From an RHUer:
From an RHUer:
From sedwards3205: A customer asked me for an extra plastic bag. I gave her one and this is what she did with it.
A woman called 999 because she was refused entry to McDonald's for being "too drunk".
The woman said she had been at a nightclub opposite the restaurant in Albion Street in Leeds and was barred when she went to get food.
She told the 999 call handler: "I went to McDonald's and they said I was too drunk to go in I'd had two drinks, I'd like a police officer please."
The call handler said it was a matter for McDonald's and not the police.
"It's not an emergency call, we won't be attending. Goodbye," he added.
Tom Donohoe, from West Yorkshire Police's contact centre, said staff handle about 1,000 calls a day.
"If someone is blocking our lines with non-emergency matters, or worse still non-police matters, they are potentially slowing down our response time to genuine emergencies," he said.
"I cannot stress enough that the 999 number is for emergency use only."
A McDonald's spokesperson said: "Our first priority is to ensure our restaurants are safe and welcoming for both our customers and employees.
"In this instance, entry to our St John's Centre restaurant was restricted due to the inappropriate behaviour the individual was displaying.
"This is not a matter for the police and nor is the individual banned from our restaurant."
read more on www.bbc.com
I’ve noticed that my weekly Trifecta of Weird (™) usually has a theme. This week, it’s “they won’t believe a word that I say”.
As usual on Thursdays, our first market day of the weekend, there was a line of people waiting at the main entrance to the marketplace at the 8:30 a.m. opening bell. And while I can’t say that they were standing out there scheming together, it seems more than coincidental that these three events happened with my first three customers.
Doorbell Cosmetics is known for having really effective and super cheap deodorant. Probably 10% of the items which I sell each weekend are deodorants. This is from a total in-stock product line of over 1000 different items.
Many of our customers have been buying Doorbell Cosmetics for decades. My great-grandmother, grandmother, and mother all sold our products door-to-door, starting in 1946. My first childhood memory is traveling with my great-grandmother to the local Doorbell Cosmetics warehouse to pick up her customers’ orders every two weeks. I can honestly say that I was born into this business...though it took me till age 52 to semi-retire from my full-time job and open one of America’s first licensed Doorbell retail stores.
About three years ago, Doorbell Cosmetics started phasing out their 1.3-ounce roll-on deodorants. These products had sold for $1.00 for about 20 years. The new deodorant packages were doubled in size, from 1.3 to 2.6 ounces, and the price was raised to $1.50. Sounds like a pretty good deal, right? Twice as much deodorant for one and a half times the price.
I sold the last of my stock of 1.3-ounce deodorants in early 2014. Nonetheless, every week I get at least one customer demanding that I sell the larger size for $1.00 “because that is how it has always been”. I have a handmade display poster on the deodorant shelf, with cutouts comparing an actual empty 2013 deodorant container with the current product in the same fragrance. (Yes, I took a circular saw and cut apart two empty deodorant bottles, then glued them with a ruler to a foam poster board!)
So my weekend started with a lady demanding that I sell her some deodorant for a dollar. I brought out my educational poster and did my little spiel.
“You are lying, you are lying!” The customer literally clapped her hands over her ears.
And then I saw my dear mother coming in the market door. I burst into a grin and said, “Do you remember YoGrandma, the ‘car Amish’ lady who used to sell Doorbell Cosmetics door-to-door in this area? Let’s ask her!”
When my mother walked into the shop, I said, “Mrs. YoGrandma [to let her know that I hadn’t identified her to the customer as my mother], when did they stop selling the $1 size in deodorants?”
My mom dutifully replied “2013, but the new size is a better deal anyway.” And then she explained the exact same thing that I had already done.
The customer went away with 10 bottles of deodorant, and without further complaint.
My mom has AUTHORITAH!!
We’ve all heard the bad joke that if an item doesn’t have a price tag, we have to give it to the customer free. And it really is just an old tired joke with most customers. But today I had someone come into the shop, gently and surreptitiously peel the label off a $15 bottle of women’s fragrance, and demand that I give it to her free.
When I laughed politely and refused, she got angry and started shouting “it’s the law!”
Just then, the Amish owner of the bakery and coffee shop walked past. “Annie,” I called out, “ist einer landjager im das backerei?”
“Ja, ja, “ she replied, “der kapitan!”
I turned innocently to the customer. “So the police chief happens to be having a cup of coffee in the bakery right now. I’m sure you’re right about the law, but I should check with him to be absolutely certain. Let’s go up there and…”
*Poof* The customer was already hauling her “heinie” down the aisle away from my store.
I’m no longer Amish, but English is my second language, and my childhood Pennsylvania Dutch still comes in handy from time to time.
I have a store policy that customers pay the lowest of these prices: my shelf price, the last three catalog prices, or the next two (future) catalog prices. 99% of the time, my shelf prices are the lowest because I buy strategically and pass the savings along to my customers. Occasionally there is a sale in the catalog that I have overlooked, and I gladly give the catalog price to the customer (and adjust my shelf prices) when they point it out to me. In addition, every Thursday is senior day, and all the shops give a 10% discount to people age 60 and up. There is also a weekly flyer which customers can receive by e-mail or pick up at the door, with extra coupons and special prices.
My third customer this morning brought more deodorant to the counter. She insisted (even after a discussion involving my poster) that deodorant had been $1.00 in the catalog “in the last couple of weeks”. My mom had unfortunately left the market by then, so I couldn’t appeal to her 74 years of Doorbell experience (vs. my own paltry 54 years).
But I keep every single catalog for at least a year, so that I can return discontinued products that are no longer listed in the catalog. So I cheerfully opened my catalog drawer, and showed her that there was no such sale in the last several months, nor will the price go down to $1.00 in the foreseeable future.
I offered her a 10% discount (though she was probably only 40 years old). “Okay, and I’ll also take the 10% discount that you were offering three weeks ago,” she said, pulling out an ancient and crumpled flyer reminding seniors of our Thursday discount.
“They’re the same discount,” I replied, “and now that you mention it, I can only give you the discount if you’re over age 60.”
We gazed at each other over the counter for a moment, then she slapped down the full $1.50 for the deodorant. “I’ll never come back,” she huffed as she stormed out the door.
I'm not a shop owner; I'm a freaking ringmaster.
There is a mentally challenged woman who gets a ride with me into the market every Thursday morning, then goes home via the senior taxi after doing her shopping. Our marketplace attempts to be a friendly place for people with cognitive disabilities: we encourage van trips from adult day care and similar facilities, and we pay extra attention to our these customers because we want them to eat healthy and fresh food. I am one of several vendors with experience dealing with special populations, and we are reasonably patient with behavioral issues.
Unfortunately, my customer got a phone call from her husband as soon as she entered the market, and immediately started cursing and kicking furniture while revealing the darkest secrets of their sex life together. When she came into my shop and began to throw things, I asked her to leave. “Go out and sit in my car until you feel better,” I suggested.
She began to threaten suicide, saying that we had all “abandoned” her. When she grabbed a pair of scissors from the flower shop and began to cut her arms with them, we had to call for emergency assistance while my delivery driver Kenny K. held her down to keep her from hurting herself. Later we heard that she had decided to go off her medications a few days earlier.
A woman came into my shop at lunchtime, and asked the price of “Protective Glove” hand cream. “$2,” I replied.
Custy: Will it be $2 tomorrow?
Custy: Are you certain?
Me: Yes, ma’am. Would you like me to hold a tube for you till tomorrow?
Custy: Well, how do you know that it will still be $2 tomorrow?
Me: Because I own this store. Let me put some aside for you. There’s no obligation, and then you’ll be certain that it will still be $2 when you pick it up tomorrow.
Custy: I don’t want you to hold it! I just want to know if it will be $2 tomorrow. And will you definitely have it tomorrow?
Me: Probably, but if you want to be sure that it doesn’t sell out before you get it, then let me put some under the counter for you.
Custy: I just want to know if it will be available tomorrow.
Me: I can’t guarantee it unless you let me set it aside for you.
Custy: I said that I don’t want you to hold it. I just want to know whether you’ll have it tomorrow for $2!
Me: Without my crystal ball, I really couldn’t tell you whether it will sell out before tomorrow.
She stormed off, muttering to herself.
(Postscript: it’s been over a week, and she has never returned to buy the product.)
At closing time, a drug-addled woman found her way into the market as Tommy the maintenance man was locking the front door. Normally, we are not permitted (at the insistence of our Amish property managers) to tell a customer that we are closing, as long as they make it through the door into the market before we lock it. But this visitor might actually get them to change the rule.
Most of the vendors had already left for the night, or at least they had their lights out and their shop gateways locked. I’d had a last-minute customer, so my lights were still on.
She proceeded to look at every shelf in my shop, while crying and shaking. After 30 minutes, even the Amish were hanging around in the aisle, asking me in Pennsylvania German to finish the transaction. At this point, I stopped giving subtle hints, and went straight into saying “Listen, we need to close the building right now. The Amish vans need to leave, and I live in ‘Murder Town’, so I have an hour’s drive to get home.”
The 50 feet between my shop and the front entrance seemed endless. Each time that I tried to lead her toward the front door, she would suddenly peel away and start looking at a random product display, asking a dozen nonsensical questions. I finally said several times in a cold tone, “You must leave now, or we will call the police.” She didn’t hear me the first few times, but eventually she moved about 20 feet closer to the door, before making a sharp right turn into the bakery and asking random questions about the raisin bread.
The Amish are traditionally unwilling to involve the police in their businesses and activities, and we also knew that calling the police would make it necessary for us to stay even longer, so we sloooooowly herded her to the front door. As Tommy was unlocking the door to let the customer out, she did a 180-degree turn and went back toward the vending machines.
Nearly an hour after we’d locked the front doors and dimmed the lights, she finally wandered outside. Without mentioning it to the Amish, I then quietly called the police station (which is located in our parking lot) and let them know that while the customer hadn’t done anything illegal, they should probably watch her as she drove away.
During my first semester of college I had a friend- we'll call him Coolio McFluff-Pants. He came in to class and told us this gem of a story.
He had gone to a Big Box Store after classes the day before. While he was browsing (I can't remember what exactly he had been looking for) this lady came up to him, asking where the girl's clothing section was. Now, this guy was in jeans and a hoodie and looked absolutely nothing like the employees but I digress.
He led this woman to the girl's clothing and continued on his way. This happened to him three more times with people trying to find things all over the store. He was patient and told them each where to find what they were looking for.
Then the Crazy appeared.
Crazy: "Excuse me!" [snaps fingers]
Coolio McFluff-Pants: "Uhh, yes?"
Crazy: "I need [whatever item it was] and make it snappy, I'm in a hurry!"
Coolio McFluff-Pants: "Look, I don't work here so I can't help you."
Crazy: "Bullshit. Don't you dare lie to me, I saw you helping those other people!"
Coolio McFluff-Pants: "Only because I knew where that stuff was but look at me, do I really look like I work here?"
Apparently this lady went off on him, screaming and ranting all over the place when a manager walked up.
Manager: "Can I help you?"
Lady proceeds to rant and rave about Coolio McFluff-Pants refusing to help her after helping other customers.
Manager: "Okay....Sir, did you really help those customers?"
Coolio McFluff-Pants: "Yeah, if I had known I was going to get screamed at I wouldn't have done it."
Coolio McFluff-Pants: "Well, I could use a second job."
Manager: "Great, just go fill out an application and what was your name?"
Coolio McFluff-Pants: "Coolio McFluff-Pants."
Manager: "Fantastic. Now, Ma'am, I believe you were looking for something?"
Crazy: "Nevermind. I don't want it anymore."
Coolio McFluff-Pants actually did get hired the next day after all of that commotion. I don't believe he stayed working there for long though.