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This is a question Customers from Hell

The customer is always right. And yet, as 'listentomyopinion' writes, this is utter bollocks.

Tell us of the customers who were wrong, wrong, wrong but you still had to smile at (if only to take their money.)

(, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 16:42)
Pages: Latest, 24, 23, 22, 21, 20, ... 1

This question is now closed.

I have a cousin…

Or ‘cuz’ as I call him (because I’m ‘in with the kids’)

His name is Thomas...

Right, so I’ve got ‘Cuz-Thomas’


He’s from…erm

Oh bollocks to it. Even I’m fucking pig-sick of it now.

*issues formal public apology*

*joins queue for jumping into black hole – Should one be created…which it won’t*
(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 16:29, 3 replies)
Thanks, bakerloo boy
for reminding me of a lovely customer.

I'd been on the phone with this narky old bag for the best part of 30 minutes. She'd made her point, and I had pointed out where she was wrong. We were going around and around in the same circle, me trying to explain that it isn't my fault if you're too lazy to read the letters we send you. Then, salvation was mine ..

"riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing " went the fire alarm.

I explained to her that the fire alarm was ringing and I would have to end the call in order to evacuate in a safe and timely manner (read:saunter casually out of the door and wait for the Fire Brigade to tell us that the canteen staff have burned the toast again).

She dared me to hang up! Told me she would "have my job" (why do they all yell this? If they want it that badly, they can have it, but the money's pretty crap and the office is always cold!) if I hung up. So, being a reasonable soul, I hung up.

She never rang back - although my boss sending her a letter telling her that the contract was cancelled and never to contact us again may have helped!
(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 16:26, Reply)
I was possibly the customer from the outskirts of limbo
Not hell, not even near really, but it's a true story.

The phone on the desk next to mine rang yesterday. I picked up:

"XXXXX company, Che speaking,"

"Is that Neil Davis?"

"No, sorry, he's left the company."

"Ah, maybe you could help."

"Maybe, what did you want to speak to him about?"

"Well, I'm calling from XXXXX company and I wanted to speak to him about some marketing shit (may not be actual words)"

"Ah, I'm afraid you've come through to the wrong Neil Davis phone. This one didn't work in marketing, unfortunately, the other Neil Davis has also recently left the company and I've no idea who you should speak to."

"Right. OK. Thanks. Can you transfer me back to the switchboard?"

"Sorry, we've got these new phones, and I haven't really got the hang of them yet."

"OK, never mind."

"Right, well, bye."

I did feel I was a bit less than helpful, but at least we both remained polite and friendly.

Probably wasn't very important anyway.
(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 16:15, Reply)
At least it was a brief encounter...
I’d just started a shift in the call centre, and my first call of the day came through. The call centre had a clever system whereby the telephone number calling was recognised by the computer and brought up the customer’s account. We were required to get details from the caller to ensure they were the account-holder; their full name and account password, usually.

“Good morning, you’re through to Vodafone,” I said, as cheerfully as is possible when 10 hours of your day will be spent in front of a flickering CRT, absorbing abuse and fury. “Can I take your full name please?”

I could see the caller’s name, Mr Ray Dimmock*.

“It’s Mr Dimmock.” said a curt Lancashire accent.

“Sorry – could I have your *full* name?”

“It’s Mr Dimmock!” was barked, in an irked tone.

“Yes, thank you – but I do need to have your full name; your first name, as well, please – for security reasons…” I explained.

“It’s FUCKING MR. DIMMOCK YOU DOPEY COW!” assaulted my eardrums, before he abruptly terminated the call.

I accessed the account to write up the call, and saw notes from previous CSRs explaining that “Cust can be abusive. He has apologised for this. It’s a medical condition and he can’t help it.”

I felt sorry for him in a way – he’d have to go through the queue again, presumably to be met by the same hurdle. What must it be like to be so pointlessly angry all the time?

I wish it was always that easy to get rid of awkward customers.

(* name changed to protect the terminally irate)
(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 16:13, 1 reply)
Jesus H!
Dear BBC

Why o why, in an otherwise enjoyable QOTW, am I frequently dissapointed to learn that the post I've just read has been a long winded set up for a pun, a bad pun. A. Shite. Pun. For fucks sake. I mean, fuck! Fuck Fuck Fuck. Stop it.

Major Cheeses (retired)
(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 15:46, 19 replies)
How could I forget this?
I work for a software company and we take quite a few calls every day. One of my favourites is:

*Ring* Hello?
"Hello, It's *company* I've got *name* for you."


So you call me up, and expect me to hold?


Are you really that lazy that you can't pick up the phone and call our number yourself? I'd understand if it was hard to get through, but only 5 people or so work here for god's sake, and the person who picks up the phone is usually the one you want to speak to.
(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 15:39, 1 reply)
Oooh you've just reminded me. I don't know if others can vouch for this but when I did my bomb/fire warden training, the only thing I remembered was the line "you can say or do whatever you want in order to get them out the building". Oh the purest of pure joys.

I usually save my vitriol for the morons who stand right next to the building during a fire alarm, because apparently fire is agoraphobic and would simply stop at the front door.

"As much as it would make me smile to see you roast like a cheap Tesco Value chicken, I get a frowny face on my performance review if I leave you to die, so would you kindly fuck off very far away? Thanks."
(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 15:37, 1 reply)
I've had my fair share....
...of customers from hell. I used to work for a Sheffield based ISP that may or may not sponsor a local team that plays in blue and white.

Now as I worked in one of the Tech Support teams, you could be guaranteed that 99.999% of customers who called were going to be pissed off for one reason or another.

Some examples of the mouth breathing offspring of a retarded mongoose that I had to deal with are as follows:

One guy who calles up and advised that his internet wouldn't work, I went through all of the standard diagnostics and came to the conclusion that the problem was a line fault and needed to be reported to BT, he kindly informed me that this made sense and could it possibly be something to do with the telegraph pole outside of his house that had blown over??

An old lady who was somewhat hard of hearing and kept telling me not to get too technical on her when running through tests, the fact that I was only asking her to advise whether or not the lights on her router were on or off was irrelevent. (It turned out that she didn't have the router plugged in, this was apparently the fault of the company!) Once the issue was resolved she kindly told me to "Go Fuck Myself" before putting the phone down. (Normally I would be offended, but theres something about old people swearing that makes me chuckle!)

Numerous people called up complaining about their internet service, but funnily enough I couldn't find their details on the system. The conversation generally went something along the lines of:

Me - "Are you sure that we are your ISP"
Them - "Of course I'm, bloody sure you idiot, what do you take me for?"

swiftly followed by:
"I've been with BT/Orange/AOL for years!".
Me - "Ah but sir/madam/cocknose, this is P**N**, not BT/Orange/AOL".
Them - "Oh right. Well in that case put me through to BT/Orange/AOL!
Me - ????

My all time favourites were the people who thought that they were the uber god of all technology, whose infinite knowledge of all things technical gave them the right to come across as cocky bags of shite who generally treat us as total bastards. (I used to make up technical sounding terms and talk complete bollocks and they would nod and agree with everything that I said which basically showed them to be the complete Fucktards that they were).

One particular guy that I remember came through to me complaining that he could not access the setup page of his router, he was convinced that the router was faulty and wanted to return it:

Me: What appears to be the problem Sir?

Fucktard: Well this shitty router that you have sent me won't work

Me: In what way sir?

FT: It just won't work, I've tried everything!

Me: Please can you be more specific about the problem? Have you configured the router at all?

FT: No, I just plugged it in and tried to get onto the Internet but it won't let me

Me: Well sir, you need to configure the router before you can connect to the internet

FT: What? Aren't you supposed to do that? I've paid for this and I expect it to work, I work with computers every day, I'm the Managing Director of XYZ computers and I'm a software developer and I've never had to do this before!

Me: (Trying to stay polite) Well sir, I'm unsure of what equipment you have used in the past, but to use this equipment you need to configure it with your username/password etc.

FT: For god's sake! Right, tell me what to do then

Me: Well sir you need to type in the IP address of your router into an Internet Browser

FT: Duh! How the hell can I? I can't connect to the internet!

Me: Sir, you do not need to be connected to the internet to access your router

FT: Ok whatever, so how the hell do I find out what the IP address of the router is?

Me: Well sir, the IP address can be found in the literature that came with the router, but if you can tell me the make I will be able to tell you the default IP address.

FT: It's the grey one that you sent me

Me: Sir you need to be more specific, we supply many different types of router

FT: Fine give me a minute

(5 minutes later)

FT: It's a Belkin

Me: OK sir, the IP address that you need to type in is

FT: Is that in upper case or lower case?

Me: Excuse me?

FT: Are you deaf? Is that in U.P.P.E.R C.A.S.E or L.O.W.E.R C.A.S.E!?

Me: Sir, it's a number.

FT: Don't get smart with me, which is it?

Me: Sir, numbers do not have upper and lower cases....


I never found out whether he got his router setup...I hope not!

Apologies for length - I spent a mind numbingly boring year there dealing with some of the most moronic customers I have ever had the misfortune to encounter before I got away...I'll post the stories from my current job another time!
(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 15:35, 8 replies)
Call Centre Woes
Whilst working in a call centre I've spoken to some right cunts, to name but a few:
Called up and insisted that I insure her 17 year old daughter on our 7 day drive away policy after the other 3 people she had spoken to said no, and also refund her for the time she had been on hold all those times. I said nay, your daughter would have to be the owner and keeper of the car before we were able to insure her. She kicked up a fuss and was insistent that we were conning her into taking an insurance policy, which we wasn’t, we just wanted you to fuck off. If she had listened to the recorded messages and also to the advisors that told her the insurance would only cover the owner and their spouse. But no, we were still conning. At this point I went to get my manager, who listened back to the call back she had been told at the beginning and end of the call yet when asked if she was happy with this she confirmed in the affirmative., So our attitude was, well fuck her and left her to sort her own shit out.
Then was the "gentleman" who yet again believed we were conning him, I informed him that he was more than welcome to get his own insurance on his new Mundaneo (oops gave the company away) yet he didn't want to do this and insisted that we still go ahead and do this. once I gave him the price he laughed and said "well that was pointless". So I asked if he wanted the reference number (the garage asks for this in order to match up paper work, why the fuck they can't use registration numbers fuck only knows. I guess car dealers are thick as shit [I’m sure there are some clever ones but the ones I have come across in my job makes me didn't fill me with confidence]) Anyway, he didn't have a pen and didn't want to type the number into his mobile phone so I said "well it will be on your paperwork anyway" to which he swore at me an hung up. Now, This was the biggest mistake ever, as I hadn't yet closed the file on the computer so could still fuck him up. I went back into the quote, I changed his reg number to "AR53 OLE" on the paper work, didn't bother sending it either. I was going to leave it at that but then I thought, no fuck it he was that rude to me so I closed the file on the computer. Then did a copy of his old file, making the old one inaccessible. Then closed the new one without any details in it. Basically he would have got to the garage to up his brand new wank-mobile. To be asked for proof of insurance on the vehicle. (They didn't have to get insurance though us they could just carry their old insurance over onto the new vehicle from their old one) He wouldn’t have had this so the car wouldn’t have been taxed, so he would have had to call us up on one of our busiest days (sometimes we had over 120 people queuing to talk to us, today was one of these days) only to be told he had to waste another 10 minutes because his other file appeared to be corrupt. Yes, it did make me feel both big and clever.
Now its not all bad, I have some lovely customers, but these are about the customers from hell, when there is a nice customers one I will regale you about how lovely some human beings are etc etc.
Then there was the paedophile who called to get his seven days, part of the general insurance questions are “Have you, or any named drivers have or had any criminal convictions, spent or unspent”
This guy started laughing and I asked him why it was funny, he then had to move to another room and tell me that he has been convicted of producing and distributing child pornography” Which I find violently sick and he finds funny. To which I reply “We don’t insure nonces” and hung up on him. I still have his address if anyone wants it.
Now a few general tips when calling call centres:
We understand you are angry, we understand why you would be so. You don't need to shout at us, it makes us less inclined to help you out, in fact, it will make us flat out refuse to speak to you.

If you hear the line go totally silent like and you can’t even hear that call centre din you can usually hear in the back ground, we have our fingers over the voice tube of the headset and are swearing about you to the people around us cause you are being a) a complete and utter cunt and need to vent b) you’re a retard who shouldn’t be allowed to drive a car or c) you sound funny and we want to give our mates a laugh. Yea we could put you on hold while we do this however, if you are on hold and we talk about you we are still recorded.

If we put you on hold for more than about 15 minutes hang up, we don’t want to talk to you anymore.

Anyone who even dare utter the line “I pay your wages” Will be met with the line “You don’t pay me enough to speak to people like you” and promptly hear the phone go dead

But before anyone starts “you’re what is wrong with call centres” you can all fuck right off, if you are pleasant and courteous I will be more than happy to help you. Yesterday I gave up my lunch to help a lady who's son had forgot to cancel his breakdown cover on his van when he went out to Iraq, but it had come out of her account. I got her a refund for the full amount with no calcelation fee.

There are more but will post later if I get time

P.S. To any call centre managers reading, if your advisor has told a customer we won’t give them a refund, then they ask to speak to you, Do not fucking undermine us and give them the refund anyway. They forgot to cancel their insurance they are at fault. Don’t make me look like a dick and expect me to want to his your wankpottery targets, it ain’t going to happen. Cunstab
(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 15:28, 6 replies)
Seasonal shoppers
Late night opening in my old workplace for christmas, and the fire alarm starts ringing in the [closed] shop next door. Ignore this, as it's quite common.

Temp comes out of the stockroom calling me, saying I should check out our stockroom, whilst I've got a queue at the till snaking to the other end of the store. I swap with the temp, and wander into the stockroom... to find a distinctly smokey smell and thin wisps of grey coming from underneath the fire door joining us to our neighbours.

Returning to the shop floor, I advice staff and customers that there appears to be a genuine fire next door, and would everyone mind leaving the building in a quick, quiet and safe manner.

Customer: Can I just pay for my stuff first?
Me: No, we're shutting the store right now, so you'll have to leave anything not yet purchased and make your way outside with the rest of the staff and customers
Customer: But I can't get back into town to buy these
Me: Well madam, I'm leaving now, as are the rest of my staff. You're welcome to wait in the building if you like, but our stockroom's currently filling with smoke and if the fire brigade don't arrive soon, it's not looking good for you is it? So, are you going to stand here at an unmanned till, or...?

I got a snide look and a loud harumph from the fat bint, and several grins from my staff :D
(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 15:27, 1 reply)
I had this friend
Called Cuss. He was into, you know, dark gothy stuff, like hell and that. He had this friend called Tomer who he claims was from the nether world.

That's right folks, that was the time I proclaimed...

"Please stop with the puns before I slide live tarantulas into my anus to take my mind off the unbearable psychological damage they are doing to me!"
(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 15:22, Reply)
Arf! Arf!
I was working as a vetinary assistant and one day Gareth Hale... you know, him off Hale and Pace... came in with his dog.

This thing was a mongrel, not the best-looking animal I've ever seen. Anyway, turns out it was quite unwell as it had a cancerous growth somewhere inside. Operation required.

So I booked the poor mutt in and all went well. Gareth came back to pick him up and as 'part of the service' the vet had sealed up the growth in a plastic disposal bag and given it to him.

On his way out with his dog, Gareth turned to me, crossed over to the reception desk, grabbed a felt-tip pen and signed his autograph on the bag.

"Here you go mate" he said, handing me the bag.

And that's my cur's tumour from Hale story.

I know. I hate myself.
(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 15:18, 1 reply)
Drifting off topic slightly...
"Good morning, Dover Library, *me* speaking, how can I help?"

"Hello, it's *someone* from the contact centre here. I have a call for you".

Well yes, the ringing phone had already suggested that notion to me.
(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 15:11, Reply)
A long one
My grandad always told me about his time in the war, and this one particular time strikes me as particularly relevant.... Well, sort of, but stick with me. It's rather long, and possibly not worth it, but here we go.

When he was a Desert Rat in Egypt, him and a few others from his battalion had managed to get themselves well and truly lost in the desert. They had been split up by an earlier 'altercation' with Jerry, and had made a dash for it rather than get caught by the Nazi scourge, forcing them to get completely and utterly lost and without much ammo.

Being the enterprising young things that they were, they puckered up all their pre-Ray Mears knowledge of navigation that they could and attempted to make their way back to the allied front line, and hope they didn't get shot in the process. Simple.

Simple that is, except that fairly soon after they'd crossed a particular set of dunes they looked up, there before them was a whole battalion of the Duetsche Afrika Corps. Hitlers own sandy bastards standing there right in front of them, guns pointed and from what my grandfather says, looking particularly likely to win, given the numbers.

What could they do? any attempt to run would surely mean certain death. Any attempt to fight would mean certain death. All options led to certain death at this point, so they just stood. They just stood standing there, waiting for the inevitable, staring at their own deaths with an eery tranquility that lasted an age.


Came a cry from behind a line of would be killers.


This time quieter. A thick German accent made it's way through the air, and it's owner finally appeared on horseback between two of the wielded guns.

'Vat do vee haf here zen? Four little piggies all on zeir own, how sad.'

What appeared to be clearly a German officer stepped down from his horse and looked my grandfather and his bedraggled fellows up and down for a while, he turned to whisper something at one of his compatriots, and they both laughed for a second, before he ran off into the crowd.

'You know, I haf had enough of ze killing we are so often seeing zese days, perhaps we could help you out a bit no?'

There was more snickering from a few soldiers, and all of a sudden the first soldier reappeared with a camera on a stand. By this time, my grandad and co were getting a bit anxious, and were all starting to think of home.

'I vill make you a deal. You must entertain us enough, and ve vill let you go. You can run along home to your mothers now ya?'

My grandad was having none of it. He suggested to the officer that they would die anyway, no matter what they did.

'Please. My name is Erwin, and there is no man higher than me here. If I say you go, you can go. All I require is a little picture, a postcard if you vill, to send to my dear comrades back in ze Fatherland. Won't one of you provide ziss to save your friends?'

Quick as a flash, the youngest of the four stepped up. Visibly shaking, he offered that he would do it. He didn't care, he wanted an end to this and the sooner the better. After a bit of banter between the four, with all but the young man saying they would be killed no matter plus they didn't know what evil little concoctions they had in store for him, they gave in. The young man was going to do whatever they wanted to get them out of there.

'How very brave of you. Come here'

The young man stepped toward the officer.

'Now. Kiss my horse!'

my grandfather and co were stunned. He wanted this man to kiss his horse, passionately on the lips whilst they took picture after picture and laughed incessantly at the poor young lad. He said it was the most bizarre moment of the war, or anything for that matter, thinking they'd gone mad in the heat. To his credit the young lad didn't think twice about it, and passionately embraced the horse, it what even my grandad said was quite a comedic outing, then once finished turned to the officer to demand that he uphold his end of the bargain. The officer could hardly speak as he was bent double trying to stammer out a sentence through his tears of laughter.

'Go. Go get out of here! Horse fucker!' Came the reply from the German.

With that they set, quick as lightning, without looking back. Eventually making it back to their camp after hourse of weary travel, with much merriment from their battalion. After explaining their bizarre experience to the rest of their friends and, with the help of a few American allies, deciding on the loving future name of 'Seabiscuit' for the young lad who'd bravely got them out of the brown stuff, one Lancashire fellow piped up.

'Fu' fooks sake. What you say that off'cers name were?'

'Erwin' was the reply. 'He said he was called Erwin'

'Christ Almighty' he exclaimed. You know what he's gone an' done don't ye?'


'That's right. He Kissed a Mare fu' Rommel'........

I am so, so sorry.....
(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 15:10, 3 replies)
Currency brokers
..cos we're a small company, registered at company house, with one phone line, we often get USA based brokers ringing us up, trying to convince the MD (who sits opp. me - there's two of us (and sounds similar, bear with me) ) of our multinational conglomerate (yeah right) to exchange currencies via them.

Thing is, they all have this awful arrogant manner. They assume that the first person they speak to (me or the MD) is a receptionist.

Consequently, I behave like one, but one on their last day, who does not give a fuck.

I have a bad feeling the customer from hell might be me.
"MD, please"
"Who's speaking?"
"..which is?"
"Look just put me through to the MD"
"..is he expecting the call?"
"Is the MD in?"
"Tell me what you want and I might put you through"
"Don't you speak to me like that you goddamn phone monkey!!!"
"Phone monkey? I beg your pardon? I'm working, you're cold calling from the States, and you call me a phone monkey?"
"Fuck you, you're answering the phones, how much do you earn? Not much I reckon, answering your own phones like that, you arsehole."
"Look, I work here, I've got a Ph.D, an easy job and nothing to prove, I don't cold call, who's the phone monkey?"

....Slams phone down

I was out later that week, and my colleague/MD took a call, the contents of which were

"You fucking bastard cunt" (repeated for 5 mins)

Apols. I must have got under his skin.
(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 15:09, 3 replies)
The Customer (Services Officer) from hell.
Matt is a CSO. He's also my bestest best friend. He's also an idiot. I'm not going to litter QOTW with individual posts, I'll just do a "best of" here.

- We have a cupboard with servers and stuff in. For reasons I never probed, Matt calls it his "cupboard of pleasure".

- I once went to relieve someone on the enquiry desk. Matt turned around and said "well, I'll just have to relieve myself then!" (with giggles). Thinking about it for moment, he then adds, "Maybe I'll do it in my cupboard of pleasure!". There were two women waiting to be served by him at this time.

- An wee girl of African appearance came up to Matt, crying that she'd lost her mum. Matt gets on the tannoy. "Would the owner of the little coloured girl please come and get her from the counter". He genuinely didn't believe this was offensive.

- Sauntering up to a young girl he'd taken a shine to and saying "You'd make someone a lovely wife". Again, no idea when it comes to taboo. I think his head is trapped in 1930.

- Coming up to me in the Reference library (the only bit of the library where we can still tell you to shut the fuck up) and declaring loudly "did you know a pig an orgasm for 30 minutes straight? God, I wish I was a pig!".

If I think of any more I'll post them. He's a nice man really. And single, believe it or not.
(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 14:46, 3 replies)
The customer is a twat.
I know call centre folks get a bad rep, but it can't always be their fault. Take for example the lovely young lady who I was put through to when ringing British Gash - she was polite and helpful and managed to fix my problem despite her badly-concealed snorts of laughter. And it wasn't her fault that I was unexpectedly put through after twenty minutes on hold, and was paying so little attention at that stage that I continued my impromptu "British Gas employees drink monkey jizz" song (to the tune of the hold muzak - a pan-pipe version of Greensleeves or somesuch I think) for two more verses before realising that someone had finally answered.
(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 14:05, 8 replies)
Vile, worthless, scum.
A few years ago I used to work in a nightclub and as I wouldn't finish work until 4am most nights, the club would pay for my cab home.
I'd usually be driven home by the same man. Let's call him Sam.

Over the course of a few months I got to know Sam quite well. Our conversations would often begin with me asking "been busy tonight then?" (What is it about getting into a cab that makes me what to ask that question?!)
He'd ask how my night had been and I'd listen to stories about his family and how he found his job stressful at times because it meant time away from his daughter and pregnant wife. But as he put it "It's a job, I've got bills to pay and mouths to feed."

Sam hadn't been to pick me up in a week or so I was shocked when I got in his car one night to see him sporting a rather fetching black eye and a broken nose.
I asked him what had happened and he told me.

He'd been working on a Friday night in Watford and was taking home four pissed up "lads." They'd all had far too much to drink and one of them was sick in the back of the car. So, Sam stopped the cab, told them to clean it up or get out. He can't work for the rest of the night if his car smells like vomit.
I thought this was quite reasonable, they on the other hand didn't. Their response to Sam's request was to call him "a fucking stupid paki." (His parents are from Sri Lanka but he was born and raised in Hertfordshire, so slightly off the mark there boys.)

They then proceeded to beat him and smack his face into the steering wheel before smearing the remnants of their kebab and chips all over the place before doing a runner.

My reply of "WHAT THE FUCK!!" Was met with a shrug and the words "It happens."

I am aware things like this happen every day, but that does not make it ok. To those boys in Sam's cab. You are worthless pond scum. You are a disgrace to humanity and I hope you feel completely ashamed of the way you acted.
(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 14:05, 8 replies)
Going back a long way here...
Here's a top tip for anyone who wishes to avoid being a Customer From Hell; A name-badge is not an open invitation for you to use that name.

In my time I've had a few jobs which have come with a sparkly name-badge. Not a problem in itself (I even coped with having no stars on one of them). What I did have a problem with was the occasional pompous arse who'd come in, eye the name-tag and instantly begin "Good afternoon Costas, yes you can help me Costas, what I'm looking for, Costas, is a pair of shoes. Are you following me, Costas? Now Costas, they need to be size ten. Got that, Costas? Now Costas, they also need etc" and so on for the duration of the visit.

DON'T. I have no idea why some jobs need name-badges, beyond letting the customer know who to report in their complaint (which makes the name-badge feel like something of a bulls-eye). I don't know about anyone else, but I always felt strangely violated by this. And not in a good way either.
(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 13:31, 12 replies)
A cheeky pearoast from me...
For a short, unhappy time, I worked for Abbey (then National), just as they were taking over the N&P. So I started at an N&P branch, where they had open counters.

A very angry man came in, bypassed the queue of people and marched up to my counter. He shouted, "Do you mind fucking telling me why my fucking card doesn't work in your fucking machine?" At this point, he rudely flicked the card across the counter and it slid to a halt right in front of me. Whilst he continued to rant and rave, and everyone in the branch watched and waited, I looked at the card and had one of those glorious moments of impending victory.

When he had finished swearing, I pushed the card back across to him with the tip of my pen and said sweetly (but very loudly), "Sir, this is your BT chargecard. Perhaps you'd like to try your cashcard instead." To his credit, he blushed and said, "I look like a bit of twat, don't I?" I just smiled.
(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 13:29, 1 reply)
Not exactly MY customers......
Im studying a BTEC at college, theatre production for those interested. It seems to attract the inbreds of society. I have just met the new first years, and for what its worth these "customers" of the college, are from hell.

Phil- Inflate a grossly overweight man, you get phil. Is apparently "gods gift to the theatre" and "all my shoes have steel toe caps, i bet yous dont". I died a little that day. Oh, who on first day asked if anyone else was a cross dresser!?!

Duane- The cross dresser, i've already put up with him for a year, but today he came in as a man (thank fuck, there is nothing worse than having to endure 2 hours of a 25 year old annoresic dressed as a schoolgirl, pigtails n all.) He was however wearing 7 belts, up his torso.....

New first year girl- When asked for an interesting fact "i like looking for ghosts".... then proceded to meditate (imagine cliche meditation, legs crossed, fingers poised) for 45 minutes, in silence.

Lucy- Grossly overweight, stinks to high heaven, windows are opened, by lectures, when she enters a room, who as she puts it "is shit at everything and im a bitch"

Laura- Wolfmans sister, WORRYINGLY hairy, comically ugly, wears spandex trousers, boots and winnie the pooh puffer waistcoats.

Alex- Aptly nicknamed, "dancing queen", because of his insane obsession with dancing around college, and playing seasons of love on any piano he happens to dance past.

Paul- Typical weirdo, asked girl for phone number, with added "but look i can do the robot" then proceded to have, what we thought was a seizure.

Lee- The goth, whose devised acting peice began with "KILL ALL THE CHILDREN"

Hannah- My stalker, didnt really have a fear of her until during an interval of a performance when I was FOH, points at me and shouts "HIM" to all of her mates who then stare at me for a good 15 minutes. "Faints" whenever im close enough to notice, recovers quickly when i casually step over her and wander off.

Seb- Thinks he is jhonny depp, dresses as captain jack, complete with compass and key to davy jones's box....

Carl- Err, ok, i dont want to wear out my keyboard, so lets go with, once ran out of theatre cyring to the head of department that my mate kicked him in the balls "quote". It was said mates day off..... Hes a little bit "special"

Oh god its going to be a long year, i wish i was lying, i really do, but because of age/ college, most of these people have Myspazzes and Facebooks for proof of lunacy. I just hope my lectures dont hang themselves, becasue i've been bloody close!

2 Years long, the majority 3 ft wide....
(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 13:22, 4 replies)
Nearly forgot this one
So, I had been working in the library for about 6 months and I had been promoted to the dizzying heights of "person on enquiry desk". This was normally only for the managers so I was rather chuffed at being entrusted to be able to deal with such things as customer complaints, payments for damaged stock and whatnot.

So there I am, on enquiry desk, master of all I survey. There were 3 public computers in use to the left of my desk. I casually take a brief glance at them all. Myspace, Yahoo mail, picture of Naomi Campbell in her underwear. All pretty usual stuff (we have naughty filters on the computers, and I hardly think a pouting Ms Campbell in her kecks is really porn). So I turn away and start doing some other work. About 10 minutes later I look round again - Myspace (different page), Yahoo (different page), same picture of Naomi Campbell. This strikes me as odd, since there's no writing on the page. Why on earth would this person have the same picture up for 10 minutes?

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck no.

My eyes sheepishly move down to look at his lap. He has a coat across his lap. One hand under the coat. Coat moving up and down. My first fucking day on enquiry desk.

Being a tad new and not a fan of confrontations, I legged it upstairs to the staffroom to get the big manager, who, I must say, was an absolute legend. "Marion! There's a man touching himself in the library!" I exclaimed, sounding like a telltale 4 year old on the playground. She didn't even flinch. She calmly put he rmug of tea down and said "okie dokes, show me where".

By the time we got back downstairs he'd scarpered (which is in itself gross - surely he'd want to wait for it to dry before attempting walking?).

I figured that we could easily get his name and address from his borrower record and send him a letter banning him for masturbating in a public library, just feet from old ladies and kids.


Apparently we could only ban him if we confronted him while he was doing it.

Allow me to repeat that.

Apparently we could only ban him if we confronted him WHILE HE WAS DOING IT.

I don't know about you lot, but if an individual is messed up enough to whack off in a public library, that's not the kind of person I feel comfortable approaching at all, especially not when he's doing it.
(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 13:21, 2 replies)
dear pret a manger
as i have had the courtesy to steal many straws from your shop for illicit storage in my desk drawer to facilitate my diet coke addiction, please would you ensure that the only holes are at either end? if i suck in a delicious mouthful of icy cold fizzy goodness only to be rewarded with a tiny mouthful of foam and a large brown stain spreading over my court documents from the leaking bendy bit of your inadequate plastic pieces of shit on just one more occasion, i will write to your ceo and complain bitterly. the same way i did with virgin. and smeg. and sainsburys. and bt. and gucci. (although the last one was justified.)

thanking you in anticipation of your kind attention.

yours faithfully


*lawyers make terrible customers. but we are quite good at getting free stuff!*
(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 13:14, 7 replies)
Propose that b3ta overlords create a new page

"Pun of the Week"
(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 12:49, Reply)
I used to work in a book and magazine shop that shall remain nameless. One of the perks (and there weren't many) was taking home the free goods from the front of the unsold magazines.
On one memorable occasion, a ladies magazine was giving away a limited edition 'creme anglais' flavoured mars bar. Tasted a bit weird. like a toffee trifle.
And that was the day I had a custard Mars from Elle.

(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 12:47, Reply)
I used to work in an office suppliers. Part of our job was to receive calls from angry customers whose printer/fax/photocopier had ceased to function (usually because they'd done something stupid). Very occasionally customers would come down to the shop in person to complain.

Anyway, one particular day I happened to land a shift with the new trainee. Now Melanie was what you might call clumsy - all the co-ordination of a blind-folded Mohammed Ali. Still, most of us had been trying to get into her pants since the day she started - she was one of those cute bohemian chics, small, slim, huge smile, gorgeous eyes and a mop of curly brown hair she wore almost like an Afro. No idea how she'd ended working in an office suppliers with a huge lump like me.

All went well for the first few hours of the shift and I even felt she was beginning to flirt a bit when this guy came it. From the start I could see he was the kind of self-important dick who'd come in and shout at us because he'd done something stupid and f**ked up his new fax machine or something. He was just waiting to burst. Unfortunately, Mel, being new, wasn't really used to dealing with arseholes like that and was all smiles as he approached the service counter. He made a bee-line for her and just started ranting about how his photocopier had leaked toner-fluid all over the floor and that it had done $1000 worth of damage to the carpet. He demanded replacement toner, money for the cleaning bill and, jabbing his finger in poor Mel's face, shouted that he was going to sue her personally if she didn't sort it all out for him.

Now, as you can imagine Mel was pretty upset by this twunt's behaviour. In fact, I think she was physically shaking. Still, she set off into the store room to get the guy his toner. I was busy serving another customer or I would have dealt with the guy myself.

Anyway, a few seconds later we heard a crash and a scream. It turns out that in order to reach up to get the right toner off the top shelf Mel had had to stand on a chair. As she was getting down she'd mis-judged her step and the full bottle of toner had fallen on her, bursting open and covering her hair. She ran out of the store room in tears.

The guy who she'd been serving started yelling about how incompetent we were, how he was going to sue us all and how he was never coming back to our store etc etc. By this time I'd finished with my customer so I went over to him, right up to him, stood to my full 6'4" (I weight nearly 330 pounds too - the guy just about came up to my nipple) and calmly, but menacingly asked if he'd like to make good on his threat to never come back now he'd finished upsetting at an innocent trainee.

He left, but not before he *cussed toner-'fro Mel*.

I'm so sorry...

Length? Too long.
(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 12:47, Reply)
the worst customers I've had
were when I worked as a male stripper.

Actually, I don't know if you'd call it being a 'male stripper' - I got paid for taking my clothes off anyway.

Well, I didn't pay the fine at least.
(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 12:45, 1 reply)
Don’t get me started with the Cornwall car industry…

My doorbell rang the other day. It was a delivery guy asking me if I would sign for a ‘package’. When questioned on what ‘package’ he was referring to, he pointed into my driveway, where there stood a maaHooosive, blinged-up-to-the max sports utility vehicle. Black tinted windows, gargantuan alloys, the works. Attached to the car was a huge note saying: ‘With love from a small town in Penwith, Cornwall’.

There were just two problems with this situation.

1) I hadn’t ordered it, and

2) I bloody well loathe those kind of cars. As far as I am concerned, they are a sorry excuse to overcompensate the fact that you have a weeny wang.

So (quite justifiably I feel), I was rather annoyed by this point; and I’m afraid to say I unleashed an unholy violent tonnage of purest sweary rage over the poor delivery spod:

“What the fuck do you think you doing, Twat-cake?” I barked “I don’t want this fucking wank-pile, cock-biscuit piece of putrified rat-shit on my drive – Get rid of it NOW – you scrotey fuckstick turdburger”.

The delivery man just grunted, shrugged and walked off, leaving me with this monster machine on my drive...

The next day there was another knock at my door, the same delivery guy was stood there with a smarmy expression on his face. He simply said “Sign here please”.
I glanced behind him and saw ANOTHER identical behemoth of a 4X4 with the label ‘With MORE love from a small town in Penwith’

At this point I blew a microchip.

“For fuck’s sweet sake, cumsponge. are you fucking retarded?” I screeched at the bloke. “I didn’t want that first chunk of fucking crap and I certainly don’t want another wanking lump of dogsnot, cock-extension fucking shitebucket arse-knackery anywhere the fuck near me. Fucking FUCK! AAARRRGGHHHH!”

But again, the delivery man, just turned and left.

Since then, nobody has come to collect them, and as I look out of my window now I can still see my cussed Hummers from Hayle

*dies a little inside*

*promises that will be the last one…this week*

*understands that anyone pressing ‘ignore’ is entirely justified*

(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 12:45, 4 replies)
No the customer is not always right
Especially when you are working in an off license and the customer is a local crackhead who is informing all the other customers that you are pregnant and it might be his.

Nor is the customer right when he wees whilst you serve him his 3 litres of cider and then tells you that
"There's a spillage here. That's very dangerous".

Yes sir. A spillage out of your leaky, old, cider rotted bladder.
(, Wed 10 Sep 2008, 12:21, 1 reply)

This question is now closed.

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