Lost car
Years ago I worked as a security guard at Tyneside's largest out of town shopping centre. I spent a lot of time standing in the car park, which was very boring. But I did get to have conversations like:

Customer: Call the police, someone has stolen my car. You people are useless, how could you stand there and let someone steal a car right in front of you?

Me: Are you sure sir? Have you looked throughout the car park and made sure?

Customer: Of course I'm sure. What do you think I am, some kind of idiot? I haven't lost my car, someone has stolen it. I left it on level three, and its not here now.

Me: OK sir, could you give me the registration.

I get the reg.

Me on radio: I'm over in the blue car park, has anyone seen a white Sierra registration ID1OT? Probably on level three.

Voice over the radio: Yes, its here. Red car park, level three.

Length - working there was like a life sentence.
(woodchopper likes chopping wood, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 23:25, 1 reply)

If I barred every fuck-knuckled customer,
We'd have to close, there'd be none left!



length...not very much
( loonybean giving as good as he gets since, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 23:13, Reply)

"I'd like a black coffee please, with semi-skimmed milk."
IT'S NOT A FUCKING BLACK COFFEE THEN, IS IT???

AAAARRRRRGGGGHHHH!

*regains composure*
(Smelch God says I'm a Pirate now. Yarr!, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 23:09, 7 replies)

I've worked on a number of different customer service helpdesks throughout my colourful career
I've recieved calls from nutters, weirdos and perverts - some days it's like working for the Samaritans, a sex line and a mental health charity all at once.

I remember one call very well - I was speaking to a young lad, who, to put it politely, sounded a few jihads short of a holy war. He talked in slow motion, and didn't really seem to take in anything I said. He had dropped his phone and broken it - I explained three times that accidental damage wasn't covered under warranty, then I had to explain what a 'warranty' was, then I had to give examples of what constituted 'accidental damage,' with the cust chipping in helpfully, "So, if I dropped it in the bath, would that be accidental damage? What if I was on the swings and it fell out my pocket?"

I was being as polite and patient as I could, but with each ridiculous question my jaw was getting tighter and tighter.

Having eventually established that we wouldn't be able to repair the phone free of charge, he said, "But when the guy upgraded my phone, he said I was a special customer" and without even thinking about it I blurted out, "Well, you certainly sound a bit 'special.' Now then..."
(Pavlov's Frog figures no-one really reads sigs anyway, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 23:08, 1 reply)

Really? Seriously?
I used to work at a large American bookstore chain (Barnes & Noble), which had the misfortune of having the same first letter as another large American bookstore chain (Borders).
We could and did do special orders over the phone. People would call in looking for a particular book, and we would put it on hold for them. Or they could place the order in store, and we would call them when the book had arrived.
Many a time I was approached, told by the customer that they had called and placed a book on hold.
I looked by name. Nothing.
By book title? No luck.
I would then ask if they were sure that they had called this location (or if they were sure we called them, as the case was), and not another one of our nearby stores.
No, the customer would insist, they had called THIS store.
After much back and forth of "Yes, you did" "No I didn't", they would usually look around themselves and ask the wonderful question,
"Wait, where am I again?"
After I explained to them where they were, some had to be shown a business card for them to believe it. I mean, there are signs ALL AROUND the store ffs!
And don't even get me started on the whole membership/bonus points card.
There was a way for people who had forgotten their card at home to access their membership. We, as employees, would enter the customer's phone number (phone number ONLY) into the computer, and the computer would bring up the info.
I can't count how many times customers would come up to the register and tell me to look up their membership by their e-mail address.
When I informed them that we could only look it up by phone number, they would say "Well, your [fill in the blank] location (this was, of course, NOT a B&N, but a Borders) always looks it up by e-mail, so you should be able to do the same."
I don't know how many times I had to point out the large signs that read "Barnes & Noble" around the store.
(Betsy Braddock Thee before thine, except after thou., Thu 4 Sep 2008, 23:07, 2 replies)

Tales from a coffee shop, part 1 of many
Today was my last day at work for the summer, which was lovely. Well, in theory it was lovely as I now get an amazing two weeks of holiday before those universities attempt to educate me further. Good luck to them with that.

Anyway, as it was my last day, I thought I would try and be in a good mood all day, be super-friendly to all the customers, and have a really great last day.

The general retards public however seemed to have a different plan.

I made a couple of mistakes in the morning, but nothing that I didn't notice before actually giving the lovely people their drinks. It all started getting strange around lunch time.

I made a drink, and my boss took it over to the correct customer. All seems fine.

I then continued making drinks, my boss taking each of them out until they are all done, at which point I took the last drinks out myself, as I had nothing more to do for a few minutes.

Or so I thought.

While I was walking back towards the coffee machine behind the counter, a lady at a table called me over. This lady was probably in her sixties, and had no drink, and she was sitting with an African woman who was probably in her forties, who had a cappuccino that I had made.

"Ah," thought I, "an order has been lost while we were busy, and this nice old lady has not received her drink. If this is the case, I shall rectify the situation immediately."

It was not the case.

Old woman: "My friend's drink isn't correct."
Me: "What is wrong with it?"
OW: "It's not a cappuccino."

Now at this point I must have had a very confused look on my face. I had made a cappuccino. I had given a cappuccino to my boss to take over. I was now staring at a cappuccino sitting on the table in front of this old woman's friend.

I decide to be diplomatic.

Me: "Actually, that is a cappuccino there."
OW: "No, it isn't. My friend says it isn't."
Me: "Well what is the problem with it then?"
African Woman: "Is not cappuccino."

Right. Great. You know that episode of Family Guy where the police are hunting for Stewie after he murders someone or something, and they speak to Superman's maid? Well this was like speaking to that maid. Oo, a link here.

About 5 minutes of back and forth then follow, with me being told that it isn't a cappuccino, it isn't what she ordered, it is more like a hot chocolate, and that she drinks cappuccinos all the time, therefore must be correct.

At this point, I nearly lose my temper for the first time since starting work there, which is a while ago. I am within a nano-meter of telling her that for every cappuccino she drinks, I probably make 30 or 40. And they don't get sent back*.

Having refrained from that, I decide instead to tell her that I can make her another one, but I can promise that it will be exactly the same as the one that is sitting in front of her with her spoon in it, but she will then have to wait for it. No matter how many she asks for, they will all be like that.

Every.
Single.
One.

Silence.

She seems almost confused, and once again I am told that what is sitting in front of her is not a cappuccino.

By this point, it's getting a bit repetitive for my liking, so I decide to finish this.

Me: "So what would you like me to do then, now you know your options?"
AW: "I'll have tea."
OW: "She wants a pot of tea now."

I know. I am closer to her than you are. Twat.

Me: "Ok, I'll just get that for you."

I went back, and got her a pot of tea. I took it to her. I smiled, and was polite, and gave her back the difference in price, and even used my lovely fake smile.

Did I get a thank you? Like hell I did.

So I walked off, through the bookshop behind our coffeeshop, punched a metal doorframe, and then returned to the floor.


What working there has taught me is that I hate the general public, or at least 98% of them.


*Not that I'm being stuck up, it's just true. I'm really that awesome.

Well, that turned into a bit of an epic. Sorry. If you made it through all that, well done. If it resulted in death by boredom, I really don't care.
(PenguinOfDeath is Scottish, and most likely angry, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 23:03, 4 replies)

Tech support
I used to be team leader of the UK Corel helpdesk - that meant Corel Draw, and Wordperfect. It was great. I knew absolutely fuck all about any of them. I'd never even used Corel Draw. Wordperfect when it was 5.1, but none of yer fancy WYSIWYG stuff (ask yer Dad).

However, my team did. They were great. They had 2 weeks training on Corel's entire product line and then stuck straight on to the front line. That was what our company did, and believe me, you learn your shit FAST. I cut my teeth on Windows 95 when it came out. I had seen it the week before and just blagged it. Believe me, in a week or 2 you know it inside out so dont worry kids, if youre calling tech support, there are good ones.

Anyway, I got away with not knowing it - a bit like in the film where Leonardo Di Caprio pretends to be a doctor - you just deflect all the questions either back to the asker, or another team member. Worst comes to it, you offer to talk them through it, and all you do is make them explain things logically, and you guide them through with a little bit of blag.

But the day came where I had to take a call. There was no alternative. My little minion had been struggling all morning with a difficult customer, I could tell from his body language that he was stuck. I watched him hang his headset round his neck and turn round to get my attention. I ignored him, seemingly engrossed in the call centre telephone stats system. Eventually he unplugged the headset and came over. I looked up, and saw in his eyes that he was beat.

"Put him through then".

The relief in his eyes warmed me for a second. I'd actually become a manager for a second.

"Erm coke, theres something you should know..." BEEEEEEP... call had been transferred to my line. I picked up.

"Good aftern..."

"Who der FACKIN ELL IS VIS CAAAAAAAAAAAAAANT?"

Oh my god. It's the entire cast of lock stock and two smoking barrels all rolled into one giant cockney.

Did I mention I fucking hate cockneys? Thieving gypsy bastards. Any race of people that produced Barbara Windsor and EastEnders should be exterminated.

My minion had leaned over my keyboard and logged me in to the CRM, and called up this guys records.

The cockney verbal barrage continued, it was just a blur of incomprehensible eastenders gibberish and I couldnt make out a word of it. I wasnt listening. I was staring at the screen. I looked at the minion. I looked back at the screen. I looked at the minion. I raised an eyebrow almost imperceptibly. Not that subtle, as the minion furiously nodded back, confirming my deepest darkest fears.

The name on the record was the only thing I could see. I did one of those zoom things where the lens zooms in, but the camera pulls back - you'd know it if you saw it.

Frank Warren. Frank FAHHHKIN Warren.

Fuck. I have to fix Frank Warrens - let me check - oh fuck - Corel Draw 7 problem.

You know when youre in the airport and you've been there for hours and all the tannoy announcements have merged into the background and youve nodded off, but the second they mention your flight you jump up?

That happened. Despite still staring in horror at the minon and my screen, my unconscious picked out the words "General Protection error in GDI.EXE". Well, the actual phrase was "wotsis FAKKING general you fahkin waht Protect shun erros CAANT in G fackin D fackin I FACKING CANTING dot fackin E bollocks X CAHNTING E bollock then you MAPPET?"

Over the years I've found I can solve almost any technical support problem almost instantly. People come to me with a problem, and in a few seconds I usually blurt out the answer - its not a guess, I can logically work through the problem, factor in a hundred different system possibilities and it just jumps to the front of my mind - its just experience. But in a heartbeat my mind jumped to Graphics Drivers.
I knew that would be it.

Focussed, I turned my attention and said "Mr Warren, can you do this for me please." in a tone that didn't imply I was asking. I talked him through the process of dropping down the screen res and number of colours, and guess what? Problem solved. Or at least went away.

"Youre a FAKKING genius" he shouted. "Sorry abaht callin you a CAHNT and that, its just, well, this fing pissed me RITE OFF if you knaaaa what I mean an that".

He rang off and I was elated. I wasnt going to get killed by Frank Warren. I knew the man had been shot in the past. Who knew what might send him over the edge. A dodgy graphics driver just might.

From that point on, Frank asked for me. Every time. No messin. "straight fru to the gavnor" every time.

I figured out Corel Draw pretty fucking quickly after that. Nothing like a bit of motivation.

Still dont like cockneys though. Sorry Cockneys.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 23:03, 7 replies)

taxi customers....
BRING BRING
"Hello ******** Taxis"
"I want a taxi from ## Rowley Crescent to the station."
"Sorry, but I don't know of a Rowley Crescent. Are you sure you don't mean Rowley Grove, Rowley Bank, Rowley Street or The Crescent, Rowley Park?"
"Are you saying I don't know where I fucking live? Send me a fucking taxi now or I'll report you. I need to get to the station now."
"Well I can't send one unless I know where you are."
"## Rowley Crescent, the fucking postcode is C37 XXX"
*now i know whats going on*
"Right, found it now... I can get you one in about 90 minutes."
"Ninety fucking minutes!?!? Thats no good! Why will it take that long?"
"Because, Sir, you are in Stratford-on-fucking-Avon, and we're in fucking Stafford. Have a nice fucking day."
CLICK
(coobeastie Used to Be in Evil Gazebo, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 22:58, 2 replies)

That catalogue shop - for people who failed their Woolworths exams
Many moons ago before the days of mortgages, bills and real work, I spent my weekends working in a catalogue shop near the Las Vegas of the North.

One gloomy Sunday I was greeted by an angry old lady, complete with dufflecoat and cake on her head. Our exchange followed.

"Sonny, I bought this toaster here yesterday, and it burns all my toast"
"OK, lets have a look then"
***Examines toaster and sees the dial is on 8... out of 8***
"The dial is on maximum, have you tried turning it down at all, and seeing if thats any better"
"My old toaster made perfect toast on 8, this one burns it. Its broken"
"I'm sure its fine, go home, and try it on, erm... I don't know, maybe 3, live dangerously!"
"It burns my toast.. Its broken, I want to see the manager"

***Off I trundle, to fetch the boss***
***Boss appears with me in tow, only to have the mad old bitch start screaming about burnt toast. It then pulls 2 slices of carbonised bread from its shopping trolley and starts breaking it up and throwing it at us***

Manager: "Well then - Just give her her money back and get rid of her"

Bless.
(Oracus, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 22:58, Reply)

Lights off
I worked in petrol station for 8 years (I'm not sure why either) and the amount of fucktardness I was subjected to was outstanding.
The occasion when I was informed that if I didn't let this guy fill up a glass milk bottle with u/leaded he would have me arrested.

When All the lights and signs are off and everything is shut and locked some idiot coming onto the forecourt when I'm getting into my car and demanding that I reopen for him. I said I'm sorry we are closed and he calls me a cunt of a bitch One of the few times I told someone to fuck off.

So much much more happened, but If I start thinking about it too much I start twitching so excuse me while I go and rock for a bit.
(datcat Millions of cats, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 22:58, 2 replies)

dirty
Oh, and a quite well-to-do looking lady asked to use the toilets. We didnt have public bogs, so if asked, would escort the customer to the staff bogs and wait in the warehouse till they finished, then escort them back to the shop floor.
I thought nothing of her request so did as normal. It was discovered by the next person to use the bogs that she had forsaken the toilet and shat in the small washhand basin instead.

This led to a ban on customers using the bogs, which in turn led to one of the part time staff showing a complete lack of common sense and refusing to let a heavily pregnant woman go for a slash, so she ended up pissing herself in the shop. This didnt go down well with her partner.
(dave likes cheese, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 22:55, Reply)

Way back...
Whilst I was at university, I used to work with a faceless multiplex in the local shopping centre (now owned by Odeon, but not back in my day. Take three letter, two of whic are vowels....) We were called "cast members" although "bitches" or "customer punchbags" would have been more appropriate. I went to university in a town which was 50/50 divided between students and scummers who liked to hit students. Between London and Stevenage on the WAGN line. If you get to Welwyn Garden City, you've gone too far. With me? Don't care? All to the good.

Unfortunately, one day I was standing like a good little usher behind my podium, where we kept various things including paperwork, a torch (never working)a bag of misappropriated pick and mix and a sharps bin for the needles we found on a regular basis. A woman who looked much tidier than the usual scummers* came up to me.

"Excuse me" she said.

There then followed a blitzkreig of bizarre, pointless and esoteric questions along the lines of.

"I wish to bring my disabled son into a screening on the third Tuesday of a month with an R in on a 3/4 full moon to see a film that was discontinued 5 weeks previously on a screen pointing southwards with no fewer than 12 rows of seats and a model of Frankie Dettorie fellating the Buddha in the corner. Would you be able to accomodate."

She had that particularly shitty attitude of the "yummy mummy" that the world should work the way SHE wanted, rather than the 5000 other odd (very odd) customers who generally paid to see a film every week. Di;plomacy was only getting so far. I decided to refer this bitch up the food chain to the manager. As I called for him on the radio, I heard her utter the phrase "oh for fuck's sake." whilst rolling her eyes andtossing her (dyed) red hair, as if I had asked her to perform a perverted and bizarre sex act with a donkey.

At which stage, I uttered something along the lines of.

"I'm sorry I can't answer your question for you, but don't you fucking DARE act like you are superior to me because you've splooged six quid on a ticket for you and your bastard child. I've tried to be helpful, but quite frankly, bollocks to it. Piss off out of my cinema and go elsewhere."

This was unusually eloquent of me, but I had well and truly had enough of being patronised and abused by idiots. At this stage the manager arrived, and I walked off to the staff room.

10 minutes later the manager (who would have found it hard to manage a party company that specialised in alcoholic receptions in a brewery) came in and tried to lay into me for "abusing a customer."

In my second eloquent speech of the day (to be fair, I'd prepared this one) I uttered words to the effect of:

"Basically, she started it. I have no inclination to be verbally abused at work. You know for a fact I am one of your best employees, as I can count above 10 without taking my shoes and socks off. If you wish to fire me, then please - be my guest. I however am going home."

I got my coat and went home to drink with some mates.

The next morning the cinema manager phones up.

"Carrot,can you come back?"

"No"

I then spent an enoyable 5 months as a bike mechanic before starting to fix people instead.


*she had clean teeth, and I'm fairly certain they were all hers as well.
( Undercovercarrot got done for gross misconduct on..., Thu 4 Sep 2008, 22:53, 12 replies)

Read the signs please
I worked in a garage / parts and accessories shop.
One day this chap came up to me at the desk and presented me with a lawnmower. "it needs a service and tune up"
I told him we didnt do this kind of work and maybe he should try elsewhere, but he was having none of it. "yes, you do, I want it serviced". He was adamant - no argument would sway him, servicing lawnmovers was what we did.
"It says so on the sign outside"
"eh? what sign?"
"Look chief, its written in 4 foot high letters on the front of the building - YOU BLOODY WELL DO SERVICE GARDEN TOOLS"
"show me this sign"
we go outside where he triumphantly points out the sign..."SEE `Garden servicing`, now fix my mower."

"err, that says `GARAGE servicing` sir, not `garden`"

"ah, well its a bit misleading isnt it?"
(dave likes cheese, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 22:51, Reply)

I'm not even supposed to be here today!
"What do you mean there's no ice? You mean I gotta drink this coffee hot? "
(scentless_apprentice takes two bottles into the shower!, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 22:46, 4 replies)

Observation skills.
Once I worked in a shop which was burned out in the early hours before opening. Turned out to be arson, but anyway....
8am comes and I would normally open the shop, but the fire engines still in the carpark with hoses leading through the smashed front windows, firemen milling about, piles of molten and burnt stock in the carpark etc would - you would think anyway - point to the shop not being open.
Did any of this stop the constant stream of people?
"Are you open?"
People were actually stooping down and crawling under the partly opened shutters and stepping through the broken glass and debris as if this was the normal way to enter a shop..."Oh, what do you mean you arent open, its after 8oclock."
(dave likes cheese, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 22:44, 2 replies)

Knobheads
I've got a few classics, but heres Mrs. Bean for now...

"I work in a well known bakery (not sayers the other one) which is situated in a rather hostile area in liveerpool. Everyday i come face to face with the scum of the earth an have 2 feed each of their numerous children with sausage rolls. I'v had numerous requests for stamps, candles, electric cards, chips and had to tell the inbreads that we only sell fucking pasties.

One of my most shocking customers was the man, with the eyes that didnt face the same way, who asked me for a vanilla slice, It was a fair enough request until i told him that it was 72p, he then proceeded to tell me (scream in my face) that i was a robbing bitch and that they only used used to be 40p. I responded by saying it must have been a while since he last came to my wonderful workplace, to which he replied:
"Well ive been in prison for 20 years and just got out today"

my immidiate reponse was to give him the vanilla slice free of charge and to always remember to duck behind the counter whenever he comes in."
(billybobbean is still trying to make it QOTW's best of the week, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 22:40, 4 replies)

Not from hell, but very creepy
This lady customer walks into our computer shop and stands looking at at a new PC, foolishly I walk up to her and say "good afternoon, can I help you?"
LADY: "yes, people are watching me through my PC"
ME: "just unplug your webcam then"
LADY: I don't have a webcam"
ME: "how are they watching you then"
LADY: through the screen"
ME: (Looking around for hidden cameras!) "just turn off and unplug the PC then"
LADY: "I did but they are still watching me"

At this point I suddenly seemed to hear one of my workmates calling me and quickly backed away as she continued muttering to herself!
(jethou1, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 22:40, 1 reply)

The number pad is just there because they look pretty
Man walks into bar and asks for a Coke.

Man is told it's cheaper from nearby vending machines.

Man goes away and comes back to me (I may be staff, but I'm nowhere near the sodding things) and claims the machine isn't working and I'm going to pay dearly for it. (somehow)

Man is asked how he went about procuring his caffeinated prize from the machine's metallic clutches.

Man claims he 'put in the money, pressed A and nothing happened'.

Man is asked why he didn't press a number as well as a letter, for the vending machine takes a letter and a number corresponding to row and column, respectively.

Confused face.

Methodology is explained again.

Confused face. Estimate a 2% chance he was just constipated.

Man is told to go back and type in a number as well as a letter; that row only has one beverage on it anyway.

Man says he'll be back to apologise if it works or complain if it doesn't

He doesn't come back. The lying little cockwaffle.
( Iki I think my camel is dead., Thu 4 Sep 2008, 22:27, 4 replies)

The woes of bars and underage alkies
I work on a bar in a certain city leading the world in teen pregnancies. Naturally, we get our fair share of genetic rejects. The crowning glory is a 'young-looking' man who kept coming in when I was on duty and fully fits the description of 'codswalloping fucknugget'.

Several times did he come into the bar.
An equal number of times did I ask him for ID.
A very, very similar amount of times did I get a mouthful of sweary abuse for my troubles.

Eventually, he appeared one night in a group. Came up to the bar and I asked the usual question. Lo and behold, he produced a passport and handed it to me. I silently prepared to take back the cold stares I'd given him for darkening my workplace and the threat I though he posed to our license.

Then I looked at the birthdate.

He was born in 1991.

He still isn't 18.

Was told not to return to the premises until 20th of September 2009, passing manager confirmed this by threat of police, he left. Sweet peace at last.
( Iki I think my camel is dead., Thu 4 Sep 2008, 22:19, Reply)

Customers who were wrong, wrong, wrong...
I have quite a few tales but i'll try a different tack of 'wrong' to begin.

I work in a CeX shop, one of those second-hand wonders which deal in electronics/movies/games/phones and so on.
Because most people pronounce the name like 'sex' (see newsletter a while back) we've had a couple of people misunderstanding the name a little bit.
Like the charming chav who came in and surreptitiously asked if we had any second-hand fleshlights.

There's a mental image that will stay with me forever.

In a similar vein, a smiling doddering old fellow came in, signed up, and handed us a digital camcorder to test so that he might sell it to us. Fair enough. I hand it to the fella on testing and continue working.

A few minutes later there's a choking, horrified exclamation coming from the corner.

This camcorder was fairly archaic and the only way to delete photos from it was selecting them individually. And the old fellow hadn't done this before he handed us the camera and we were treated to the most retina-burning images of an old man's grinning face, emactiated body, and wrinkled cocktail sausage. And it was neccescary to view them all in order to wipe the memory clean.
It was like he'd seen some really mucky porn and decided to try it himself, one geriatric, a poorly-lit room and a timer function.

That was before we got to the video files. Needless to say, none of us could look him in the eye when he returned.

More as and when I recall them.
(Sundayturkey has the biggest mug of tea, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 22:16, 6 replies)

More irritating than hell...
Once working in the local shop a regular customer marched in and pondered some purchases from the shelves.

A power cut ensued.

The customer continued with his shopping, in the dark, in near pitch black conditions. He then marched up to the till, which I was under searching for a torch, which in the end turned out to not have any batteries in anyway. This conversation occurred:

'I'll take these and 20 Rothmans please'
'Wha?'
'just these, and 20 rothmans, please?'
'I'm sorry I can't serve you right now, there's sort of no light in here'
'Ok, forget these other things, can you just sell me the 20 rothmans then'
'Sorry, I cant, the till won't work cos theres no electricity, it wont work'

He then marched around screaming in his fruity accent 'BUT I WANT MY CIGARETTES!!!' IN THE DARK. The manager then asked me clear the shop of customers, this meant taking the torch (there was one which actually worked, who'd've thought?) through the black Co-op mine and guiding the old ladies. Once I'd used the line 'come towards the light' once too many times to be funny any more I made my way back to the till.

HE WAS STILL THERE... WAITING...

'Sir I'm really sorry but we need to get all the customers out of the shop, its technically not safe in here with no lights'
'BUT I WANT MY CIGARETTES!!!'

He left, eventually, with only a gentle push...

I think I said 'Thank you, come again' as I slammed the door and locked it behind him. Never could look him in the eye every time he came back for his 20 Rothmans, for fear of pissing myself laughing.
(eddieheadache, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 22:14, Reply)

American tourists in Prague
I'll start by saying that I have nothing against American tourists - in fact I wish that the English stag-night crowds who fly out to Prague on Scumair were half as polite and well-behaved. But this story concerns two US couples who were, to put it politely, rather naive.

I was in one of my local bars in Prague chatting to a barman I'm on good terms with when two middle-aged American couples walked in. They asked about the pub's happy hour prices. My Czech barman friend speaks very little English so I was happy to translate, and it transpired that the Americans were referring to an old decorative poster in the hallway from a 30's New York bar that mentioned a happy hour. That should have been that, but no. One of the US guys insisted that I complain to the barman on their behalf about the misleading information given in the bar and suggest that the offending poster be removed forthwith. This I refused to do, and from there the conversation became quite surreal.

"You speak great English," said one of the tourists.
"Well thanks," I said, "but I am actually English so I don't really deserve such praise."
"But that ain't possible! When we came in you were talking Russian or Yugoslavian or whatever darn thing you speak over here."
I went on to explain that I now live over here and regard learning the language of one's adopted country as a high priority, hence I speak Czech pretty fluently. Not wanting to sound arrogant about it, I made a lame joke about not all Brits being monolingual.
"Man! Monolingual! That's great, y'know, you really do speak damn good English!"

And so it went on - I was unable to convince them that English is my native tongue. I gave up. Some arguments you just can't win.
(eesnahk, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 22:06, 5 replies)

Call centre joys
I worked for a motor insurance call centre. It was the shittiest job I ever had. Most hilarious conversation I ever had:

*phone rings*

"Hello, you're through to Bondy, how can I help?"

"I want to sue the council because my car got flooded when I drove into the really big puddle."

"Err, okay, How is it their fault?"

"They didn't put a sign up to say that there was a flood."

"So you drove into the massive, deep puddle and wrecked all the electrics in your car because there wasn't a sign to tell you not to?"

"I'm an ex-policeman, I know how these things work!"

...



It's not just the chavs that are completely fucking stupid, amazingly.
(Bondvillain2k, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 22:02, Reply)

And another one
I worked in a jewellers in a Yorkshire seaside town.

One day this thick necked knuckle dragger and his fucktard of a son came in.

"I've come to pick up my clock. I paid for it earlier but said I'm come back and pick it up"
This was something we often did so I went to the shelf where pre-paid items are kept.
It was empty.
"Was it today?" I asked. "I can't see anything there"
"I bought it from this woman" he points at a colleague "she put it in a blue bag and put it under the counter"
I asked the colleague who said that she had no memory of this. We looked where he had indicated but nothing was to be found.
By this point the mouth-breather was getting irate.
"I just want to pick up my fucking Power Rangers clock"
"But we don't sell Power Rangers clock"
"Well you must fucking do otherwise how could I have come in and bought one? Look, here's my receipt."
"That's for H.Samuel."
"Well where the fuck is this then?"


FFS
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Thu 4 Sep 2008, 21:54, Reply)

I used to work in the gift shop at an amusement park - toys and trinkets mostly -
and dealt with a customer base of approximately 80% moron. Children, despite being young and unknowing, were no exception to this trend.

A very obnoxious girl, maybe ten or eleven, comes in with her two younger brothers and starts raving about all the shiny objects in the shop (as little girls do). She comes across a mood ring, clearly having never seen one before, reads the instructions, holds it in her palm for all of two seconds, and SLAMS it down on my counter.

"IT'S BROKEN!!"

"You have to hold it longer!" exclaims her six-year-old brother.

"Shutup! Shutup! You're shit!" she replies, "I held it and it's still blue! It doesn't tell anything about my personality."

I take a deep breath.

"It works just fine. Blue means you're retarded."
( Digeridude Lord Wellington's Beef Trapeze, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 21:54, 4 replies)

Well it was a few years ago
and I was recently bereaved, as my dear grandfather Albert had died. Not wanting to believe he'd gone forever, I sought the services of a medium (actually, he was quite tall) called Thomas Ellis Radnor. After a couple of sessions, he claimed to have gotten in touch with my grandfather. He told me that Albert was living in the great beyond, that he was watching lovingly over his family.

This made me feel a bit better, until Thomas said 'Albert says his proudest achievement was fighting off the krauts in WWII'. I knew this to be a lie, as Albert was born in 1935. When I told this to the medium he became enraged and grew horns upon his head and took on a terrible scowl. This is when I knew he was a demon.

So I said, 'For a demon you're a fecking useless medium'.

And that's how I cussed Tom E.R. from hell.

Thanks.
(Stu Moo winner of five nobble piece prizes, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 21:52, 10 replies)

These customers from hell?
Some of them may be Mother.
She is a royal pain in the arse.
She had the manager of Harrods on the phone. Now you can imagine the kinds of cunts he has to put up with.
His words, and I quote, were "madam, exactly what is your problem?"
What the hell was she complaining about to get a response like that from him?

Oh and Fortnum and Masons sent her an out of date cake once. Fuck me they won't make that mistake again!
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Thu 4 Sep 2008, 21:37, 2 replies)

Bloody IT
Came into the office and got out my laptop the other day to find my laptop didn't want to turn on. Fearing for the worst, I called the IT department.

"Hi, my laptop doesn't want to turn on. It's plugged in, the battery is brand new and I've had no problems with it in the past"
"Have you tried turning it off and on again to see if that fixes it?"
*click*

The greatest moment came from when the printer broke down and wouldn't print any files. Their diagnosis: Someone had tied a knot in the printer cable which causes all the zeros to get stuck and only lets the ones through. Didn't see much of that bloke after that.
(FoxyBadger (try saying it backwards), Thu 4 Sep 2008, 21:31, 1 reply)

Dept. store cafe
I had the joy of working in the restaurant at Debenhams many years ago. At this time we had a delightful uniform of bottle green skirt, little apron, green and white striped shirt and the icing on the cake... a little yellow bow tie.
Now I actually enjoyed this job, it was a good giggle, not overly taxing and being a cheery soul I didn't mind exchanging pleasantries with Joe Public.
We weren't cursed with too many awkward customers fortunately but my favourite was the couple who wandered over and asked for a coffee. I poured a coffee from one of the pots available. The man looks at me and says
"I want a fresh one"
"fine" says I "this pot has just brewed" he watches me pour it and says
"It's not strong enough" how he knows this without tasting I have no idea. I lie about one of the machines brewing stronger coffee and pour him a cup from a 3rd jug.
"Well that's not hot enough now is it?" and to add emphasis to this he sticks his finger in it and promptly swears as the coffee is indeed extremely hot.
All the while his wife has stood there saying nothing just a looking serene and calm, until the last cup where a look of glee briefly flashed across her face. She finally speaks as I hand him a cup of cold water to stick his sore finger in.
"I don't really want it after you've stuck your bloody finger in it." Picked up the first cup I'd poured and went off to pay leaving him stood there.
Strange couple!
(cmouse is pondering about life in other jobs, Thu 4 Sep 2008, 21:29, 2 replies)