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A little story I posted to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
customers_suck.
Yesterday someone posted asking for revenge stories. I got your revenge right here.
Recap: I work at a convenience store whose name rhymes with "Fumberland Carms." Fumby's is a pretty typical larger convenience store; along with the food and such, it sells little novelties and sunglasses.
Today I'm by myself for half an hour or so, in the gap between my manager going out to run some errands and my coworker arriving. During a quiet moment, a customer comes in to pay for gas and look at the sunglasses.
After a bit of rummaging, he brings up a pair, which I grab to scan.
Now. Sunglasses are sunglasses, not fine china. They will survive being grabbed. I think most of them are actually made that way.
But instantly, before the scanner can even beep, he freaks. "You scratched them!!1!"
Yeah, no I didn't. Trust me. It's not like I flung them across the store and stomped on them. I scanned them.
Scanner: *beep*
He takes the glasses and checks the lenses, and yeah, there's a scratch, but I'd bet money it was already there, because it's a little weird the way he spazzed at me so quickly.
In the process of checking the glasses, he licks his fingers and rubs the lens.
. . . ew.
And then he says he's not buying them.
To which I reply, "You got your spit on them. Yes, you are."
He doesn't want scratched sunglasses, which is fine. Neither would I. But I wouldn't spit on them either.
We argue back and forth on this theme for a couple of minutes. Sadly, I lose, because in the end I cannot physically hold him down and remove the money from his wallet. There are security cameras, after all.
He smacks money for the gas onto the counter, and then heads back toward the sunglasses rack, defiled pair in hand.
Me, seriously pissed by now, and trying to drive home the fact that he is nasty: "Get back here with those! You can't put those back! You put your spit on them, that's DISGUSTING!"
He stomps back over with them; I put them under the counter with the other damaged stuff, void out the sale, ring up his gas, and turn to record the void.
While I do all this, he grabs another pair and comes back up to the counter. I continue to write up the void, ignoring him while I regroup (any other customer, and I drop what I'm doing, but he's special) and entertain the idea of refusing him service.
He belligerently demands to know what I am doing, in quite the accusatory tone as though I am doing something specific against him personally. (In retrospect, he probably thought I was writing up a report or taking his license plate number or something.) Since I am so angry, and I have more or less decided by now that he is no longer a customer, I don't even pretend to be polite. I snap out my answer and and keep on writing.
I finish what I'm doing, turn to the register, and pick up the new pair.
I'll admit for that a few seconds there, I wobbled. I hate confrontation, and doubly so with customers. It would be so much easier, and so much less likely to get me in trouble, if I just rang up the fucking things and sent him on his way.
But again: Angry. Done being polite. This guy contaminated the merchandise, and when I called him on it, he acted like I was the one in the wrong. I don't fucking think so. This is one sucky customer who will not be getting away with it.
I matter-of-factly inform him that I will not be selling him the sunglasses.
He laughs like I'm kidding. I put them under the counter and say, "No, I'm serious. Goodbye." I punctuate my point with a little wave.
BLAH BLAH YOUR MANAGER BLAH BLAH. Whatever, this is my manager's name, she'll be in later, see ya!
People, please, don't spit on the merchandise. And if you do, don't expect service with a smile. Or at all.
And I don't even win the sucky customer award of the day. That goes to our overnight guy, who had a guy put his fist through the window. Lovely.
Although I think I did win for the week that time I had a guy hand me a twenty splotched with his nice fresh blood. Wonderful people we attract, really. All I need is a story involving urine and I'll have experienced the Bodily Fluids Trifecta. I'm so excited.
customers_suck.Yesterday someone posted asking for revenge stories. I got your revenge right here.
Recap: I work at a convenience store whose name rhymes with "Fumberland Carms." Fumby's is a pretty typical larger convenience store; along with the food and such, it sells little novelties and sunglasses.
Today I'm by myself for half an hour or so, in the gap between my manager going out to run some errands and my coworker arriving. During a quiet moment, a customer comes in to pay for gas and look at the sunglasses.
After a bit of rummaging, he brings up a pair, which I grab to scan.
Now. Sunglasses are sunglasses, not fine china. They will survive being grabbed. I think most of them are actually made that way.
But instantly, before the scanner can even beep, he freaks. "You scratched them!!1!"
Yeah, no I didn't. Trust me. It's not like I flung them across the store and stomped on them. I scanned them.
Scanner: *beep*
He takes the glasses and checks the lenses, and yeah, there's a scratch, but I'd bet money it was already there, because it's a little weird the way he spazzed at me so quickly.
In the process of checking the glasses, he licks his fingers and rubs the lens.
. . . ew.
And then he says he's not buying them.
To which I reply, "You got your spit on them. Yes, you are."
He doesn't want scratched sunglasses, which is fine. Neither would I. But I wouldn't spit on them either.
We argue back and forth on this theme for a couple of minutes. Sadly, I lose, because in the end I cannot physically hold him down and remove the money from his wallet. There are security cameras, after all.
He smacks money for the gas onto the counter, and then heads back toward the sunglasses rack, defiled pair in hand.
Me, seriously pissed by now, and trying to drive home the fact that he is nasty: "Get back here with those! You can't put those back! You put your spit on them, that's DISGUSTING!"
He stomps back over with them; I put them under the counter with the other damaged stuff, void out the sale, ring up his gas, and turn to record the void.
While I do all this, he grabs another pair and comes back up to the counter. I continue to write up the void, ignoring him while I regroup (any other customer, and I drop what I'm doing, but he's special) and entertain the idea of refusing him service.
He belligerently demands to know what I am doing, in quite the accusatory tone as though I am doing something specific against him personally. (In retrospect, he probably thought I was writing up a report or taking his license plate number or something.) Since I am so angry, and I have more or less decided by now that he is no longer a customer, I don't even pretend to be polite. I snap out my answer and and keep on writing.
I finish what I'm doing, turn to the register, and pick up the new pair.
I'll admit for that a few seconds there, I wobbled. I hate confrontation, and doubly so with customers. It would be so much easier, and so much less likely to get me in trouble, if I just rang up the fucking things and sent him on his way.
But again: Angry. Done being polite. This guy contaminated the merchandise, and when I called him on it, he acted like I was the one in the wrong. I don't fucking think so. This is one sucky customer who will not be getting away with it.
I matter-of-factly inform him that I will not be selling him the sunglasses.
He laughs like I'm kidding. I put them under the counter and say, "No, I'm serious. Goodbye." I punctuate my point with a little wave.
BLAH BLAH YOUR MANAGER BLAH BLAH. Whatever, this is my manager's name, she'll be in later, see ya!
People, please, don't spit on the merchandise. And if you do, don't expect service with a smile. Or at all.
And I don't even win the sucky customer award of the day. That goes to our overnight guy, who had a guy put his fist through the window. Lovely.
Although I think I did win for the week that time I had a guy hand me a twenty splotched with his nice fresh blood. Wonderful people we attract, really. All I need is a story involving urine and I'll have experienced the Bodily Fluids Trifecta. I'm so excited.
