# Pitting Idiots at the Reception Desk **URL:** \ **Category:** The BBQ Pit\ **Created:** [March 6, 2006, 7:36pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/pitting-idiots-at-the-reception-desk/347282 "2006-03-06T19:36:40Z")\ **Posts on this page:** 4\ **Page:** 1
**Author:** ![Sailboat](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/sailboat/32/461_2.png) [@Sailboat](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Sailboat)\ **Post date:** [March 6, 2006, 7:36pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/pitting-idiots-at-the-reception-desk/347282/1 "2006-03-06T19:36:40Z")
Two people to pit here, just lumped together because I was excposed to their nincompoopery in rapid succession. I’m filling in at the reception desk on an emergency basis (receptionist has a head injury). So, apparently, I get to meet the sort of people who might have induced a head injury. Firstly, what kind of person _has_ a special instruction for the front desk, but doesn’t _tell_ anyone at the front desk…twice? One woman (who has a reputation for being difficult to deal with, and aggressively redirecting blame) last week told the receptionist that a package she’d signed for had to be returned and “should have been refused”, meaning reception shouldn’t have signed for it. Not because it’s inappropriate – we get lots of packages from this shipper – but because the difficult woman knew that particular part was mis-ordered. She nevertheless waited until it was signed for and delivered to her desk to mention that the receptionist should have done anything out of the ordinary. Now IMHO, if you didn’t remember to tell reception anything, just _shut up_ about “should have been refused” as if it’s reception’s fault. Sned the damned thing back with a smile. Today she brought back a package I’d signed for this morning and told me _it_ “should have been refused”. She’s making no pretense that I should have known, mind you; she’s not actually overtly blaming me…she’s just _mentioning_ that we should have refused this one too, as if it’s somehow one of those things we all feel regret over. You know, the moment she realizes that a package is coming that needs special instructions, if she’d just call the front desk, I’m sure we could write a nice little post-it note to take care of the whole problem. The second pittee is some kind of sales flack who brought by a bag of materials for our HR director. She was accompanied by an assitant. These two people showed up with a small canvas bag and I buzzed them through the security door. Our conversation started thusly: > [@](#): > > Me: “Hello, whom are you here for?” > > Idiot: “I’m just dropping this off for \.” > > Me: “Thank you, I can take that here and see that it’s delivered.” > > Idiot: “Uh, I’d rather see her in person. Can’t you call her?” Now I don’t know where this person learned common English usage, but why anyone would say “just dropping off” when they want to speak to someone in person is beyond me. And why be snippy about it? So while her sidekick patiently watches me, I smile and call the HR director’s number. No answer. Well, it _is_ lunchtime – the idiot is undoubtedly on her own lunch trip and stopped by; it’s no surprise the HR director is out. I asked her if there was someone else she’d like me to try and reach, but the idiot was flustered – not having planned for this eventuality. Seeing that there was no name, note, or marking on the bag, I then produced the magic of a small notepad and pen and suggested “would you perhaps like to leave a note?” She takes the notepad and proceeds to write. And write. And write. I don’t know what she’s saying, but she hasn’t planned on the size of the pad, and winds up jamming it all together as she reaches the bottom of the page. Then she asks for our restroom key. We’re not a gas station, we’re a government agency; but the restrooms are activated by our electronic “swipe” badges in order to keep public wanderers from camping in them, I guess. We keep a special gas-station-style swipe badge attached to a larger-than-pocketable plastic restroom symbol so that we can hand it out to visitors and they won’t walk off with it. I pull this out and _explain_ to her how to swipe it. You’re probably wondering why. There’s an arrow on one side showing direction, and a facing side with our logo on it. Theoretically it could be swiped four ways – the chain looped through the top rules out four more: logo forward, left; logo forward, right; logo to the back, left and right. Even without instructions, operating RANDOMLY, everyone will get it in four tries. But some people find it tricky, so sometimes I explain it. I’m betting in advance this woman is one of those people. She turns away without really paying attention to my instructions, and exits the security door – but it’s a glass door, and I can see her in the hallway. She has the good fortune to run into the HR director herself, right there in the hall. Well, they both turn to come in here where the bag is and talk about it. I press a release button to buzz them through the security door, and the idiot darts forward and grabs the door handle at the wrong moment, _just_ as the buzzer starts, and cannot open the door. I relase the button. She tries again, while the buzzer is off. I press the button again; now she an open the door – but she’s too smart for me, and waits for the buzzer to stop this time. :rolleyes: Finally the HR director takes pity on her and reaches across and opens the door. The idiot sets the restroom key down on my desk, introduces her assistant to the HR director, and they have a chat. Fiinally they finish. I have astutely noted that the idiot never quite reached the restroom, and so I know she’ll want the key back. I pick it up and hold it out to her as she’s finishing her conversation. But she doesn’t want to look at me or acknowledge me. Without taking her eyes off her mark (the HR director), she jabs her palm at me impatiently like a bad-mannered trick-or-treater. I place the key in her palm without comment. She goes back out the glass security door and stand in front of the womens’ restroom, clearly visible to both me and her assistant. She then swipes the card. Over and over. After about a minute, it’s clear that, despite only having four possible logical options for swiping the card, she’s never going to get through that door on her own. Her assistant, quiet until this moment, says softly, “Oh my God, she can’t get through the door.” I get up and walk around my desk, clearly coming to the rescue, trying my hardest not to look like I’m enjoying this. Idiot see me coming, and returns to the security door, and _tries to open it for me_. Never mind there’s no buzzer or anything. Of course she just jerks on the handle again. For an instant I’m tempted to leave her out there – unable to enter the restroom or reception area, despite holding a key in her hand; but then I decide she might starve to death and then we’d have a disposal problem. So I open the door, go out, and swipe her through. God only knows how things went while she was in there on her own. I sure hope our receptionist makes a rapid and complete recovery. Sailboat ---
**Author:** ![El\_Kabong](https://sea3.discourse-cdn.com/straightdope/user_avatar/boards.straightdope.com/el_kabong/32/496_2.png) [@El\_Kabong](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/El_Kabong)\ **Post date:** [March 6, 2006, 8:34pm UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/pitting-idiots-at-the-reception-desk/347282/2 "2006-03-06T20:34:49Z")
And what’s more, they _pay_ you for this quality entertainment. Whotta deal! ---
**Author:** ![Lissa](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/l/85f322/32.png) [@Lissa](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Lissa)\ **Post date:** [March 7, 2006, 1:36am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/pitting-idiots-at-the-reception-desk/347282/3 "2006-03-07T01:36:52Z")
You know, I swear I think God put those people on Earth solely for our amusement. Yeah, it’s a pain when you have to deal with one of them, but watching them stumble blind and helpless through life is nothing but sheer entertainment. You gotta kind of feel sorry for them, for their frustration must be incredible, but I can’t help myself from laughing. Here’s my tale of stupid people I’ve dealt with at work, which I originally posted over six years ago. (Note: I used to work selling satellite dishes.) > [@](#): > > I’m at work. The phone rings, I answer, and this woman starts talking about how her satellite won’t work. > > Me: “What’s the problem?” > Her: “I can’t change channels, and the Discovery Channel is gone! I can’t get it!” > Me: “Okay, well, let’s see if we can’t fix it. Open the door on the front of the reciever and pull out the card.” > Her: “What card?” > Me: “On the front of your reciever there’s a little door. Open it.” > Her: “Oh! Okay. That little credit card thing?” > Me: “Yes. Pull it out.” > Her: “Okay. It’s out.” > Me: “Now unplug the reciever.” > Her: “What?” > Me: “The reciever. The Box. Unplug it.” > Her: “Where? On the back?” > Me: “No, unplug the power.” > Her: “On the back?” > Me: “No. Pull the plug out of the power outlet.” > Her: “Oh! Okay! I pulled it out. Nothing happened. The green light is still on.” > Me: “Are you sure you unplugged the right thing?” > Her: “Yes, I’m sure.” > Me: “And the power is still on? It’s functioning WITHOUT POWER?” > Her: “Yes.” > > At this point I knew I had either a complete idiot on the phone, or her reciever had been possessed by demons. > > Me: “Are you SURE that you pulled the right plug?” > Her: “Yes, I’m sure. It’s the thin white cord, right?” > Me: “No, ma’am, that’s your _phone line_. The power! Unplug the _power_. The electric! You know, that thing on the wall with slots where you plug in a cord to make something run?” > > (Long pause) Her: “Okay, I got it.” > Me: “The green light is out?” > Her: “What green light?” > Me: “The green light on the front of the box that says if it’s on or not.” > Her: “Uhm . . . . I don’t see any light.” > Me: “Okay. Now, let it sit like that for five minutes, then put the card back in, and plug it back in to the POWER outlet, okay? If it doesn’t work, call me back.” > Two point three seconds later, the phone rings. It’s her. > > Her: “Uhm, did you say to put the card in BEFORE I plugged it in, or AFTER?” > Me: “Put the card in, and then plug it in.” > Her: “Oh! Okay! I plugged it in. It’s not working.” > Me: “Did you put in the card?” > Her: “What card?” > Me: “The card that you took out of it! The little crdit card thingy.” > Her: “Oh, that? No.” > Me: “Put it in.” > Her: “Where?” > Me: “In the slot on the front of your box.” > Her: “What slot?” > Me: “THE SLOT YOU TOOK IT OUT OF. ON THE FRONT OF THE BOX!” > Her: “Oh! Okay. There it goes. It’s on now.” > Me: “Good. Now try to change the channel.” > Her: “It won’t change. I’m stuck on the Discovery Channel, now.” > Me: “Okay, try changing the channels by pushing the buttons on the front of your box.” > Her: “What buttons?” > Me: “The buttons that are on the FRONT OF YOUR BOX! There’s one that says CH and has an up arrow, and one that says CH that has a down arrow. Push one of those.” > Her: “I don’t see any buttons.” > Me: “No buttons?” ALL of the boxes we have have channel buttons on the front of the box. “What kind of system do you have?” > Her: (long silence) “I don’t know.” > Me: (giving up) “Well, maybe you don’t have buttons. I’ll call a technition, and see if we can’t get someone out there to fix it. I’ll call you back.” > > I called the installer, and he sighed. “I remember her . . . Oh, GOD! Well, tell her I’ll be there tomorrow.” > > I called her back, and relayed that information. “But what will I do tonight?” she asked. “I can’t be stuck on the Discovery Channel! I hate the Discovery Channel!” > \* > Then why call and bitch that you can’t get it?\* “I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said, but it’s 4:30, and everybody’s getting ready to go home. There’s nothing we can do for you tonight." > > I could hear the panic in her voice as she sputtered on and on about how she couldn’t watch the Discovery Channel all night. “There’s nothing I can do,” I said, “Sorry. Have a nice evening,” and hung up. > > \ > > She called me back twice before I left, once to ask when the appointment was, and once to tell me that it stormed last night and that might be what messed up her system. Yeah, lady, it was a state-wide storm, and we live in the same \*town. \* I saw it. Sheesh! > > \ > > I call the installer back, give him her phone number, and he goes out to her house. It takes him less than five minutes to discern that she has the batteries upside down in the remote. ---
**Author:** ![Savannah](https://avatars.discourse-cdn.com/v4/letter/s/b3f665/32.png) [@Savannah](https://boards.straightdope.com/u/Savannah)\ **Post date:** [March 7, 2006, 3:36am UTC](https://boards.straightdope.com/t/pitting-idiots-at-the-reception-desk/347282/4 "2006-03-07T03:36:13Z")
> [@](#): > > It takes him less than five minutes to discern that she has the batteries upside down in the remote. Bwah! I _hate_ it when people stand at my desk, which is near the reception counter, and reach behind themselves with an open palm, for me to place a pen, my stapler, a piece of paper, whatever, in their imperious palm. I’m looking at you, Catherine-who-is-no-longer-with-us, thankfully. I swear, one of those times I was thisclose to putting a frog in her imperious, haughty, arrogant palm.