From Sisu, November, 2010:

I fucking hate people.

Well, no, I actually like most of humanity, but today was a day from hell.

For every nice person that called, 10 more assholes called to bitch me out.

One guy had me in tears because he was such a dick.

Has anyone ever seen a promotion without fine print? No? You're all smart enough to know that to 'get a deal' you have to read the whole thing?

And you know that claiming you didn't read the details won't fly?

AWESOME. 100 points for you.

This guy made up his own promotion, told me I was worthless, argued over hotel policies for a good 10 minutes even AFTER I explained that hotels do set their own policies and rates especially regarding pets, told me I was worthless a few more times, threatened to sue me, and then mocked and belittled me the rest of the call.

I absolutely remember his name, and I swear to God if I get him again, well, hell hath no fury like that of a pissed off pregnant lady.

The managers said to let them know if he calls me back somehow so they can terminate his account.

Then there was the French-Canadian bitch that informed me "I do not care how things should be, I want to know how things are!" to which I did actually reply "I'm telling you how things are if you would listen!"

Okay, I snapped at her, but she did walk into that one.

She was another that didn't bother reading anything and expected the world to fall at her feet.

No night from hell is complete without a perv calling in, so naturally I got that too.

It started off innocently enough-ish. The guy had some heavy breathing, but I chalked it up to something - anything - innocent. I wasn't officially creeped out until he kept calling me "honey", saying my voice was irresistible, doing all he could do to keep me talking, and then out of nowhere asking me to hold on while doing some interesting noises.

Sorry for the image.

I'm sure it could have been innocent, but I'm not naive.

After all that, the drunks calling in just kind of topped my night off.

I don't know why, but there seems to be a certain segment of the southern population that absolutely loves to call on the weekend as drunk as can be.

I'm not anti-drinking at all. I don't drink now because I'm pregnant, but before I got knocked up I didn't have an issue with the occasional drink.

I do try to avoid getting myself into situations where I'll give anyone and anything my credit card number when I won't be able to remember it the next day. Speshul.

Not every call was bad though, I did have a few that if I could have given them upgrades I would have.

The notable good ones were the group of Tenneseeans taking over Manhattan during the Thanksgiving Parade.

The gentleman actually said, and I do quote, "When I get thar, the firs' thang I'm doin' is muggin' someone!"

So what if he doesn't have a grasp on New York? It was hilarious.

The best call though was from the happiest Asian guy in the world.

He was just fun and happy and sweet. Everything was "Okay! Perfect" and "Yes! Very Good!". He was one of those people that you couldn't help smiling the whole time you were talking to him because he just made you feel good about yourself.

May karma reward you greatly, Mr. Lee. I hope I'm not around when karma hits the Dick from Hell. It would be too entertaining to watch him get his.

Really though, what does that say about the douche when he's bullying a girl that he has never met? The guy sounded old, has an older name, so did he learn nothing about how to treat a lady?

Honestly, trying to be a Big Bad Man to a younger woman just says you're a fucktard and fail at life.

Where the hell is a meteorite when you need one?

--Sisu

Oh, if anyone is curious about the non work life, Baby is doing great, I'm okay, and babydaddy decided he didn't need to stick around and stepped out. It's been a lot to deal with lately, but hopefully I'll be strong enough to handle it. If anyone has any tips on how to balance being a single mom and working retail/service, I'd really appreciate it. Thanks.

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This story was originally posted on December 14, 2009

From The Malmart Peon

Hi Carolanne, Freddy, and Jason! 

I'm a huge fan of Retail Hell Underground, and today I finally had a customer who is worthy of this incredible site.

We'll call her psychotic bitch-lady. 

See, I work at Malmart, that store that's taking over the world and can't use the smiley-face logo because it can't be copyrighted. And at Malmart, the customer is always right. Even when they're wrong. 

And psychotic bitch-lady knew that. 

Five minutes before the end of my shift her and her husband walk up to the speedy check-out I'm manning, and drop a clear box with what looks like a febreeze candle, aerosol can, reed diffuser, and flameless votive thingy on my counter.

The plastic is removable and really smudged, and there's a sticker with a vendor's phone number on the back of the container.

Now, psychotic bitch-lady and her incredibly abused husband explain that it was supposed to be nine dollars, but they want a discount because the plastic is smudged and it looks like people have been using it.

I looked at the box, then back at them, and then at the box.  And then I said "Ma'am, this is a display. We can't sell this, because it's fake. You can't actually use these products."

Yes fellow retail employees, she grabbed the display.

And it doesn't stop there.

No, she insisted that it was for sale because there was a sign below it which said nine dollars, and that she wanted it.

"Yes ma'am, but it's fake. There's nothing in these bottles, and the candle is rubber. If you left a reed diffuser open like that it would dry up very quickly."

At that moment one of our assistant managers happens to walk by, and psychotic bitch-lady latched on to the assistant manager and insisted on showing her where this crazy person found the display. 

Later the unlucky assistant manager informed me that psychotic bitch-lady kept on saying that "she wanted it."

Okay, so when did repeating something over and over again change reality?!

Seriously, we were trying to save her money, and she bitched at the assistant manager, and then at a CSM about the assistant manager, and then told me that she was going to go yell at her husband!!

WHAT THE FUCK?! How dumb do you have to be?!

I was hoping that they would tell me to sell it to her, so I could inform her that when she discovers that it's not real she cannot return it, as it was a nine dollar stupid tax. 

I need a drink.  Or a cigarette.  Or both.  Yeah, both sounds good. 

Yours eternally,

--The Malmart Peon

Read more HellMart stories here!

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From Half-Hearted Sales Ninja, 

I have worked in just about all aspects of customer service/retail. I loathe people (surprise, surprise) but I am usually good at hiding it by pretending to be jovial, personable, and friendly (which, by nature, I am NOT!) and by making lots of jokes.

Sadly, my comedic gold is lost on most customers. They are generally too stupid to get my jokes.

Insert sad face here.

While working in a womens clothing shop, a woman asked if we sold any underwear.

It's not something we usually carry, but we had gotten some overstock of thongs from another store, so I showed her to the basket of random thongs we were selling for a buck each.

She asked if we had anything else, and I told her that, unfortunately, this was all we had at the time.

She remarked that this was too bad because she just "couldn't get into thongs", to which I replied "Don't worry, they get into YOU"

Funny, no?

I thought so anyways, and so did my manager and coworker.

The customer? Totally blank and uncomprehending.

Sigh.

Another time, at the same shop, I was doing markdowns. I had a big stack of papers full of numeric codes in one hand, a price gun in the other, a highlighter tucked behind one ear, a store badge hanging around my neck, and half of my body had disappeared inside a rounder of winter jackets.

A customer walks up to me and asks "Excuse me, do you work here?"

Let me point out that customers are bundled in winter attire and I am not only in the conditions described above, but I AM WEARING A T SHIRT AND SNEAKERS!

My response?

"Nah, this is how I get great deals!"

Her response was to lean in towards me conspiratorially and ask in a low tone, "Does that really work?"

HARSHEST FACEPALM EVER!

Just wish it had been HER face hitting my palm.

Silly comic included :)

Oooooooh! Can I make up a name?! K I will anyways! 

Signed,

--Halfhearted Sales Ninja

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This story was originally posted on November 21, 2009

Dear RHU,

I work for a major office supply store. You'd think that the type of people who voluntarily shop for paper, ink, and toner are mild-mannered by association. This, however, is not the case. My first of many horrible customer experiences comes from a woman who was about 40 who wanted to return her item. I could tell by the caked on blue eyeshadow, fluffy pink sweater, perm, and mom jeans that there was going to be trouble. I was right.

At our store, if you don't have a receipt for your return, you must give a drivers license to us so we can check your ID in a database of fraud ID's. Normally, this almost never poses an issue, but there's always a first time for everything.

After some fumbling around, she managed to find her ID, flashed it at me, and then stuffed it back into her purse.

Me: Ma'am, I need to see your ID...

40 year old woman: you just did.

Me: Ma'am I need to type in your drivers license number

40 YOW: Why?! Why do you need to do that?!

Me: Because it's just a quick check to see that your ID isn't fraudulent

40 YOW: IT ISN'T FRAUDULENT!!!!! Why would you need to type in the number!?

Me: As I stated, it's just a check to see that your ID isn't fraudulent...

40 YOW: IT ISN'T!!! You! Why???? Why do you need it!?!?

Me: I can't let you return this without typing in your ID number

40 YOW: YOU'RE JUST TRYING TO STEAL MY IDENTITY!!!! IDENTITY THEFT!!!!! IDENTITY THEFT!!!!!!

Me: Let me get a manager...

::Manager comes over::

40 YOW: SHE!!! She says you need to type in my drivers license number for a return!!!

Manager: ...yes?

40 YOW: Why do you need it!!?!

Manager: it's a check in our database of fraudulent ID's. Your ID is most likely not fraudulent, however we must type in the number -

40 YOW: THAT IS AN INVASION OF PRIVACY!!!

Manager: If you want to return this item, then I have to type in your ID number. If not, then I can't do the return

40 YOW: Why?!?!?!?!?!?!?

Manager: Because we need an ID to do the return

40 YOW: BUT MY ID ISN'T FRAUDULENT!! I AM AN AMERICAN CITIZEN!!

Manager: I know. It probably isn't, but we still need the ID for the return

40 YOW: THIS IS IDENTITY THEFT!!!

This exchange goes on for another 15 minutes before she finally agrees to give the manager her ID and type in the number and finish the return. I half expected there to be some sort problem, with the way she was over-reacting. But there wasn't. She was just a dumb fucking bitch.

Manager: Thank you, is there anything else I can help you with today?

40 YOW: I don't know WHY you needed my ID!

More stories to come!

Love,

--Office Supply Whore

Read more Return Hell stories here!

This story was originally posted on November 24, 2009

From Walmart's Bi***" (not to be confused with RHU blogger Walmart Bitch):

I work at a Walmart on the west coast and I swear the custys are idiots.

I work as 2nd shift In-stock which means that as part of my job, I pull pallets out to the floor. Now typically these pallets can vary anywhere from 200 pounds to 2500 pounds, and this means that they are HARD to stop.

Custys like to stand in the middle of the aisle and EVEN though they can clearly see you coming they still refuse to move even when you say "excuse me please" 4-5 times. Then they glare at you for even DARING to ask them to move.

OR they move an inch or two. I mean COME ON my pallet is about 2 feet wide, and the aisle is 2 feet 1 inch wide. I still need you to move out of the aisle.

Then when you're walking by a department, they ambush you asking your for help even though you have NEVER worked in that department. Ok, I'll help you if I can and usually I can since I've been there for two years.

But the other day I had a DUMBA** custy.

She asks me if this stereo plugs into the wall. So I look at the display model, which is RIGHT ABOVE THE STEREO DISPLAY, and see that yes, it does plug into the wall.

She then asks if it comes with the power cord.

WTF!!!

DUH! It comes with a power cord! It's not as if power cords are interchangeable. I mean, you can't take a power cord from a computer and plug into a radio or vice versa.

She then asks if she can OPEN THE F***ING BOX and check to make SURE it comes with one!

This makes me wish to do violence upon her, because she just hit a VERY personal pet peeve of mine. I tell her to ask an electronics associate to open it for her since I cannot.

I then continue to pull my pallet out to the sales floor.

A few minutes later I see her getting a totally different radio than the one she was looking at.

Man I hate custys, and the stupid will just get worse closer to the holidays.

Anyway happy holiday hell everyone.

--"Walmart's Bi***

Read more Dumbass Customer stories here!

 From Doug, January 2010:

Used to work in a drugstore... one day customer comes in looking for booze. We have this charming conversation:

Custy: Let me have a quart of [brand of gin that we don't carry].

Me: I'm sorry, sir, we don't carry [that brand].

Custy: OK, let me have a fifth of [same brand].

Me: (same response)

Custy: OK, let me have a pint of [same brand].

Me: (same response)

Custy: OK, let me have a half pint of [same brand].

Me: Sir, we don't have [that brand] in ANY size. We have [four other brands] in fifths, pints, and half pints.

Custy: OK, let me have a quart of [one of those brands].

Me: Sir, we don't have ANY gin in quarts. We have [four brands] in fifths, pints, and half pints.

Custy: OK, let me have a quart of [second brand]

Me: (same response)

(repeat for third and fourth brand)

Custy: OK, let me have a quart of [same brand this moron asked for originally]

Me: How about a fifth of [other brand]?

Custy: Yeah, that'd be ok. 

*

Couple years later, we had a guy who wanted to buy a case of beer on Sunday.

(Sunday sale of carry out alcohol is illegal in Indiana.)

Me: I'm sorry, sir, we can't sell that to you today.

Custy: (belligerently) Why not?

Me: State law -- no alcohol sales on Sunday.

Custy: (more belligerent) When did that start??

Me: I don't know, sir. It's been that way as long as I've lived here. [it's actually been that way since about 1925]

Custy: Well, I've lived here for 20 years, and it's the first I ever heard about that!

Me: I'm sorry, sir, that's the law.

Custy: What is this, a dry county or something? [which proves that the lying turd actually just moved here from the South about two weeks ago -- there's no such thing as a "dry county" ANYWHERE in Indiana or in most other Northern states either]

Me: No, sir, if it was a dry county, we couldn't sell it at all. [thinking: Obviously it isn't a dry county, you fucking DUMBASS, if it was a dry county there wouldn't be TWO HUNDRED FUCKING CASES OF BEER RIGHT IN FUCKING FRONT OF YOU not to mention the TWENTY FUCKING FEET OF SHELVES of whiskey, gin, and vodka behind ME -- do you think that's here for DECORATION

--Doug

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