once while workin callcentre hell
picture this. i'm on the desk for a company who offer cheap combined gas and electric bills for the over 65's, based on the number of bedrooms giving one fixed monthly bill, so in winter they can run the heating and not fear big bills.

so this one old lady's on the line, she's deaf as a post, very confused, i ask her if she has a heated greenhous (stock question) she hears 'beehive' and starts getting all worked up.. accusing me of 'prying' etc..
at which point the voice i've been hearing faintly in the background comes on.. it's obvio9usly her son.

he starts off nicely with a 'now listen here gobshite, i'm not having you swindling my mother, blah blah old and vulnerable blah blah, blah blah conned out of life savings blah watchdog blah.. so i start trying to explain what we're offering and what you need to qualify, and he starts LITERALLY screaming, i could near-as-dammit hear the spittle hitting the receiver, how this was a private ex-dir number, they were on the no-call list, and how DARE i call her, and he wanted to speak to my manager, was going to press charges etc etc...

i waited for the man to die down into some kind of enraged silence, and said 'sir, i'm not sure if you're aware, but this callcentre handles inbound calls only. our outbound call function is disabled and we don't have functioning handsets, just headsets and a green button to answer calls. the only way it's possible for this conversation to be taking place is if you dialled us.


he went very quiet.
twat
i just hung up. fuck him.
(UppityDamnPrimate LET'S OPEN THIS F*CKING PIT UP, Sun 7 Sep 2008, 17:35, Reply)

Not being a customer from hell...
... can sometimes get you a long way. Or at least the same distance in more comfort.

On my way back from the USA once, I was dressed fairly smartly so I went into the Virgin lounge to ask whether a silver frequent flyers' card was enough to get in. Turns out, the answer is "no". Oh, well, so just on the offchance I asked whether there was any chance of a free upgrade.

Meanwhile, next to me at the reception desk, talking to the other receptionist, was an American woman with a gold card who was loudly berating the staff for not providing her with the free upgrade she was, apparently "entitled to". Rude, arrogant, and generally being a spoiled pinch-faced old stress-ball.

My receptionist said that there may be a chance of an upgrade, depending on who turned up for the flight, but she couldn't guarantee it and would put me in the queue. (This is the same thing that had earned her colleague a mouthful from my fellow traveler.) I thanked her, and was about to leave when she leaned over and said "But I know who's definitely not getting one," eyeing up the disgruntled gold-card holder beside me.

When I got on the plane, I got to see her sour face again as I walked past her cramped seat, on the way to my nice reclining bed and hot and cold running champagne in Upper Class.

Upper Class is great - a full night's sleep and they made me a bacon butty for breakfast. Result.
( Amish Information Systems hates misplaced, commas, Sun 7 Sep 2008, 17:07, 4 replies)

Drunken Scots
When I was a mere trooper Placid, I took a part-time job in a working men's club in my home town of Coventry. This was in one of the years when Coventry was, statistically, one of the top 10 most violent cities in Europe. The club in which I worked was less than salubrious but there was an unwritten law amongst the regulars..

Don't fuck with the barstaff.


Ever.


One Friday night about twenty minutes before calling time, I was serving a stupendously ugly woman with an accent thicker than a whale-and-Welshman's-cock omelette, who had been drinking with some other sub-humans all afternoon.

She ordered 12 "Leeurrge wahusskees". Having worked in the place for a while and having been able to decipher near-comatose-through-drink Kerrymens requests for alcohol, I promptly asked her/it "What brand"?

"Byeulls"


"Ah" quoth I "Would that be bell's"?

"Yursss"

"OK, twelve double Bell's coming up"

"YA WEE GOBSHITE BASSA AH WANT LEEURGE WANS, FUKKIN LEEURGE WANS YE CUNT".

Trying to hold back my urge to tear out the eyes of this waste of blood and organs I replied " Large ones usually means doubles, I'll get you single ones".

"ARE YOU SOME KIND AH FUKKIN SIMPLETON YE CUNT AH WANT LEEURGE WANS"

It then proceeded to spit at me.


Icily calm, I turned to the next customer, a man-mountain called Big Jimmy C, and asked him whether he wanted his usual (two guiness and a double pusser's rum).


She went puce and lost her (albeit loose) grasp of the power of speech and just shrieked for about three minutes, throwing up AND pissing herself in rage. Turning to her eleven mates she started to shout "RIGHT, FUKKIN TRASH THe pla....."

Her friends were surrounded by the Irish navvy crew of which Big Jimmy C was the ganger. These guys were unfailingly polite and the only thing they did when steaming drunk (I:E every night) was sing Irish rebel songs, quite tunefully as I recall. Big, BIG, very hard men. Lots of them.

She deflated and turned back to me, crestfallen. "I'm sorreh but it's my husband's funeral",

Big Jimmy C turned to me and said "All yours Jimmy"*

I lookd at her pityingly and said "I'll bet he's looking down at you and feeling proud as punch right now, bet he can't WAIT for you to join him"

She started to cry.

"By the way, here in civilisation, we serve spirits in multiples of one-sixth of a gill, in Scotland you serve in one-quarter gills, God alone knows why because you patently can't handle it".


"Now get out".

They left.

Big Jimmy C shook my hand and said "Thanks for not swearing Jimmy, I don't like to hear a young gentleman such as yourself using foul language, but you was a bit harsh".
He pondered for a moment and said shyly "But then again, I'd have lamped her".

The steward of the place recieved a very nice letter of apology from the head of the family and £50 for staff drinks about a week later.


RIP Big Jimmy C, a big gentle man. Cancer's a bastard.





*BTW, if you meet me, please don't call me "Jimmy" unless you are at least as big as Big Jimmy C.**


** Trust me on this, you aren't. Seriously.
(Captain Placid 24/7 ball gags, brownie mix and clown porn, Sun 7 Sep 2008, 16:52, 15 replies)

agggggghhhhhh
the killer one for me is the customers who get pissed off when they ask for espresso and get served with a small shot of coffee, or the lady who asks me for capuchino with no foam

length?... tall :-)
(fluffyfangs drinks, smokes and hangs round with strange women, Sun 7 Sep 2008, 16:51, 5 replies)

Role reversal
Despite my generally mild mannered nature, I can get riled sometimes. It takes a lot and there are usually extenuating circumstances, but when it happens, it's not pleasant. This is one such instance - me becoming a customer from hell, but with some justification.

So, Argos, Christmas Eve, 2000. Me and the ex are trying to buy a cheapish midi system for her mum, who's tape player had decided to blow up. We thought that, as a late Christtmas present we'd get her a new system. She hasn't yet graduated to CDs, but we thought we'd get her a CD / tape player. Found one in the catalogue that fitted the bill, placed the order and went to collect it from the desk.

Five minutes later a box is handed over. We're about to leave the store, when I noticed the picture on the box. It's the wrong one, but more importantly, it doesn't have a tape deck on it. No good for the outlaw, who has mostly tapes at home. So I went back to the desk. "Excuse me," I said, "we appear to have been given the wrong model".

"Yes, the model you ordered is out of stock and we reserve the right to give you an alternate, but comparable, model instead. That one is actually a better spec anyway".

"That might be the case, but this one doesn't have a tape deck".

"Well, they are becoming obsolete, you know".

"Not to my mother in law they're not", I replied, "This is a present for her and she has mostly tapes. Can I at least swap this for a model with a tape deck?"

"We can't do that I'm afraid".

"Why not?"

"Because the next model with a tape deck is £10 more expensive".

"And? I'll pay the difference".

"It's actually a bit complicated to do that".

"I don't see why".

"It just is".

I was becoming very irate by this point. "Look, regardless of that, this isn't what I want. It's no good to the person it's meant for, because it hasn't got a tape deck. If I can't have one with a tape deck on it, then can I return this and get a refund instead?"

"I can't do that".

"WHAT?" I asked in disbelief. "Can I see the manager please?"

Manager trots out, and I explain the situation; however the dozy tart is obviously not listening properly and states "We reserve the right to give you a comparable model if the model you ordered isn't in stock."

Seething slightly by now, I explain in my best English, "yes, but this isn't a comparable model; if it were it would have a tape deck. It doesn't, therefore it can hardly be comparable, can it?" My voice was getting louder and louder by this point, much to my ex's apparent embarrassment. "If I'd wanted just a CD player I would have bought one, however, I DON'T WANT A BLOODY CD PLAYER, I WANT ONE WITH A BLOODY TAPE DECK AS WELL! DO. YOU. UNDERSTAND? Either give me a refund on this one, or let me pay an extra £10 for a model that meets the needs of the customer."

They gave me a refund, and I went next door to Comet instead. Where I found a perfect model that was actually cheaper than the one I'd ordered next door anyway.

I'm not proud of losing my temper in a busy shop, but honestly, the staff were fucking clueless.

Merry Fucking Christmas.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Sun 7 Sep 2008, 15:57, 2 replies)

Cobs and Guts
During my training years, I got to work on every department within food retail. This particular month I was assigned to the deli, a job I really enjoyed.

Customers were usually really pleasant and you could have quite a good natter as you were serving them half a pound of Billy Bear or whatever their meaty pleasures were.

Now we also did raw meats, bacon, sausage and certain types of gizzardy entrails. Serving this usually meant scooping up a big spoonful of the bloody, gelatinous goop, slapping it in a polystyrene pot and weighing the offending mess. It didn't sell particularly well.

One surprising Saturday, a rather alarming looking man sidled up to the counter and requested a pot of liver, raw liver.

No problem. Filled the pot, weighed it, £2 something or other, and gave it to the customer.

Now, most people would have placed the item in their trolley, and trundled off around the aisles to finish their shopping.

Instead, this particular gentleman ripped open a fresh crusty cob, filled it with said liver, and proceeded to eat the lot in front of us deli girls.

As we stood there agog, bits of bloody crust were scattered far and wide, droplets of masticated blood and liver sprayed over the front of the counter, and a large pool of it splodged to the ground.

The "customer" wheeled round and thanked us, his horrifying red gaping maw causing the cheese girl to chunder her guts up, then pranced off towards the checkouts with bits of innards plastered into his beard.

It truly was an offal experience.
( Scary Mary The D'oh Fairy, Sun 7 Sep 2008, 15:39, 3 replies)

Customers are knobs. Never work for Primark!
Way back when, back in the days of teenagerdom I was unfortunate enough to work at Primark on Saturdays. This was a new store and Lincoln had never seen the likes of it before, so naturally every Saturday they aaaall came out of the woodwork to buy thongs for a quid.

A 'regular' came in one day, and was just what you'd expect from Lincoln chavviness - orange face (white neck!), scrunchies in her badly dyed and greasy hair, smelling like god-knows-what and looking like she'd put her eyeshadow on with a shotgun. I was on customer services and up she trundles, bag in hand. She dumps contents of said bag onto my counter, right in front of me and says "wanna bring these back duck".

In front of me, just dumped on my workspace, was a pile of unwashed thongs.

Now, anyone who's ever been shopping for clothes knows that there's a returns policy, where undies aren't included and can't be returned. She was adamant and even when I got my fucking MANAGER she blamed me for being "a prude".

She tried that for most Saturdays over the 9 months I spent in that hellhole.
(Lucoire tutted and shook her head in disbelief on, Sun 7 Sep 2008, 15:14, 2 replies)

Its not always the customer though...
A while back, I was looking to purchase a laptop. A fairly simple purchase I thought. Wanting to avoid the acne riddled fucktards in PC World, I thought I'd try Dell. So, I called them up. What happened totally amazed me...

Me (after navigating the usual throw a 6 to start phone system): Hello, I'd like to buy a laptop please.
Dell: A what sir?
Me: A laptop PC.
Dell: A PC sir? Certainly sir. What kind of PC would you like?
M: A laptop.
D: ?
M: (confused now) Laptop. You know, not a big table top PC, a smaller one that you can have on your lap.
D: Like a notebook sir?

*At this point I twig that Dell don't sell laptops, they sell notebooks*

M: Yes, a notebook.
D: What will you be using the notebook for sir?
M: The usual - internet, itunes. Not gaming though, I have an xbox.
D: What is an xbox sir?
M: WTF? Doesn't matter, I just want to use the internet and itunes.
D: Ok sir. Will you be playing good games on your notebook?
M: No. Just the internet and itunes. Maybe MS Office.
D: Ok sir. What is itunes?
M: *click*

Ended up in PC World anyway. Who were to be fair, very helpful. And had heard of itunes.
(animal252 last activated his kitten hammer on, Sun 7 Sep 2008, 15:12, 5 replies)

When I'm being a customer
I always try to be nice to the staff. Manners cost nothing, right? Usually, it also gets you better service.

Recently, while completing the "back to school" shopping campaign (launched in the first week of July with absolutely no enthusiasm whatsoever) I was in a certain clothes shop. Not just any clothes shop..... They didn't have the item I wanted in the right size, so I took another size to the till to have the stock checked.

I was out of luck, but the very helpful girl on the till offered to order it for me. She was cheerful, helpful and best of all, efficient. When I'd finished paying for the stuff I'd bought and ordered, I made my way towards the door. On the way, I spotted a well dressed chap with a name badge bearing the title "Assistant Manager". He was asking everyone who passed if they'd gotten everything they needed that day. I replied in the negative, but added that the girl on the till had been more than helpful and had ordered the rest in for me. I added that she had been a credit to their store and I was very pleased.

He looked down his nose at me and said,

"So your point is?"

I was slightly taken aback. Not one to be lost for words for too long, I shot back with,

"My point is, that she's obviously better suited to her job than you are to yours."

I stalked off in disgust, but was still annoyed at his attitude when I got home. One phone call to the shop manager, and he's heading for a smacked bottom. Or at least, a few sharp words. I also made sure that I praised the girl on the till so hopefully she got a pat on the back.

Why stand there asking a question when you clearly don't give a flying fcuk what the answer is?
(TheWeeWitch hasn't been here much recently .., Sun 7 Sep 2008, 14:55, 5 replies)

communism
In many ex-communist countries, every customer is the customer from hell. Back in the old days, there was either no stock, or if there was it was too expensive for anyone to afford. So the shop assistants treated everyone like shit because they could. The attitude remains.

I went into a kitchenware shop to buy a frying pan. All were arranged prettily on the shelf and I naturally took each one down to examine it carefully. After a few minutes, I'd lookked at each one - hefting it for weight and examining its various properties as you do.

During this process, the shop assistant, a menopausal witch, was becoming angrier and angrier at me messing up her 'display'. As I began to look again at my two favourite pans, she leapt from her stool and screeched at me to leave the pans alone and get out of her shop.

I protested that I wanted to buy one, but this was of no relevance. She bodily barred me from the shelves and ushered me out of the door. Then she started to rearrange the pans again.

Come to think it, a shopkeeper in Greece once called me a wanker when I went in and moved a coffee grinder two millimetres to the right of where it had been positioned (presumably with a theodolite or laser-positioning equipment). I returned later that day and stood at the window opening the box of an expensive grinder I'd bought from one of his competitiors.
(frankspencer, Sun 7 Sep 2008, 14:40, 1 reply)

I literally had customers from hell.
Stupid gold fiddle shop.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sun 7 Sep 2008, 14:31, 10 replies)

Hello. And what kind of job are you looking for?
I was, I believe, an entirely reasonable Jobcentre monkey. Often I would help clients to avoid having their claims closed down, by getting them to sign a form they should have signed a week earlier, and backdating it for them. This helped to avoid mountains of crappy paperwork and getting them to wait for two hours whilst an adjudicator looked at their case, which would invariably be closed and result in them having to make an appointment to make a new claim.

However, my reasonable nature was pushed to the limit when a new claim interview that should have lasted 40 minutes turned into a two and a half hour 'banging my head off the desk' extravaganza.

The scene: 18 year old kid comes in to make a claim. I, your heroic new claims monkey, am assigned to do the interview. The lad is wearing a vacant expression that only a mother could love.

"Hello, I'm DG and I'll be interviewing you today". Shake hands, take to desk, and offer seat.

"Now then, have you claimed before? No? OK, I'll just run through a few things before we start". And I launched into the automatic spiel about the format of the interview, the basic rules of claiming Jobseeker's Allowance, and off we go.

"I'll just take a few personal details first". Usual stuff, check name and address, National Insurance number etc. It's going swimmingly so far. Now for the nitty-gritty.

"You haven't worked before?"

"No, I've just left school".

"OK, what sort of work are you looking for?"

"I'm not". Ah. This was a bit unexpected.

"But you're claiming Jobseeker's Allowance. To receive it, you have to be looking for work," quoth I.

"Do I?"

"Yes. Why don't you want a job?"

"Because I'm starting college in a couple of months time as a full time student."

"OK, but between now and then you could conceivably take a job, yes?"

*Shrug* "Dunno. Wouldn't it be taking the mick out of any employer?"

"Not really, there's plenty of seasonal work about."

"Yeah, but I'm not really looking for work, so wouldn't it be lying if I said I was and wasn't?"

"Well," I began, and launched into some helpful advice about how he could just say he was looking for temporary work until he started college, then sign off. Go through the motions, jump through the hoops for a couple of months, and all will be fine. As long as you follow the rules, it'll be fine. Client nods head. By George, I think it's getting through.

"So, what kind of work would you consider then?"

Another shrug. "Not really bothered, 'cos I don't really want a job."

Help. Me. Please. A colleague comes over "Everything OK?", she asks. I have a quiet word, she takes a seat next to me, and proceeds to explain, Janet and John style, about the rules for receiving benefit.

Cutting out a lot of frustration, we get to 90 minutes worth of interviewing. The waiting area is getting backed up with clients I'm meant to be seeing, but can't until the interview is finished. My colleague is getting frustrated by this point. "You're not doing yourself any favours here, you know", says she.

Eventually, he agrees that bar work might be viable. "But I can only do five hours a week".

Eh? What? Why only five hours a week? Turns out he wants bar work in Newcastle as the pubs in Alnwick are shit, and as he'd have to travel by bus, he'd be limited to how long he can work as the last bus back is at 10:30 at night.

"You're not really getting this are you?" I ask. But he was insistent that 5 hours a week bar work in Newcastle was all he could commit to. "OK, 5 hours a week but I'll have to send your claim to an adjudicator, and it's very likely that they will turn your claim down. You do understand what I'm telling you, don't you?" I said, slowing my words down pointedly.

*Nods*

"OK. You'll need to go and sit over there whilst I refer this for a decision, OK?"

About half an hour later the decision comes back. My interviews for the day have either been seen by someone else, or sent home with a new appointment and their travel costs reimbursed. I beckon my hapless halfwit back across and deliver the news that, as expected, his claim had been turned down on the grounds that he was placing unreasonable restrictions on his availability for work.

His reaction was not what I expected. "OK. So when do I come in to sign on?"

"Erm, you don't. Your claim has been disallowed, ergo, you're not entitled to anything, so you don't have to come in to sign on, because you wouldn't be achieving anything by doing so."

"So what am I going to live on?" he asks, genuinely.

"That's not up to me".

"But I've got no money".

"Well, you could apply for a job".

"But I don't want one".

It was at this point that my brain was screaming "Aaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggghhhhhhh"....
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Sun 7 Sep 2008, 14:09, 13 replies)

"But I didn't tell them ..."
A man came into the store where I worked, Christmas Eve, and asked for a pair of sunglasses; they had to be suitable for driving, because his mother likes to drive a lot, and all weather conditions, durable, etc. Price is not an issue. So I show him a fancy pair of Oakleys, top of the range, polarised, metal, really nice. Can't quite imagine a MOTHER in them, but hey, they fit his criteria. I explain we don't refund except for faulty goods, but we can give store credit. That's fine. Out he strolls into the night.

Boxing Day, and an older lady comes in, asking if we might be able to help - her son bought her some sunglasses for Christmas and she can't use them, can she get a refund? Well, she won't be able to get a refund, but let's see them first. She pulls out the box and my heart sinks. That sale was a masterpiece, it had boosted my average considerably. Now this daft bitch was about to ruin it all because she wanted a refund. Well, why should we give you a refund? No shit this is what she said:

"I used to drive a lot, yes, but I had a stroke some years ago. And I only told two of my eight children, I didn't want them all to worry. So I can't drive any more, and these are no use to me."

At what point she seriously thought her not informing her children of her medical history was in any way my business or could change this situation, I don't know. We all told her she could not have a refund, and she got *mad*. She was ranting and raving and demanding my name (my assistant manager was a gem, she told the woman categorically she could have my store number as printed on the receipt but not my name), and she was threatening to go to the papers over this company policy. Really, she got irate.

Finally the matter was resolved. We rang my manager who agreed that she could not have a refund. We then (at this woman's insistence) disturbed the area manager, who, being new to this company and a dippy bitch to boot, authorised the refund, but that it would have to go via head office and the woman would be waiting weeks anyway.

So, now, as far as this woman was concerned, we had all lied to her, but at least she was getting what she wanted. That was three years ago and I still think she's a cow.
(zenmeban thinks the weather could be better, Sun 7 Sep 2008, 13:54, 2 replies)

But Sainsbury's sell it!
I manage my local Co-op, and being quite a small shop we know most of our regulars and old dears by name. Most of them just come down for a natter, or to fetch a pint and a loaf, after all we are only a small convenience shop.

Unfortunately, some of the more impolite customers don't realise this, and think the outside of the store is hiding some Tardis-like interior, where we stock every foodstuff known to man.

Conversations usually go something like this:

Cust: Excuse me?
SM: Yes.
Cust: Do you sell freshly squeezed asparagus juice?
(Now bearing in mind I manage the damned place, manually order most of the goods, and know every line in stock, I know for a fact we don't stock whatever ridiculous item is being asked for)
SM: I'm afraid we don't Madam.
Cust: Are you sure?
SM:(anus puckers inwards) I am positive Madam.
Cust: WHAT? THAT'S ABSOLUTELY RIDICULOUS! How on EARTH am I suppose to prepare my asparagus and foie gras soup FOR MY DINNER PARTY WITH THE FUCKING QUEEEEEEEN!
SM:(dies a bit more) Again I can only apologise Madam.
Cust: Well BLOODY SAINSBURYS SELL IT!!!!

Oh the MASSIVE superstore around the corner, the one that is FUCKING HUGE.

Aaaaaaaaaaaargh. One day I'll snap and actually say the line that I think of every time this happens.

"Why don't you fuck off to bloody Sainsburys then you monstrous ARSEHOLE!"

Gawd bless customers, they're never right.
( Scary Mary The D'oh Fairy, Sun 7 Sep 2008, 13:37, 1 reply)

"Customers".......riiiiight
My fiancée has the customers from hell, and she can do nothing about it.

They swear at her, despite her attempts to politely ask them not to.

They hit her, kick her, throw chairs at her, and sometimes spit. She's had a basketball thrown in her face hard from a distance of about half a metre.

They smoke and take drugs.

They assault each other.

They've driven her to the brink of nervous exhaustion a couple of times now.

She's a primary school teacher. Her "customers" are 10.

The parents are even worse......
(David CopAFeel Used to be The_Elcat - Spouting crap since 1970., Sun 7 Sep 2008, 13:36, 3 replies)

holy moly
just come back to b3ta after trying to apply online to places. b3ta is hardly inspiring confidence or joy... neither are the online applications.

are you an external applicant? ... yees.
please enter email and password. -

WHAT PASSWORD??? IM AN EXTERNAL APPLICANT.

so it looks to me like i'll be doing the same thing i did at the start of the summer when i was looking for my temporary job which is handing out 100 + CVs and filling out a billion application forms and going "plllllease hire me so you can not pay me enough, give me ridiculous working hours and put all the blame on me as a part timer when you haven't taken it upon yourself to train me properly. i enjoy being exhausted and not really having the money to show for it.'

id completely forgotten about the CUSTOMERS. woo!
(ladyintheradiator, Sun 7 Sep 2008, 12:47, 1 reply)

Comic Peple
My godfather is a comic and art dealer in London. I have, on occasion, despite being entirely uninterested in comics, been to assist him in selling his wares at various comic and fantasy art conventions.

There are some very weird people out there.

The 50 year old man in a Wookie outfit buying comic porn and then telling me that I should really go back to his to see his 'collection'. I was a fresh faced 17 year old Zapiola and the idea of a sweaty, seriously disturbed, gentleman dressed as an overweight teddy bear showing me his 'collection' and then, for all I know, buggering me and then having me mounted over the mantle piece wasn't a thrilling one.

The dutchman who turned up blasted, and tried to pick a fight with me because we were missing the issue of Bunty that he desperately wanted. And then coming back an hour later and doing the same thing.

The fat sweaty 30 year old and his fat sweaty friend going into a pratically orgasmic frenzy over a Caspar the Friendly Ghost comic, treating it like the was a rare and precious document and generally squealing like little girls. The sodding thing cost 50p and we had another 30 copies of the same issue out back.

The smell too... it was bizarre. And the people wandering around dressed up as characters. I mean, each to his own, and I've seen some delightful takes on Wonder Woman's costume when worn to a party by a nice young lady.... but a 60 year old (or so) woman who looks like a malformed potato... personal liberty in sense and dress is one thing, but realistically should she be dressing so? And then asking the 17 year old kid behind the counter to help her adjust the bra straps on her top?
(Zapiola zip-zap-zop, Sun 7 Sep 2008, 12:31, 1 reply)

Last night...
I was at work for a total of an hour and a half.

For those who don't know, I have a lovely new job at a local bar. We are VERY tight on ID.

I was approached at the bar, by a girl/woman who looked about 15/16. I asked her for ID. Here is what followed.

Her: "Vodka and coke please"
Me: "Have you got any ID with you?"
Her: "For god's sake... NO!"
Me: "I'm sorry, but I can't serve you"
Her: *storms towards door*
Her: *Turns and heads back towards me*
Her: *Can I have a glass of water then?"
Me: "Sorry, but you have to be 18 to be in here, and you have no ID"
Her: "That's 14!"
Me: "No, in this chain, you must be 18 to be in the pub unless you are eating with an adult. Sorry."
Her: "Can I use your toilet then?"
My colleague: "Yes, but you have to leave straight away after"
Her: *Storms into the toilets*

20 Minutes later.......

Customer comes storming out of the loo's and screams at me:

"I've never been so insulted in my life! I'm 22 and a half years old!"

I shrugged and she walked out.

Me and my colleagues pissed ourselves.

The end.

*generic length/apology*
( The Flaming Ibanez Awww, c'mon, Japanese girls do it!, Sun 7 Sep 2008, 11:43, 6 replies)

Candle Woman
I had many fun experiences at my old workplace. This one involved a very nice lady who wanted to buy some candles. This was at about 6.45pm and we closed at seven.

She grabbed about ten candles, paid promptly and left. We were getting ready to close and basically not doing any more work because we couldn't be bothered when this woman appeared frantic and extremely angry.

In her hand, she was clutching the ten candles all of which were either split in two or looked pretty chewed up.

I asked her what the matter was and if she was okay? To which she replied, "No, I'm fucking not, these fucking candles are fucking faulty."

It's pretty hard to find a faulty candle. They are a wick surrounded by wax, which you then light.

Anyway, she continued through gritted teeth,
"I went back to the pub where I am having a party for my daughter. I put these candles onto the candelabra and they have split in half!!!"

At this point I wondered why the merry fuck she had split ALL of them. Why didn't she stop after the first?

"I want my money back!!!"

This was going to be tricky. A customer can't really have a refund if they openly admit to destroying the goods...

I explained that we do sell candles that are designed to put on spikes, but they weren't the ones.

"I want my fucking money back!!!"

I used a line I reserved only for the biggest idiots. "Please will you leave."

"You jumped up prick" was the screamed response.

I walked to the door and held it open. "Get out please"

"You bunch of fuc...." and she had gone.

We laughed our heads off and generally agreed that had she pulled the right faces and admitted her mistake, we probably would have given her some free replacements.

Then, just as the lights went off and we had our coats on, a face appeared at the door and an angry wax coated hand started banging on the glass. "I want some fucking candles!!!!!"

I envy the woman. If this is her idea of a total crisis, her life must be a piece of piss...

Next time readers - the man who I asked to leave because he was blatantly shoplifting who replied, "You'll have to kill me first."
(mrwheels, Sun 7 Sep 2008, 11:16, 5 replies)

I am a barman, please talk to me like I'm a twat
I work part-time in a pub on weekends and I sympathise with everyone of my comrades who suffer from being on the wrong side of the bar.

There are good times, like people getting the names of drinks wrong, Managers, Stringbow (?), and J-2o in a variety of mispronounced ways (J-Lo, H-20-J, OJ-20 etc)

Anyway, two particular incidents spring to mind. The first was a regular who is no longer with us. Every Sunday, to the minute, she would come in and have a whiskey and water. She looked like she had been 80 all her life but though a bit stern never caused any trouble. Until the last time we saw her. THere was a major match on TV and the place was packed, and there were a fair number of families in there having Sunday lunch.

She came in and had the usual, and as I went to collect payment she pulled out a small bag of old pennies and threepenny bits. I told her they were no longer legal tender and I needed 'current' currency. Then I found out the hard way that although she was petite, she had a hell of a scream on her. And I mean screaming, not shouting.
'HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT!! THIS IS BRITISH MONEY!! I calmly said that although that was true it was no longer in use.
'I'VE BEEN SAVING THESE FOR YEARS, SINCE BEFORE YOU WERE BORN, BOY, AND YOU CALL YOURSELF A BARMAN? YOU KNOW FUCK ALL!! THIS IS BRITISH 'SOVEREIGNTY' YOU IGNORANT FUCK. Once again I remained calm and told her it's my job to serve drinks, not take abuse. At this point the man next in line muttered under his breath 'For fuck's sake' and said he'd pay for her. Regaining her nice calmness we are used to she said 'Thank you, but don't think I'm going home with you.'

The second incident involved Christmas Eve a few years ago where the group of pisshead chavs was 3 deep the other side of the bar. $ of us on the shift and the crowd is getting restless. In all the rowdiness I hear somebody shouting 'Hurry up' and just ignored it. A few minutes later he says it again. then again. All the time, we are flat out serving as fast as we can and then I come face to face with the guy who kept saying it. He who is superior to the barstaff.
'Too late mate, I'm being served'. I go to move to serve someone else and he grabs my collar. 'Listen cunt, I've been waiting here over 10 fucking minutes to get served, and when I say hurry up that means I'm next, okay?'
I told him we have a queuing system here and it generally works very well.
'10 fucking minutes!! 10 fucking minutes!! You are a sad excuse for a barman, and I hope your mum gets cancer for Christmas,' At this point I grab the nearest pint and think 'Fuck it' and go to throw it in his face, at which point the regulars intervene and tell him to fuck off and die. As he's leaving I shouted out for him to hurry up.
(steve dubbleyoo, Sun 7 Sep 2008, 10:37, 2 replies)

I worked in Garden Centre
Our Growbags cost £1.39 each, but the local DIY store was selling Growbags for 99p. My boss, the owner of the garden centre was not known to suffer fools easily.

One day a middle aged chap came in and the conversation went like this:

Chap: "How much are your grow bags please?"
Boss: "They're £1.39 each sir."
Chap: "Oh. They're only 99p down the road."
Boss: "Well if you want it cheaper then I'm afraid you'll have to go there, because ours are £1.39"
Chap: "Ah, but they haven't got any left..."
Boss: "Well, when we have none left, ours are 99p as well."
( Roland E O'Dorant R Tape loading error, 0:1, Sun 7 Sep 2008, 10:30, 1 reply)

the customer is never right!!!!
having worked in retail (big catalogue store), a bowling alley and in legal/finance I have come to realise that common sense is not very common at all.

far to many incidents to mention but a few that stick out:
- i worked on customer services at aforementioned catalogue store and come accross some very strange people. Is it a crime to ask for proof of purchase of an item... I think not- according to more than one customer this was an unreasonable request, how can they be expected to keep receipts for everything!!!!/ maybe because you may need it perhaps!
- pikeys who return items and claim its never been used and they were bought two of the same thing for their birthday- its quite obvious the item (for example- schoolbag, with crisps and mud in the bottom) had been used.
-in which fucked up society do people think that swearing and shouting will get them dealt with more promptly- the opposite effect is usually more common.

-at the bowling alley, it quite clearly says do not step over the black line as the lane is slipperly, therefore Mr twunt walks down the lane and slips and lands on his back, then threatens to sue... its your own fucking fault mr twunt, suck it up.
- bowling alleys are essentially machines and therefore have a nasty habit of occasionally breaking, the number of people who blame me because of this was immence. Yes, I got paid 3.30 per hour, of course it was my fault.
-those gyppos who order a burger, eat it all except one bite and then come to the counter and say they found a hair in the burger and want a new one! my sister and i both too great pleasure in pointing out that a) they should have realised the 20 inch hair was there before given that the burger around it had been eated and b) nobody except the carnee in the corner has hair as long as that....
-people who claim they gave you a twenty and you gave them change for a 10!- so... you have to pull the till out and count it, if the till is up 10 quid they can have it, if the till is not up then obviously we were given a 10. when mrs pissed customer is proved wrong and kicks off and says its not accurate I hastened to point out that we counted the till at the begining of the night and since out encounter we have had to count the till two or three times since because mr twat and mrs fuckface haveclaimed that they have been shortchanged by the fucking spotty teanagers behind the bar.

finally in my last job, had usually over 150 clients at any one time, nationwide. So many people would think that they were my ONLY client. 'hello its mr jones from wales' my reply 'which one!'

ffs i wonder how some people manage to get dressed of a morning!
(jenko83, Sun 7 Sep 2008, 10:05, 3 replies)

This one's about a friend
An old roommate of mine used to work in a video store which also has sun-beds. This of course means he had to deal with plenty of orange chavy types.

The worst part was cleaning out the tanning rooms at the end of the night. He'd often find cups or bottles left lying around the room. Not too bad, except they were always filled with piss. And the bins in the room would be pissed and shat in almost everyday too. They'd almost always have skidmarks on the tanning beds too.

What's that you might be thinking? Surely putting a public toilet up there will fix things? Well, they had a toilet up there put it takes about one day for it to get blocked, broken or stupid cunts to not bother flushing and keep pilling up more and more shit until there's a proper little mountain in there. One day, someone took the toilet brush and used it to smear shit all over the walls and then proudly stuck the brush back into the pile.

He stayed there for 2 years somehow.
(cH3$h7846J#7, Sun 7 Sep 2008, 9:48, Reply)

classic
i work in a pet shop . One day this chap walked in trying to return a dead parrot...........
(welgar, Sun 7 Sep 2008, 9:01, 3 replies)

More call centre joys
I didn't take this call, but I overheard my friend take it. She was talking to a chap who had hit one of our policyholders.

"Sir, we're not protecting our policyholder just because he's British. We're helping him because he pays for the service."

[pause]

"No, sir, it has nothing to do with where you come from. You hit our policyholder, and now we have to pursue his interests."

[longer pause]

"Sir, you can't hit somebody's car just because you think they're taking too long to park..."


Much giggle stifling after that one :D
(Bondvillain2k, Sun 7 Sep 2008, 8:56, Reply)

viva la revolucion!
i happen to live by a 24hr garage/offie/minimarket.
you get ALL kinds of cunts in there.
one night, i'm queueing, and infront of me, by about 4 people there's a pair of HORRENDOUS chavvy drunk bitches, SCREAMING abuse at the very nice man who works there because he won't let them use the staff toilet. they're swearing and grabbing at him over the counter, and everyone's pissed off. the guy behind asks if they can move so he can pay and to stop abusing the guy, they start screaming 'what do i fackin look like to you, some kind o fackin caaahnt? what do you expect my mate to do yeah? you want her to piss on the floor? she's not a fuckin animal mate! you caaaaaaahnt!
i was gettin hacked off cos i wanted to get my rizlas in peace, so i started heckling, i was like 'if she doesn't want to piss on the floor, maybe she could piss in your mouth, that's remarkably similar to a toilet!
it's like a dam breaking, she goes puce and emits a strangled 'whattheFUCKdidyousayyouCAAAAAAAHNT?!?!?' at which point EVERYONe in the store starts going 'get out, fuck off, go home you worthless pieces of shit' and so on.. seriously there's about 15 people just hurling abuse at these two idiots..
they left, and the guy behind the counter literally had tears of laughter running down his face.
fuckin chavs.
like it's his fault the drank too much white lightning and couldn't find an alley to piss in. fuckin drunk bitches.
(UppityDamnPrimate LET'S OPEN THIS F*CKING PIT UP, Sun 7 Sep 2008, 8:39, Reply)

ah retail
i have fond memories of my time in retail. the days at victoria's secret dealing with the transvestites-in-hiding, asked daily to 'try this on you're the same size as my girlfriend', the packs of shoplifting moms looking for classy things 'like at frederick's of hollywood (tip to out-of-americaners: if you're looking for a subtle and seductive wedding night look, i've found the men's parrot beak cleverly placed over the man-u-lar unit to be simple but oh so sexy. fact).'

yes, fond memories all. but mostly bad ones. crate&barrel, which is really an excellent place to work with fab products, inspired a lot of copycat 'home stores' -- eddie bauer home, banana republic home, macy's home ---
crap situation #1: doing wedding registry (the task of walking round a store while the bride points at every. single. thing. and says 'I WANT THAT TOO'), while the bride fumes and storms away because 'even that shopgirl's ring is bigger than mine'.
crap situation #2:the horrid stereotypical Jewish ladies whose every ism was convincing proof that Hitler had worked in retail at some point early on. and of course the general jerks and dicks and weiners in the world being jerks and dicks and weiners. but i digress.
this story is one for the struggling sad wage earners just trying to hold down a job before they grow up. and here it is: i had had many department manager positions at C&B - and i knew my shit. want to know all there is to know about fine german knives? i'm your girl. temperature at which copper cookware is more effective? yep, me too. so: one day a woman (fake nails, bleached to the point of death blonde hair, and her bitch face on just for me - brought to me a platter and demanded to return it. we had a very liberal return policy so no problem, but i couldn't return it for her. she of course immediately throws a fit in front of many people, more gathering to watch, hoping to rubberneck a gruesome accident. i said it was simply that the product wasn't ours. WHAT? SCREECH? BITCH? WHATDOYOUMEANIT'SNOTYOURSOFCOURSEIT'SYOURYOUBITCHHOWCANYOUBESOSTUBESOSTUPPID!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

ahem.
me: 'well ma'am this is stoneware which doesn't retain color as well as earthenware,the normal medium for this kind of platter. since the colors are vibrant they've been paiinted on instead of added during the firing period. our porcelain comes from portugal or spain, while this says 'bangladesh' on the signature beneath the paint, and as you can see, there is nothing else like it in our store - we normally sell these items in groups, so your platter s will match, etc -- and a quick look through the catalogs will show you we haven't carried anything like this in at least a year. she" 'IKNOW I BOUGHT IT HERE YOU J UST THINK I'M STUPID! WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU KNOW WHERE IT COMES FROM??'
me: 'well, ma'am, for all the reasons i've just outlined, and because it says 'banana republic' on the back.
sweet sweet justice.
(sar "though she be but little she is fierce", Sun 7 Sep 2008, 7:51, 1 reply)