In fact she announced her PIN to the entire shop and invited the assistant to watch her put it in, when all of a sudden the problem became clear.

She hadn't noticed the top row of buttons (ie. 1 2 3) and instead had been pressing 4 instead of 1, 8 instead of 5 etc, hence why when she pressed 9 the machine took this to be her attempt at entering her PIN. When this was explained to her, she cried 'Oh, this is ridiculous, if I'd known how terrible your keypads are I'd have brought my glasses!' at which point the assistant walked off and I had to finish the transaction myself, trying desperately not to let loose a chuckle in her direction.
(sniffle is full of shit, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 23:50, Reply)

So many customers so little time...
Customer bought a CBR600RR sports bike from us, and four months later brings the bike back under warranty as it won't run, the battery is charged, it has plenty of petrol, their is no reason why the bike isn't running, we check everything in vain, so I call the customer, who swears blind he hasn't touched the bike in anyway and berates me for suggesting he may have caused the problem.

Days pass and we are having no luck at all with the bike, finally the workshop manager decides to check the bank angle sensor (think of it as an electronic spirit level, when the bike goes too far over it cuts the engine off) is functioning correctly, now he is clutching at straws at this point, but removes the front of the bike to check. only to find the sensor was bolted on upside down. We all listened in as he rang the customer and asked him if anyone had dismantled the bike, only to be told yet again that nobody had touched it.

only when dean started laughing and told him gremlins must have done it did the guy admit to messing with it.

total time taken to remove the front cowl and turn sensor right way up - 90 mins = £70 in labour.

total cost for saving face and not admitting you don't know one end of a spanner from the other?

£600.00..... and a voided warranty.

the really sad part was the sensor has an arrow and the word UP printed on it.
( evilamnesiac says fuck you Prince, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 23:30, 5 replies)

Theme park lolz
Once upon a time, when I was but a young whippersnapper who needed beer money, I worked as a ride monkey at a certain well known theme park. Said theme park shall of course remain nameless, except to say that it was located in the Staffordshire village of Alton and has a name that rhymes with Walton Bowers.

Anywho, the most popular rides on the park could take 8,000 riders per day, which is, of course, an exceptionally high number of customers, any one of whom could turn out to be a Grade-A bellend. In short, I saw hundreds of Customers From Hell. Per day. Most of the aggro would come from having to check kiddies heights, and subsequently refuse entry to little Tarquin or Julian if said rugrat was under the magic 1.4 metre mark. Every single day I worked on the entrance to a ride I would get at least 10 people whose kids had been refused entry and just couldn't comprehend that:

a) The height restrictions are there for the safety of your kids. As in, if I let your progeny onto the ride I can't guarantee that they wont die horribly and have to be scraped off some rocks with a fishslice!!!

and b) The park wasn't insured to take riders under the height restriction anyway and therefore there was absolutely no way I could be cajoled, bribed, nagged or threatened into letting little Timmy on "because it's his birthday". (Same applied to dwarves/ vertically challenged types/ little people/ Ronnie Corbett, although in fairness their frustrations were a bit easier to understand).

However, my genuine customer from hell wasn't irate about height restrictions, queue times or the extortionate entrance fee. In fact, he wasn't even angry at all...

Picture the scene, it's a baking hot summers day, the park is super busy, queues are very long, everyone on the park (staff and customers) are feeling a bit frazzled and tempers are short. I'm operating on the station platform of a very well known ride when this bloke comes up to me, mid thirties maybe, softly spoken, looks a bit peaky.

"Errr... you might want to send a cleaner up into the queue lines..." says he

"Don't worry mate", I reply, "we clean the queues at the end of every day anyway"

"Oh..." says white-faced man, opens his mouth as if to say something else, then changes his mind and takes his seat on the ride. Just then, some gobby old bird stood in the queue behind me poked me in the shoulder.

"'Scuse me mate! I got to tell you something about that guy that's just got on the ride!" she says, pointing straight at him. Peaky man squirms in his seat, but he's already strapped in, it's too late for him to go anywhere.

"What is it?" said I, at which point she leans in and recounts a tale the like of which I've never seen again.

The gist of it is, the queue was 90 minutes long, and the park operates a strict "no leaving the queue and then returning to the same spot" policy (too open to abuse, see). Old woman had been about 40 minutes into the queue, in a section of the queue area which goes up into some woods and is relatively secluded, with our white - faced chum about three people in front of her. Suddenly, he'd turned round and announced "Excuse me ladies and gentlemen... but... I have a bowel complaint and I don't want to lose my place in the queue."

Then dropped trou

Taken the top off a bin

Sat on it

And had a big, runny dump

In front of about 150 people

I think she wanted me to get him thrown out of the park, sadly her pleas fell on deaf ears as by the end of it I was laughing so hard the wee was almost running down my legs

Apologies for girth
(Smaug rocked out with his cock out on:, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 23:17, 1 reply)

Not me but an acquaintance
used to work in a biker pub in Newcastle, and had regularly to serve the local hard midget biker tosser. Any faint opaqueness in his pint (his opinion) resulted in him flinging said pint back across the bar and saying "I'm not drinking this shite".

The owner of the pub was used to this and warned the barstaff of this (i.e. duck), and fixed a plan to give this piece of wank his comeuppance.

Anyway, landlord had a Jack Russell which was an excellent ratter and used to bring his prizes into the back of the pub. So one day when gobshite turned up and asked for his usual, said landlord went out back and brought a fresh specimen of the dog's hunting and dropped it into his pint and served it to him.

"what the fuck is this?" said the gobshite.

"Sorry mate we haven't cleaned the pipes for a couple of weeks"

Gobshite then went straight outside and probably puked 2 weeks of beer into the street.

Rule. Don't fuck with the landlord.
(Dr Teeth Who asked you, you fuckin' hobbit?, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 23:05, Reply)

Barry the miserable bastard
Many years ago, when I worked in London, I worked in a sales office selling spares for air conditioning and general building services equipment – stuff like bearings, electric motors, air filters, small pumps, etc. We dealt with all the major maintenance companies around London and our equipment was used in pretty much all of the big buildings in and around the city.

One thing we didn’t do though was plumbing spares – none of us had the knowledge, and there was a small plumbers outlet round the corner from us where we used to send people.

Being an amiable sort, I used to get on pretty well with most of the customers. There was one guy though, Barry his name was, who used to really piss me off. He was just a miserable git, and rude with it.

One day he phoned up and asked if we had a threaded pipe connector. Explaining that we didn’t do plumbing, I mentioned the shop round the corner and he said he’d tried them already and they didn’t have one. Miserable fucker though he was, he was still a good customer and spent quite a bit of money; he was desperate for this to finish a job, so I said I’d go and have a look to see if we had any lying around and that if we did he could have one.

I called him back a few minutes later and told him that I’d found one – he was dead chuffed and said he’d be there in a few minutes. When he arrived I presented him with the connector.

He took it in his hand and exclaimed “This is a straight one! I need a right-angle elbow!”

My protestations of “You didn’t tell me that” were met with “This is no fucking good, it won’t fit!”, getting angrier and angrier – I pointed out that I was actually doing him a favour and supplying him with something we don’t actually sell, plus I was letting him have it free, at which point he slammed it back down on the counter and walked out.


Length? A couple of inches, but apparently it wouldn’t fit unless it was bent in the middle…
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 22:53, Reply)

But that's a girl's name!
Some of you may know that my real name is Kerry. As it mentions in my profile, many people have commented that they thought that was a girl’s name.

Back in my sales job in London (many years ago) I was talking to a customer on the phone and arranged to give her a call back once I’d found out some information for her. She was being quite abrupt and told me that she’d be calling me back if I hadn’t got back to her shortly. She then asked my name, and the conversation went something like this:

“What’s your name?”
“I’m Kerry”
“Kerry? That’s a girl’s name”
*sighs* “Well, no. It can be, but it’s a bloke’s name too”
“No, it’s a girl’s name”
“It’s really not, it’s unisex, like Lindsay or Lesley”
“Well, I’ve never heard of a bloke called Kerry. I’m sorry, but you’ve got a girl’s name”
“… Well, I’m a bloke, and I’m called Kerry – so now you DO know someone called Kerry who’s not a girl”
“Nope. You’ve got a girl’s name”
“Right, okay. Well I’ll get the information and call you back. I’ve got your number, what’s your name?”
“Chris”

At this point I really tried to restrain myself, honestly I did. Sadly, I couldn’t help myself and blurted out “THAT’S A BLOKE’S NAME!”

She hung up on me.

True professional that I am, I got the information for her… and then got a colleague to call her back with it.
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 22:51, 6 replies)

The power of the unions compels you!
I worked in Coventry for a while, and found a lot of my customers to be far more unpleasant than the ones I’d dealt with in London. Some of them were lovely, but there were many many jobsworths – people who wouldn’t sign for a delivery because they were about to go on a break so made you wait half an hour, that sort of thing.

One week, our driver was on holiday so I had to go out and do a few deliveries – not a problem, generally it was pretty cool to be out and about, and nice to meet some of the people I’d spoken to on the phone.

One of our customers was Dunlop – the tyre people – only here they made wheels. I’d actually been there on a visit so the guys there knew me.

One morning we had a delivery for them so I got to the warehouse and rang the bell of the door marked “Stores”. There was no answer, so I rang the bell again – and while I waited, peered through the door to the left of the Stores, to see the guys I dealt with sitting playing cards, obviously on a break. One of them looked up, caught my eye… and went back to the game. Annoyed, I decided to wait until their break was over, so put the delivery down and waited. After about 10 or 15 minutes a bell rang somewhere and everyone returned to work. The guy who’d caught my eye spoke to me as he went past, the others all ignored me. What did he say?

“Stores isn’t in there any more, you need to go round the corner and it’s at the end of the corridor on the left”

Why the fuck couldn’t he have told me that before? It would have taken him 10 seconds and saved me a quarter of an hour of waiting around like a lemon…

/rant
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 22:50, 1 reply)

Okay, here's one - since I can't get on b3ta at work, I'm going to post a few now...
...and this is the first!

I sold a CD to a girl on eBay a few years ago. She sent me the money but didn’t let me know her address, so I emailed her asking for it. After a couple of weeks of me emailing nearly every other day, she finally let me know her address so I posted the CD out that day.

She left me neutral feedback and said that delivery was slow O_o
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 22:49, Reply)

Another IT one.
I'm currently working in Tech Support for a very friendly ISP who get awards for such good customer support, but a few years ago my father (if you remember, his drunken dancing got into the newsletter a few months back) had trouble getting his internet working. He gave me a call one Sunday for help with getting on the internet to send some invoices to clients while I was at my friends house, with another friend and his little brother. My Dad uses me for help cos he doesn't know much, so I do his invoices and such, and in this instance I'd already crept out before he had time to ask.

I start explaining to my Dad why the internet isn't working, and he starts getting angry because he's clueless. Anyway, because friend's little bro is enjoying his toys he starts laughing, which sets me off, and therefore my Dad hangs up in a rage, saying I'm a disrespectful son.

Me and friends have a good laugh. He calls again in 10 minutes and we all crack up before I take the call. I explain about my friend's brother laughing at the toys, not that he listens, and more tech support ensues. I explain he just needs to unplug/plug back in the modem, and thats it. Brother starts laughing again...

So (and picture a broad Bolton accent here), he says "TAKE THE PISS OUT OF ME AGAIN YOU DISRESPECTFUL FUCKERS? I'll try again......OH! CONNECTION FAILED, JOB FUCKED, I'M OFF TO THE PUB!"


He didn't get in until 7am the following morning, invoices still hadn't been done either.
(peakofphysicalfitness, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 22:45, Reply)

Measure me that trampoline!
I once worked for a large, well known chain of toy-shops. In said shop, we sold trampolines. One of the trampolines we sold was 6ft in width. One day, a woman came up to me wanting to purchase a trampoline for her daughter. One of the criteria for this trampoline was that it was not too large for her garden. I showed her the 6ft wide one we had in stock. She then asked me if she could measure it. I assured her that it was 6ft, but she insisted on measuring the display model with a tape measure. It came out at 6ft. Upon scrutinizing the size to the nearest 16th of an inch, she decided it was "just right" for her garden, and bought it.

Two days later, she inevitably returned, claiming that we had given her the wrong trampoline. We showed her the trampoline was the right one, but she insisted the display model was the only one that was the right size, despite it being the same make and model of trampoline she had bought.

We reluctantly packed up the display model for her, and off she trotted, only to return again the next day claiming that our tape measure must have been faulty. She asked if we were SURE we gave her the right trampoline. I said yes I was sure, but in the we offered her a refund.

It's a shame really, her daughter probably ended up with no trampoline at all :(
( FreudianSlap, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 22:12, 4 replies)

I love my customers :/
Baked Beans Woman: POS states that the 4 packs of tins are on offer, not singles. Do not call me cocky when I have repeated over and over that you have read it wrong, you are dim, and it isn’t misleading. “Come in and see Management”, in other words fuck off and get a life because none of you EVER come back.

Custard Man: Signage has a pretty picture with “apple pie + custard” on it. This does not mean that they are on offer together. He then proceeds to march up and down outside the store glaring at us through the windows. He buys beer, sell by date must be read out to him, am I sure that’s right? No, I’m lying you arsehole. He still randomly glares at us through the windows. We are very patronising to him. He deserves it.

Bat in the Hat: Buys chicken salad sandwiches, doesn’t eat them, returns them for us to bin. (I know that she also has cupboards full of plastic bags, paper napkins and vinegar – I might feel some pity if she weren’t so rude, ignorant and didn’t have a permanent sneer!) I take great delight in serving her VERY slowly and being painstakingly polite. Hah.

Tosser in the Jag: Do NOT come and shout at the member of staff on the till because some helpful customer is refusing to move their car from the loading bay, leaving the delivery lorry parked on the side of the road. There is NOT traffic backed up for miles on the A4. I will remember your stupid personalised number plate and make sure I accidently-on-purpose key your car next time I see it. And don’t come in ten minutes later expecting wonderful service! Twunt. Forgot to mention that he later left his credit card behind, so we cut it up! He came in the following day and I got the pleasure of telling him it was no longer - the look on his face was priceless :D Heehee.

The Shoplifter and his Mother: Psycho bitch from hell, with arsehole son to match. He DID shoplift, I have CCTV evidence with a member of staff who saw him do it. I don’t give a fuck if it was only a 25p sweet, it’s still thieving! I know damn well the police have been round to your house to caution you and you ARE banned from the store, so don’t try and tell me otherwise! And getting Mummy to come and shout abuse at me in front of other customers and staff is not a good idea, especially when I phone boyfriend and Mother in tears who then go to look for said Psycho Bitch! Both banned now :D

Grrrs: People who don’t read the POS and then expect me to run around the store pointing out the fact that they have picked up the wrong thing and then expect it on the offer anyway.

I will not tolerate rude customers; it gives me great satisfaction to make you look like a rude, ignorant twat in front of other people who mostly have the decency to be polite.

I will squash your bread and ignore the pointed looks at the bags, fuck off and do it yourself.

I might work here, but I am not stupid. I am far more intelligent than most of you are anyway. And more polite! It’s not my fault you get served by other staff who ARE dim most of the time.

And paying with a £50 note when we’ve just opened? Sod off.

On the upside I do have lots of lovely customers who make up for all the shitty ones. Only this morning I was told how nice it was to be served by someone so articulate for a change. I’m wonderful me ;)
(Dregen, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 22:06, Reply)

Pearoast
A reposted story of how my mother was once the customer from hell... but the market stall deserved it.

-------

Near where my folks live in Hertfordshire, there's a big open air market that runs every Saturday on the old unused airfield. Complete mixture of everything - meat, vegetables, computer games, bags, crappy tools, phone unlocking. Probably half or more of the stuff on sale conveniently 'fell off the back of a lorry'. But by far the biggest single set of retailers are the clothes retailers. Never the same stock each week, whatever they can flog goes out on the racks.

As it happened, my mother and sister were looking for some jeans. Since trying them on wasn't exactly going to be possible, they did the best they could by holding them up against my sister and visually comparing - no size labels inside. They bought the jeans and got multiple assurances from the kindly indian gentlemen running the stall that if they didn't fit, they could get a full refund.

Quick walk home, try them on and they're too small. Walk back to the stall... and mysteriously, the nice gentlemen have forgotten their promise! No refunds are given ever, why on earth would we have told you you'd get a refund? We'd never do that.

They ask to change them for a pair of a different size instead, not an unreasonable request. Again denied. And speaking to the market manager/supervisor does bugger all - they don't interfere with transactions.

Unfortunately, when it comes to money and bargains, my mother is more stubborn than a truckload of mules. And she has nothing better to do on a Saturday.

Picture a terribly British little middle aged middle class woman standing in front of a clothing stall telling every single person who goes in that if there's a problem there's no exchanges or refunds. Picture said woman telling every single customer exactly what happened to her. Picture a very angry set of stall owners trying to get her to move on, and her ever-so politely pointing out in a voice that Hyacinth Bucket would be proud of, that she's not on their stall and is on public property. In a very busy market, with lots of passers by and witnesses. Picture several little throwaway comments about the bad quality of the stitching and the likelihood that the colours will fade.

Now picture that, with the woman in question keeping this up for *two hours* solid. During that time, the stall made about five sales total, and the surrounding stallholders kept bursting into giggles at random points.

Eventually, the stallholders cracked, and shoved some money into her hand and told her in no uncertain terms never to patronise their stall again.

The crowning jewel in this little ever so British protest was not the fact that she was mistakenly given £20 instead of the £10 she paid.

Nor was it the fact that she kept the jeans as well.

It was the fact that after shoving the money into her hand, the man turned round, and walked straight into one of the poles holding up the sign at the front with a very satisfying *CLONG*

It's surprising how effective making a scene can be. Not to mention how irritating a good bit of passive aggression is. Unsurprisingly, my mother views that day as one of her greatest triumphs. It's not often you get a triple whammy.
(calamarain just invented dehydrated water, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 21:50, 1 reply)

Another Hotel days experience
Our call-us-at-local-rate-from-anywhere phone number was almost, but not quite the same as the Samaritans.

I have nothing but sympathy for people who are at such a low that they need the Samaritans help, and even more for the people who then dial the wrong number.

Most people would go 'Oh. What's the right number?' and that would be that.

Not this one.

'Good evening, Hotel XYZ, Min speaking, how may I help?'

'Hello? Samaritans?' Well plainly, if you'd been listening, no.

'No, I'm sorry you have the wrong number. You need to call 1800-press-the-right-buttons'

'That's what I fucking dialled!' No, it isn't.

(still remarkably polite)'I'm sorry, this is Hotel XYZ, not the Samaritans. You need to dial 1800etc'

'Fuck you. How dare you. I rang the Samaritans and I need to speak to someone.'

(beginning to think this is a wind up)'I'm sorry, you have the wrong number, please dial 1800etc'. Hang up.

Phone rings again 'No, we're not the Samaritans' (Scans in phonebook for alternative number that doesn't closely resemble ours) 'why don't you try number xxx instead'

'What?! I'm not ringing that! That's not a local call it will cost me a fortune!'

She rings back. More of the same. 4 times in the next hour. Every time she rings, the correct number is given to her, and a shitbucket full of abuse is given in return.

I finished the shift shortly after and left the night porter to it. Poor bloke was new, and his english wasn't his first language so her drunken wailings confused him terribly. Possibly not as much as him speaking in Polish confused her though.

Length? I only managed just over an hour but it totalled nearly four, apparently...

*edit: for clarity, as well as some shocking typing.
(minlan no longer barks at bancleys, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 21:37, Reply)

Shop Work.
"Do you sell X"
"No Sorry."
"Well, you used to".

Well, the Jews used to be killed in gas chambers and black people were slaves. Things change.

'My photos on my CD havent been rotated'
(Now the index print shows all photos landscape regardless of orientation so they all fit in)
"That's odd, I remember doing it"
'Well it's not done, mate'
"I'll go and check on our server"
So I check. They're all fine.

'Oh'.


Power cut once, everyone loses their progress on our kiosks. All look at me as if I can reverse time. One actually screamed, we thought she was being attacked or something.

'Your machine has lost all my photos'
"Sorry, it's physcially impossible for it to do that, they are not programmed to make any changes to your media and the ports are not wired to be cable of writing"

Lo and behold they are saved in some really obscure file format..

Or people who don't understand how you cant fit a long picture they've cropped into a 6x4 print without losing someones head..
(The One That Time Forgot, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 21:20, Reply)

Dear oh dear................. where to begin?
I worked in retail for 9 years. In that time you come to despise the general public, mainly 'cause each one thinks they are the centre of the universe.

1)We had cash machines that kept breaking down (swallowing cards by shutting down and running a test cycle). SO I used to put up signs when they were particularly bad saying do not use out of order. Some silly twunt would come up puffing and inignant demanding we "get his card back cos that machine took it". Never mind that he took the O.O sign off himself.

2)We had a new girl on the CSD and a women comes up complaining that she has been charged for cottage cheese that she hasnt bought. This is very unlikely - the till doesnt make up stuff it has to come from somewhere. So the new girl asks to take a look at the womans shopping bags to try and work out what happened. The woman goes ape screaming a the girl and tips the bag upside down on the counter, shouting " I'm not stupid I know what I bought give me my money back!". A reduced tub of cottage cheese rolls out spins round ominously and stops in front of me. I hold it up to her in the manner of a lawyer demolishing a witness with a piece of evidence. Demanded an apology on the new girls behalf but didnt get one.

3) Your not supposed to sell more than 2 packs of paracetamol tablets to a single customer. This of course means there is nothing to stop them buying different lots through different cashiers. A couple came up with two trolley loads - whole price eventually came to around £400. Only prob was they had about 8-10 packs of paracetamol. I explained that legaly I couldnt sell them, the reason we were always told was thewt you needed to be apharmacist to sell them in large quantaties. Couple wernt happy so manager was duley sent for, who explaind the issue. The wife demands to buy them as she suffers from a lot of headaches and doesnt want to keep buying two at a time. Then she says if she doesnt get what she wants sh's leaving the entire transaction and shopping elsewhere. Manager decides to let them have them. As she walks away I scan them and the guy pays up. "I fucked your guvnor royally" he gurns. I hand his reciept back and point out that a) the store had just sold £400 worth of goods. b)if they had walked off we would have had to put all that shopping back c) if they did decide on a joint suicide pack I dont think anyone was going to shed a tear.

4)The guy who came in one xmas eve about ten mins before the store shut and asked where our turkeys were. I explained that we had none left, the guy then launchs in to one. "what fuckin use is that?" he asks. I explain that we dont get any more deliveries about 3 days beforehand because if they dont sell before xmas they end up being reduced to pittence after. "Thats no good" he cries " its bad management!" and storms out.
What this guy thought was that at last knockings on xmas eve we would have amountain of turkeys left and we would be selling them off cheap. Im guessing egg and chips all round at his the next day.
(chud1981, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 21:01, 4 replies)

It Was
The Glastonbury Festival, and well, I used to live three miles away in a place called Wells (Home to the hot fuzz film), In my earlier days I used to work a Male House Keeper.

And around glastonbury festival times we used to get famous people staying (One year it was Oasis, The Next Year Was Annie Nightingale the Radio 1 DJ).

Well this year, a DJ whos partner is Lard stayed in our best room, he was a nice fella, liked a good meal, lots of beer and kebabs from the local meat house.

I used to tidy his room, and sometimes I noticed a smell, there was also a smell in the bar downstairs, being late June, it was baking Hot, The Smell Getting Worse, We just used more and more air freshners, but alas the smell got really bad, infact a few regulars were sick, it was that putrid.

He left to go back to whether he lived, this was at the end of the festival, a couple days later.

I had to clean the room that day and as I went to that room, the smell hit me like a slap in the face...

I had a thorough inspection, and checked the bed etc, I opened the drawers of the bed to find not 1 but FIVE bags of Shit!!!! Runny Diahrroea, I Barfed.... What a Fucking Spacktard... He Defintaly Was the customer from Hell!!!


Length.... If it was solid, about 20ft
(BigKahuna I Like to Pooh a Lot, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 20:45, 2 replies)

Yes, come in...
The best I ever heard was a workmate who was sick and tired of double glazing tele sales pestering him. So he aggreed to a couple of reps appointments which went ahead as follows...
First rep was met by a raving looney who went into a complete rage, saying he'd removed his rotten wooden windows and waited in all yesterday for the fitting team who never showed up. So he's only just put them all back in again and continues to pretend to throw a fit. The rep just backed away whilst apologising.
Second rep was led into the house and ushered into a very cramped utility room. Where he was asked to measure-up and quote for the washing machine window in all seriousnous. How he kept a straight face I'll never know?
They still tickle me and I believe he's never been troubled since.
(minky, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 20:38, Reply)

It
seems as though a lot of Customers From Hell are of the stinky variety. The worst one I had thankfully always wanted the same fags, at the same time every other day, and he always paid with a £20 note. The first time he came in I had no idea and actually vomited out the back. Over time, I learnt to hold my breath just as he came in, have his fags and change ready on the till, and keep holding it until he'd left the shop. Probably killed a few brain cells doing it but it was better than smelling it.

Oh, and then there were the fat smelly sweaty taxi drivers who would keep a bum bag tucked under the belly fold like a little Joey and fish out slightly damp notes when they paid for their petrol. That was always good fun.
(GONEism, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 20:30, Reply)

And speaking of overhearing things
There's this old couple who come in every day. They're as hamless as can be. They usually spend the morning reading the paper together and then toddle off to the nearby cafe. For tea and cake I assume. Anyway, one morning I'm in the local studies library and there's just me at my desk and this old couple sat at the table opposite. All of a sudden the man leans over to his wife and whispers waaay too loudly:

"What's the difference between an unlawful killing and a murder?"

Can't....stop...posting...I need to cut my hands off or something.
(GONEism, Tue 9 Sep 2008, 20:12, 3 replies)