Ack, horrible customer stories, I got a million of 'em! I’ve worked in flat fold fabric stores where I’d spend hours refolding a huge pile of challis (very thin, floaty, light fabric) only to have a gaggle of Indian women stampede in and unfold EVERY.SINGLE.FUCKING.LENGTH on the table, leaving it looking like the aftermath of a singularly pissed off tornado and then they’d actually buy one package of buttons or something for the whole gang. Gah. :mad:
Working at a convenience store/gas station where we had the nearly naked guy–six foot something, built like a total brick shithouse, very dark black skin, shaved head, wearing NOTHING in a California valley summer heat day but a very tiny pair of tighty whities (did I mention the “blessed, and kinda cheerful” part?), no shoes, how his feet weren’t blistered all over I do not know–wandering in, paying for his gas and wandering back out (scaring the hell out of the little old lady in line before him) seemingly profoundly unaware that he’d forgotten to get dressed that morning. That was surreal–scenic, but definitely surreal!
Then there was the guy who freaked out after my partner told him “have a nice day” and started screaming that he was tired of people making assumptions about his sexual orientation… And the guy who went into our only toilet, came out again, left and never bothered to mention the fact that he’d managed to get shit all over the toilet, the ring, the floor, the walls, sink, doorknob… shudder :eek: And the old woman who came in every day for cigarettes wearing the same five or six sweaters in layers (remember, California/hundred plus heat) obviously never washed because she smelled like the wrath of god on a Gorgonzola ass cracker–but she always had a fresh layer of horrible makeup piled on atop the geological strata of troweled on crap from decades gone by, not to mention the incredibly lengthy nail extensions covered in layers of chipping polish. :eek: And the time when our 24/7/365 operation was sidelined by a massive city wide power failure–we didn’t have locks on the doors since we were never closed, I had to get a bike chain and chain the doors shut because people could NOT accept the fact that I couldn’t (and more astonishingly to them, WOULDN’T!) sell them “just a pack of cigarettes” or “I just need a pop” due to the flimsy excuse that the cash register wasn’t working. They would yell and argue through the door, rattle the chain like pissed off gorillas in the zoo, try to get me to pass them stuff through the door–it was like “Day of the Dead” in there, I swear! :smack:
Then I guess I figured that working customer service on the phone would be easier or better in some way. Yes, I am a fool who learns nothing from previous experience, thankyouverymuch. Working on the phone merely exposes one to a greater range and variety of regional specialty idiocy and assholishness than those garden variety local crazies. After doing that crap for several years, I’m very happy to be a supervisor these days and one of my chief delights is taking escalated calls from these shitheads and not only telling them the unpalatable truths they don’t want to hear, but also telling them how little I appreciate them abusing my reps and informing them quite firmly that their little tantrums might have impressed their spineless mummies but I’m made of considerably sterner stuff and if they want to get anywhere they’d better chill out, behave like adults and speak in a normal tone and volume of voice or they’ll be talking to a dead phone. Lots of times this makes them cuss at me, and I hang up so fast I sprain a finger!