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» Customers from Hell

Various muppets
So I've worked as a despatch rider (10 years), a (bicycle) shop assistant (~1 year) and for the past two years have worked for a London borough. Lets see:

As a despatch rider; called to an urgent pick up by my controller, job needs to get from eastcheap, ec3, to poland st, w1, by 5pm, it's quarter to five. So I'm in the pick up at ten to five. Instead of just leaving the package at reception as normal, so I can come in, smile at the receptionist, grab the package (oo-er) and jot back out again, the besuited wanker has to come down to hand it to me himself, and start telling me how 'I know this package is already late, I just need you to get it' at which point I cut him off to point out that 1) the package isn't late yet, it has ten minutes to get to it's destinatio, and 2) that by lecturing me, he's cutting down the time that I have to do it.

Walk into a photographers studio, for a job going to another studio that were frequent customers. Am handed a McDs cup closed with duct tape, and the question 'Don't you want to know what's in it?' (no) 'A pound of rancid fish' thanks.

Go into a hospital, to be given a bunch of plastic bags with biohazard labels (that three pointed thorn looking thing) containing vials of blood, to then be asked by Dr. Spacktard "Are you going to put it in a bag, I don't want it to just be carried in the hand". No, this satchel, the one on my back, I only keep kittens in there.

The benefits of the job were the relaxed attitude to days off (you're self employed), good money, not taking too much shit from people, and some truly hot receptionists, plus working for firms who had modeling agencies as their major clients - an hours (paid) waiting time in their foyer? sure, no problem!

In the bike shop:

Michael, don't remember his surname now, 60-ish. Came in and started telling me how he'd want his bike fixed once his benefits money came through. As he was talking an immense glob of snot ran out of his nose, and then just stretched, till it reached his solar plexus, hanging unbroken. I asked 'would you like a tissue for that, sir?' and fetched him one. Now I was his special friend, and whenever he came in, he asked for me specifically. Due to this, I learned that he wasn't born damaged, but fell out of a tree when he was a lad, lived in the nursing home down the road, and suspected someone of following him around, letting down his tires (One part of me says spack paranoia, the other part says local kids, probably).

Not customers from hell, so much just dumb, were the ones who would drop of their bikes for service, then come in to collect them;
dumb customer: 'I'm here to collect my bike'
pins: 'Ok, which one is it?'
dc - 'I don't know'
pins - 'What make is it?'
dc - 'umm, sorry, I don't know'
me - 'what colour is it?'
dc - 'umm... black?'
I'd go and look out back - no black bikes with green tags to show job completion.
me - 'did you get a call to say the bike was complete?'
dc - 'yes'
me - 'what's your name, please'
dc - 'A. Dumbass'
Look up their job sheet, go and fetch the bike, it's red.
dc - 'ooohh, I thought it was black! hee hee'

Or on the phones:
me - 'Good afternoon, Friendly Local Bike Shop'
dc - 'hello, I have a problem with my bike......'
me - 'ok'
dc - 'can you fix it?'
me - 'well, whats the problem'
dc - 'it doesn't go'
me - 'bring the bike into the shop and we will give a free evaluation'
dc - 'can't you tell me over the phone?'
me - 'not without knowing what the problem is'
dc - 'well, I don't know what the problem is'
me - 'you'll have to bring your bike in, for us to be able to help you'
dc - 'I can't'
(etc, etc, etc)

The other ones were the ones who would walk in, and demand to have their bikes serviced, I would ask what level of service they required (bronze, silver, gold or platinum), walk them through the different levels, evaluate their bike, and then tell them the earliest date that we could do the work (summer we were often booked 6 weeks in advance) to be met with "What!? You mean you can't do the work now? That's not very good, is it?" Depends how you want to look at it, sir. I'd say it's rather good for us that we have the workshop fully booked for the next six weeks.

At the council, luckily not an customer facing role, but sometimes they get through, and sometimes it's internal staff.
*phone rings*
me "Good afternoon, Name Of My Department" (I was/am often accused of sounding posh, not because I've a plummy voice, but because I speak well, taking my time to elocute clearly)
Random Idiot "Hello, is this Housing Benefits?"
me "No, this is 'Name Of My Department'"

Those are the ones that stop to ask, not the ones who just launch into incomprehensible tales of woe. I used to try and find out who or what department they wanted, and put them through. Now I just shove them back to the switchboard.

Apologies for legth and lack of funnies, but it feels good to have vented that a bit!
(Sat 6th Sep 2008, 11:50, More)

» Procrastination

lack of funnies
I procrastinate so much at work that I end up going home late (ie, quarter past five!!!) because I am putting off stopping my procrastination and getting up.
sorry for the lack of funnies.
(Fri 14th Nov 2008, 15:53, More)

» My most gullible moment

I believed
all the posters who said "not me, but a friend", or "I pulled this one on some one else".
(Fri 22nd Aug 2008, 12:53, More)

» Pointless Experiments

Beads have holes in them, so do nostrils...
So that means if I put this bead up my nostril, I will be able to breath through it, and so I could. So then I put my finger in to take it out, but what I actually succeeded in doing was pushing it further up, so I pushed my finger in further to get it, and further in it went, rupturing something and causing a nosebleed. I couldn't blow it out, because of the hole, not that I could have thought of that in my terrified five year old state. My dad took a look with a flashlight (once he got a whiff that something was wrong) and concluded that he couldn't get it out, so it was off to A&E where a nice doctor put a set of curved forceps up my snout, took the bead out and gave it back to me.
I did later repeat the 'will it go up my nose' experiment, but only with things that could be safely blown out.
(Thu 24th Jul 2008, 14:47, More)

» Faking it

Faking an interest in you, not your boobs
The missus and I recently went on a package tour of SE Asia. Two vaguely attractive females in our tour group, besides the missus, one attached, one unattached, shorter then me by a clear foor (I'm 6'4"). I faked an interest in her to look down her top, and got many a good view. (Variety is the spice of life, I say, and it was easier to look down her top then Mrs. pins)
**EDIT: Oh, and pop goes my b3ta cherry.
(Tue 15th Jul 2008, 20:02, More)
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