Sent to RHU from Speedbird:
A row has broken out between a fussy restaurant customer and her favourite Frankie & Benny's after they refused to serve her because she sends too many meals back to the kitchen.
Kerry Prior, 34, went to the restaurant in Aldershot, Hampshire as often as three times a week and says she likes 'having a laugh with staff' about the quality of food.
But her fussiness appears to have angered a chef at the restaurant, who refused to cook for her again after she made a string of complaints.
Mrs Prior had visited the restaurant around three times a week to eat breakfast with friends, often asking to have a £5 'The Works Muffin' in a bagel.
She also goes there for an evening meal with her husband, Tony, 41, and their four-year-old son, Cole, at least twice a month.
She admits she often returns food to the kitchen, but says she still likes the service at the restaurant and so keeps returning.
Mrs Prior, from near Farnham, Surrey, said: 'The staff are generally really nice in there and if you send the food back it comes back completely fine.
'I know all the staff there and there is a pleasant atmosphere. I have a laugh with them about the food and when they get it right, it is great.
'Around 90 per cent of the time I go in there I think I have had to send my meal back.
'I know I am fussy but I'm never rude and if I send it back it always comes back fine - the food should be of a certain standard.'
She added: 'On one particular Sunday I went with seven friends and we all sent our breakfasts back. The food was burnt, it had cold bacon which tasted like it had just come from the fridge.
'I am allergic to tomatoes and they had put them on my plate with fried eggs when I had asked for poached. Another time I was served a frozen fish finger and frozen chips.
'If you order a rare steak at a restaurant and it comes to you well done you are entitled to send it back.'
I remember my Black Friday days... People were fucking savages. Nothing but damn savages all damn weekend.
I've personally witnessed fellow humans ganging up on a sales clerk; pinning her to a game case because she was holding the last copy of some stupid popular video game and sending her into a panic attack. They were pawing at it like it was something Jesus himself blessed.
I've witnessed the fistfights. I've watched people lose all self control and get into near fist fights over a packages of white tube socks on "sale" for $2.
The "You ruined Christmas for my two year old, bitch!" screaming fits I've been on the receiving end of. Why? We were out of tricycles... That she could have bought a week earlier or waited until our next shipment of said item five days later.
I will pray for all of you retail slaves forced to work on Thanksgiving. I will support of all you by taking Thursday-Sunday off and hiding under my bed the entire weekend. While I wish you can spend the entire day with your loved ones, I will offer up my prayers to all of you forced to work that day in the name of $5 blenders.
This classic RHU Game was originally posted on: November 26, 2009
We used to make up Black Friday Scavenger Hunts when I worked in the Video Store. I tried to make this more of an across the board retail wise.
Print this list up and keep it with you during the Black Friday Hell. Everyone tally their points at the end of the day and see who wins!
Customer wearing a Moo-Moo purchasing junk food (3 pts)
Overweight customer riding a scooter (1 pt)
Customer eating food from the store and then not paying for it (3 pts)
One point for each curse word a customer uses at you.
Customer with small children not purchasing child toys or products (2 pts)
Customer asking for something that has been out of stock for at least one hour (1 pt)
Customer asking for something that is out of stock and demanding that a store down the street be called to see if they have any (2 pts) (4 pts if the store is a competitor)
Customer asking if you can check the back for something that is sold out. (3 pts)
Customer demanding free merchandise due to a sale item being sold out (3 pts)
Customer stating that you are giving terrible service (4 pts)
Customer asking to speak to your Supervisor (2 pts)
Customer asking to speak to the Manager (3 pts)
Customer asking to speak to the Store Manager (4 pts)
Customer asking to speak to the District Manager (6 pts)
Customer demanding to speak to the Owner of the company (10 pts)
Customer upset due to long lines in the checkout (2 pts)
Customer cutting in line (3 pts, or 5 pts if their defense is that they are in a hurry)
Customer with more than one shopping cart (1 pt per cart)
Customer in the Express / less than 20 lanes with obviously more than 20 items (3 pts)
Customer asking "Do you work here?" (3 pts)
Customer injured while trying to carry something way to heavy (2 pts)
Customer causing injury to themselves or others by getting something off the top shelf. (5 pts)
Customer injured when doors are first opened (10 pts)
Customer injured to the point Paramedics need to be called (20 pts)
Customer giving up and parking in the grass (2 pts)
Non Handicapped customer parking in a Handicapped spot. (2 pts)
Customer leaving shopping cart by their car and driving away (2 pts, 5pts if they are less than three spots away from the cart return)
Have fun and keep your sanity by keeping track of unruly customers.
When I opened the front door, my mother handed me four cases of yogurt. All strawberry. She doesn't notice flavors. Coffee, vanilla, blueberry - they don't mean a thing. I asked her how much I owed her, and she told me that with the coupons, and how she used them on double-down day, that she actually made money off the purchase. I told her I didn't see how such a thing was possible, and she explained that the yogurts were a buck apiece and her coupons were for 75 cents. Doubled, that's $1.50.
"I make 50 cents off each one I buy," she said.
She was excited because she had a project for the two of us: a defective shirt that needed exchanging. She got it from a clothing store near my house that has been around for decades. When I was a kid, my mother would bring me there to try on bell-bottoms, making me undress right in the aisles.
"What's wrong with the shirt?" I asked.
It should be said that my father has left the house in far worse: green corduroy vests, T-shirts advertising aquarium supplies, ties intended for novelty use only. If it were handed to him as he was getting out of a shower, I'm sure my father would figure out a way to wear a bridge chair. I asked how a missing sleeve might have escaped her notice during the purchase. She didn't remember. She bought it a long time ago.
"How long ago?" I asked.
She didn't really get the question. Life for my mother wasn't exactly a chronological unraveling. She was coming to visit me. I was around the corner from the store. It was just a clever thing to return it now - killing two birds with one stone. She looked at the bag and thought for a moment.
"Five years," she said.
This kind of operation was what my mother lived for. It would be a challenge; a battle of wills - a game of chess, but with yelling. I remember as a kid watching her open three bottles of tahini, one after the other. She wasn't satisfied with the hermetic popping sound the caps made - it was too muted. She liked a pop that was more emphatic, a pop that cried, "I have not been sprinkled with hemlock." She returned all of them to a grocery store she chose not because she'd bought the tahini there, but because of its proximity to our house. The store didn't sell tahini. I'm not sure they even knew what it was.
To be honest, it isn't that my mother exerts Clarence Darrow-like powers of persuasion; it's that she has no shame. None at all. As an adult, I seem to have taken on the extra shame she has no use for. I don't like to draw attention to myself. If a waitress gets my order wrong, I keep my mouth shut. If a bus driver goes past my stop, I just get off at the next one. Scenes just aren't my thing. But even now, no matter where I go with my mother, there are always the inevitable spectacles. Just the thought of her getting all froth-mouthed about that one-armed shirt - it was enough to make me queasy.
At the store, my mother went to the cash register and pulled the article of clothing out of the crumpled plastic bag.
The saleswoman looked at it. Then she held it up and turned it around.
"It doesn't have sleeves," the saleswoman said. "It's a poncho."
"A pon-cho?" my mother repeated, as though it were a foreign word - which, in her defense, I suppose it sort of is.
You would think that would be the end of it, that confronted with reason, my mother would accept the fact that we live in a universe where such a thing as a poncho exists, and we would leave. But this was not to happen. Reason is of no concern in a staring contest. "I don't care what it is," she said evenly. "It's factory-defective. My husband can't wear it."
I thought of my father, a man very big on tucking in - sweaters, aquarium-supply T-shirts - packing the bottom of the poncho into his pants, belting up and heading out for an evening on the town looking like Fatty Arbuckle.
The saleswoman refused to give the money back, so my mother asked her to get the manager. She disappeared behind a row of suit jackets and as we waited for her return, I remained by my mother's side, standing there in this way I later realized I had developed as a kid. It was a posture that was meant to convey filial loyalty, peppered with a touch of what Vietnam vets call the thousand-yard stare. In the back room, I imagined the saleswoman conferring with the manager, a bedraggled, shiny-jowled man, as he stared at my mother through a security cam, watching with a look of recognition that quickly turned to panic.
When the saleswoman returned, she immediately started offering store credit. That was a mistake. Weakness. "Credit? So you can unload socks on us?" my mother asked. "We need more socks like we need rickets."
Desperate to defuse the situation, I grabbed a baseball cap off a nearby shelf and handed it to my mother. Reluctantly, she got it for me with her credit. "Lucky for you my boy needs a hat," she said. "Walk around in it. Make sure it isn't too tight around the temples."
As we left the store together, my new cap on my head, I felt about 10 years old. "I'll hold on to the receipt," my mother said. "Just in case."
Omg I finally have a story!
I'm a dog groomer for a pet store that has the power of CO. Well today I have a dick head crusty come in. I knew it was going to be a problem because he's always a problem.
This guy likes to come in for grooming every eight months to a year and the dog is always matted. He always argues that it's not that bad, and can be brushed out. I always tell him that no it can't be brushed, and I'm shaving it.
He comes in and we go through the run around. I tell him I'm shaving any matted areas and I will not put his dog through the pain of being brushed with mats as tight as they are.
His one request "don't shave the face".... Well who wants to guess the worst area on this dog?... Yeah the face. So I call a manager in we take a look and decide 'ok shave it.'
I get that cleaned up and all I can smell is mildew from his tear stains. I get to work on his body and discover that his tail is matted and stuck his leg/butt. His poor bum is matted over, as are his man bits.
Flash forward a few hours and I'm trying my best to make this poor baby look decent, and in walks the owner. He starts yelling at me about how I did what I wanted and did it just to piss him off. He's cussing and getting crazy.
I tell him I have done exactly what I told him I would do and he's not having it. He yells that he wants his dog and I tell him he can have his dog once he has paid. (By this point I'm not finishing the dog. I felt so bad because the poor dog looked like hell with half a groom done.)
The asshole then says, "Oh I'll pay and then you're gonna pay," and proceeds to point his fingers at me like a gun and say "boom."
My manager tells him to leave and it all goes down from there. He's cussing at me and I'm giving it right back. I lost it.
I told him, "Fuck you. You don't get to talk to me like that. If you didn't mistreat you animal and actually brushed it or brought it in for grooming we wouldn't be here!"
My coworker was trying to tell me to shut up but I told her I don't take that. No one talks to me that way. So we called the cops.
He called my manager a little bitch a few times and told her to 'make him' leave the store. I said a few more choice words to him. Sadly it took the cops over an hour to show up and three phone calls. To top it off they didn't do anything.
But the asshole paid for his grooming and is banned from our store and the notes in our system will have him banned from any of our grooming salons.
So yeah that was my night.
God I hate the "customers" who only ever want to pick a fight.
We get them in the form of folks who want to think they already know everything about surround and TV equipment, and somehow, are going to try and outshine the product knowledge we salespeople (At our store anyways, NOT the F Shop or Best Bait 'n Switch) have beaten into us with golden toilet plungers on a semi-weekly basis.
They also love to get pissed when you politely inform them that their "knowledge" is three years out of date, and wrong.
I also had a guy once try to break our door on his exit because we couldn't simply obtain parts for his twenty five year old bookshelf speakers, and that we could only repair them for him in our service section.
Aren't we bastards for servicing what we sell?
From Bass Lady:
Alert RHU! Be on the lookout for this crusty and her pocket rat:
From The Somking Gun:
Meet Theresa Tumbleson.
Police are on the lookout for the 35-year-old New Jerseyan, who allegedly allowed her small dog to urinate on 14 dresses and 11 pairs on pants at a clothing store.
According to investigators, Tumbleson and her pooch yesterday entered a Lane Bryant store in Toms River around 1 PM. The dog, cops report, proceeded to urinate on the garments, causing more than $2000 in damages.
As officers arrived at Lane Bryant, Tumbleson sped away in her Chevrolet Malibu, eventually running several red lights while being pursued by police. Due to the wet roadway and a fear that the pursuit could imperil others, cops discontinued the chase of Tumbleson, who is pictured above.
In addition to charges stemming from the Lane Bryant incident, Tumbleson will face counts for eluding police and obstruction when she is apprehended. Bail has already been set at $30,000 for the latter charges.
A few weeks ago, our store was going through a major infants transition. I hate those two times of the year, because we go through infants super-fast and we're always bone dry before the new stuff comes in.
A lady came up to me asking if we had a particular infant healthcare kit that was on her registry. (She had one of those post-shower coupons where you got 10% off items that weren't bought on your registry.)
The scanner said there were none in the back and four in the front, but since I hadn't seen any in weeks (and I very frequently work the area), I tossed it off as the usual machine bullshit. Sometimes it'll be off by as much as ten for no real good reason, not even shoplifting, and 1 almost always means 0. They're also in one very specific spot and they hadn't gone clearance, and our returns cart had just been emptied.
I apologized and told her that she'd have to see if it was online and buy it at full price. None of the stores in the area had one, and even then she wouldn't be able to use her coupon again.
Ten minutes later, obviously when she was checking out, we got a walkie call from the lane-watcher for infants asking for the exact same item, claiming we had four. (Uh-oh, the cashier told her that we were supposed to have four!? Red Alert!) My co-worker responded this time, and informed the cashier of the exact same thing I had.
Well, with that disparity of stories now in her indignant head, she whipped out her Executive Entitled Crusty card and forced the manager to go back and check herself.
The manager saw exactly what we saw. She rolled her eyes when she realized what item it was, and how if we had four they would clearly be there, and thanked us for checking.
Seriously, all that slave-pushing for a $2 discount on a measly little healthcare kit?
For those of you unfamiliar with the car business, we do request some basic info from you when you enter the dealership and pair up with a salesperson. Usually, this includes the info on your driver's license (name and address) and a phone number. If you have already been to that dealership, or in contact with someone from that dealership, you are most likely already in their system.
Don't panic about this. We don't sell your information; it's there for our records.
If you don't want to give your info at first, that's fine. Typically we'll need your license for a test drive, so if you reach that point we'll take care of registering you then.
But today, dear god, so many people were uncooperative. Multiple people came in and lied about their names. People who had BEEN HERE BEFORE and refused to give their names so I could find them in the system. Dumbasses. I'm trying to make sure you get with the salesperson you were with before so you don't have to start the car buying process from scratch.
Don't tell me your name is "Steve Steve." Don't tell me you don't have a last name. Yes, someone tried that. Just tell me your name, or tell me you don't feel comfortable giving me your name.
And then, it got both better and worse.
A woman comes in and I greet her and she says she doesn't want help.
Rude Woman: *mumbling* They jump on you as soon as you're through the door...
GB: *thinking* Uh, duh. It's a car dealership and you're a potential sale.
So I walk away to get some water and when I come back she's storming out of the dealership.
Apparently a salesman had gone up to her and introduced himself. She said she didn't want any help so he shook her hand and touched her arm and told her if she needed help his name was [name].
And she pulled away saying "He touched me, I'm leaving." And she was shouting this as she left. Good riddance.
And last but not least, the return of Gina the Large and Terrible.
She comes up to my desk and tells me....
Gina: There's no toilet paper left in the bathroom.
GB: .... Ok. Did you tell [manager]?
Gina: No, I'm telling you.
GB: Ok, if there's none in the closet you need to tell [manager] he can get some more.
And she walks away. For a while I sit there in awe of her rude laziness and stupidity, then I go check the closet. No toilet paper.
So I tell the manager. He goes and gets two rolls, and then comes up to my desk, very angry.
Manager: Why did you say there was no toilet paper left? There's almost a full roll in there!
GB: Woah, I didn't know. Gina told me there was none left and told me to tell you.
So the manager stalks off to the back office. Less than five minutes later Gina calls my desk.
Gina: I don't know what you said to [manager] but he just came back and yelled at me, so thanks for that. -click-
GB: ............... BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
Because Gina is so Large and Terrible, my coworkers, upon hearing about the toilet paper issue, made short work of imagining what kind of crisis resulted in her determining that a full roll of toilet paper was not enough.
Hopefully tomorrow will be better, but at least my coworkers and I had a few laughs (at other people's expense)