From Drive-Off Dramaqueen, April, 2011:

Oh. My. Gods. I swear, someone left the door open at the loony bin or something, because they're all coming in full force to this gas station. Including, but not limited to, this gem, which just happened.

There was this old lady, I'd say probably a good 60-65 years of age, with leg braces and those half-crutches that have the thing that wraps around your forearm. She pulled up to the store, waited for an hour for the place to vacate, pulls around to a pump, comes in, and demands, NOT ASKS, DEMANDS, that somebody come out and pump her gas for her, because she's disabled.

I'm the only one in the store currently, so I say (insanely politely, as I've only been at work about an hour and hadn't had a bad custy yet!) "I would be happy to come out and pump your gas for you, ma'am, I just need to wait for the three customers who are in the store to pay and leave, I cannot leave the building with customers in it."

"NO. I HAVE *insert random mumbly-joe event here* TO BE AT IN FIVE MINUTES! YOU PUMP GAS NOW."

Really? Because you've sat here for an absurdly long time before coming in and demanding this.

Gas station 2"Well, ma'am, I'm the only attendant on duty right now, I can help you as soon as the store clears out. That's it."

She huffs and puffs, and decides to have me check 13 different gift cards to see if they had balance left on them.


Thirteen cock-sucking empty fucking gift cards.

And of course, it's my fault they're showing "empty" since none of them have been used!

So finally she puts $10 on a store credit card and walks back out to her car and sits in the driver seat, honking at me every two minutes while the other customers who were here first, and who are picking out their things are still shopping.

Almost a half hour later, and I did kind of feel bad about that, but not really, from the way she bursted in here, I finally got out and pumped her gas. Gas is like 3.40 a gallon or some shit and she ended up with 2.9 gallons.

She grabs my arm as I walk past, back in toward the store, and starts shouting that she "should get more gas than that, gas is 3.40 a gallon and she paid 10 dollars!"

I whip out my ipod, sick of her shit, and wrench away from her.

"Touch me again and I'll call the cops. As it stands, you just assaulted me. Now here, I have a calculator. $10.00 divided by the $3.40 ass-ragingly high gas price equals 2.942 gallons. That is what you received, that is what you paid for, don't come here again."

"How dare you talk to me like that, I'm a paying customer!"


"And I'm not required, as the only person on duty at this station right now, to leave this building for any reason. I'm sorry you have problems getting around, but maybe you should go to PamSu (hehe competitor) down that way" I point, "or the other OilSpill down that way," again, point "or any of the five Birthdays on Uni Ave. They all have two or more people working at any time. We do not. We are also the busiest station in this area, and, as such, we do not have time to leave the store and argue over whether or not we're "cheating people out of gas" at the pump. Because we're not. We just passed the mandatory yearly inspection with flying colors. So if you don't mind, I am going back inside, because it is cold, and I am only wearing a t shirt, and now my arm hurts."

Now, I understand, I do, I totally get the disabled thing. I spend a good deal of my time helping my mother, who is disabled, and my grandma and great aunt, both of which are disabled, and my mentally handicapped uncle. So, before the flame war starts on that end, let me just make that clear. I have nothing against people being disabled and needing extra help. But I will not stand by and be accused of cheating people, and I will not stand by and be abused or have my kindness taken advantage of.

--Drive-off Dramaqueen


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Old People Hell: The Carpet Custy



From Marv, June, 2009, 

I owned my own little corner of Retail Hell, a pipe shop in a major suburban mall.  One morning an old couple came in to sniff the tobacco and shoot the breeze.  They were dressed in their finery as it was Sunday and I expect they had come to the mall direct from church.  The old man asked me questions while the lady held his arm the entire time.  (I know..."Aw, how cute...")

Then I heard the unmistakable sound of running water.  Not into a sink, but that sound you get when you've knocked over your coffee cup and it's running off the counter and dripping steadily onto the carpet.  While I talked I quickly scanned for my little styrofoam cup - nowhere to be found.  The man droned on and on about god knows what while I searched high and low for the errant cup.  My assistant manager would kid me no end if I left a puddle of coffee for him find when he got in later.

Carolanne 024aThe couple finally left and I located my coffee - sitting upright, right where it belonged.  Now I was intrigued, so I headed out in front of the counter to see what might have caused the noise.  Did some kid leave a his juice box to be knocked over?  Did someone leave a drink of some sort, or bottle of cleaner open to be accidentally knocked over?

Imagine my surprise....

THERE right where the old bat had been standing the entire time was a puddle of PISS!  She had stood there the entire time while holding her husbands arm, him talking away to me, and she peed right there on my carpet!  Neither one of them had made any signal that they knew what was going on and they both probably stepped in it and tracked it across the store on the way out!

This was a thick carpet, too - not tile which I could easily have mopped up!  No, I had to clean it, and being under the "Agricultural Constructs of the State" I had to clean it a certain way!  So I had to close the freaking store, go and rent a steam cleaner and clean the entire carpet myself!! I lost an entire days worth of income and had to work even harder than if the store had been open!

If I ever see that B*tch again I'd scream at her to get out and go buy some Depends!!


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Library Hell: The Great Six Dollar Meltdown



February, 2010:

Book Bastard here coming at you live from the county library. 

This happened not ten minutes ago:

Patrons can make requests for books. They fill out a slip, give us $2 per requested item, and then it goes to our director, who decides if she wants to buy the items or borrow them from another library. If she decides the latter, then the $2 per item covers postage; if the former, then the patron gets their money back.
Now, our patrons love us. They (usually) have no problems paying fines, they regularly let us keep the change for our donation jar, and it's generally a very pleasant place to work (before this I was a housekeeper at a motel, so this is DEFINITELY a step up). Sometimes the $2 fee surprises them, and since it's upfront, they decide to do it later, or wait to see if we buy it for somebody else, or whatever.
Today, however...
A little old lady came in and asked if we had certain books. We did not. I told her we could try to get them.  She was interested. Then I explained the system. Three books, two bucks each, $6, which she would get back if our director decided to buy the books.  Her eyes got wider and wider, and then, paraphrased:
She couldn't understand. Aren't we funded by taxes?
Yes, I said, and donations.
But we had never charged before, she said.  What--
CarolhellWell, technically, yes, we did, I said--but sometimes we would let people--
You're funded by county taxes, she said.
We are, I said, but--
It's nothing against you, she said.
I know, I said, but--
I'll go to another library, then, she said. Over in (city), they don't... *shakes head*
I'm sorry, I said.
I'll look for something else, then, she said, that I don't have to pay extra for.
And then she walked away, stood in front of the 100s for a minute, and then left, shaking her head.
The text of this doesn't really seem so bad. It was her demeanor that made it so strange. She was so quiet, her eyes were so wide, and she spoke in such a way that it seemed I had broken her heart, disillusioned her, as though she had just learned that Santa Claus isn't real and that her cat would die within the hour.

I laughed heartily.

-- Book Bastard


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Monstrous Customers: Working at clothing store for 'Older Women'




From Sally, January, 2010:

Our shop is basically a clothing store for 'older women' (i.e. over the age of around 40). I started working for a new company a few weeks back. It's ok...the staff seem nice, the hours are a little on the short side but it's a job. 

Now, you'd think that these older women would have a little more class than to dump stuff anywhere they see fit. You'd be wrong. A major part of my job is picking up after the biddies. If I have to pick up one more dirty tissue from the changing rooms, I will lock myself in the bathroom with a few thousand bars of soap and a few thousand bottles of anti bac gel and scrub myself into oblivion.

The jumper table drives me to distraction.

Now, there should be 4 piles of jumpers on the top shelf with the rest of the stock hanging underneath. I don't think I expect too much of people, but it's simple to see that if the jumper is on a coat hanger on the rail, that's where you should put it once you're finished looking at it.

I spent the best part of an hour and a half re-folding and re-hanging jumpers today, because people couldn't grasp that.

What really grinds my gears are the select few who watched me finish folding and tidying, waited for me to move to the next table, then started pulling the whole display apart again.

And of course, I'm expected to smile and be all sweetness and light about it. I realized today that I've started growling at people. That's not normal is it?

And my god, who knew the amount of nut jobs we've got around here!

A few days after I started I was threatened over a purple, size 12 skirt. Not even a nice one! This woman who, by her friends admission was a few ants short of a picnic, started getting in my face and screaming at me because we didn't have it in her size.

I told her that if she laid a finger on me I wouldn't hesitate to press charges and so would my company. Then my manager raced over and told her to get out of the store.

Turns out, she'd been banned for being abusive to staff previously but nobody else had seen her come in, so I got the full brunt of her crazy.





Cashier Hell: "She is double taxing us!"



From Hellmart RHUer, April 2009:

This older couple was in my line and became very idiotic. I had hit "total" on the register after scanning just this lady's picture frame, because she said she could pay for it separate... she said that BEFORE they told me to just keep ringing everything else up together.

The next conversation goes somewhat like this...

Old lady: That picture frame is 3 dollars, why does it say 3.22? Is that with tax?

Me: Yes, it is with tax, but I'll keep scanning everything for you. I just hit the "total" button because I thought you were buying the frame first.

Old man: But why does it say 3.22? The photo frame is 3 dollars.

Me: Yes, it is 3 dollars, but with tax it is 3.22. And like I said, I hit total beforehand!

Old man: But you're double taxing me if you ring everything else up, the tax will be doubled in the end!

Me: No, it won't. It does not matter that it says 3.22, it will be the same.

Old man: No it won't be the same! It will be doubled at the end!

Me: *sigh* Let me get my manager, hang on...

*Manager comes over*

Old man: She is double taxing us, the picture frame is 3 dollars but it says 3.22 and if she rings everything else up with it it will be doubled!

Manager: Oh, no it won't be, the tax is the same no matter what, it won't be doubled. The machine just thinks that it's done because she hit total before everything else, it won't be doubled, the tax is always the same.

Old man: SO we won't be double taxed?

Manager: No, you won't be.

Old man: Ok, thank you.

Old man, to me, before he leaves: I'm sorry.

Me: ............ Have a good day.........

I swear... do these people NOT know ANYTHING about how tax works????

--Hellmart RHUer


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Retail Hell Memories: Bingo Hell - Crusty Critical Of Calling Style


This story was originally posted on July 05, 2011

OLD PEOPLE HELLCindii here! Long time since I've been on here but what happened on Saturday just HAD to be submitted!

Right, since my last post I found work in a bingo hall. It's pretty cool working there, my co-workers are awesome and if I want to learn anything new they are more than happy with teaching me.

So I've been working here for nearly 9 months now, and about 6 months ago I learnt how to call bingo. The general concept of calling is very simple but it is also quite complicated.

Anyway before this I hadn't called bingo in a good few weeks and now I'm calling it for the next two weeks due to the regular caller being on holiday. Whatever, I haven't got a problem with this. I get to talk to people and have a laugh too.

The only thing that I find hard to maintain is speed. I never know if I'm going too fast or too slow and it does annoy some people if you call the numbers too fast, but most people are fine with it.

I was calling one of the sessions (each day has a few different sessions - each a few games long) and during the game a woman shouted at me to slow down but I didn't see anything wrong with how I was calling, so I carried on as normal. After the session I went to the main reception and the woman followed me, and started shouting at me, something to this extent:

"You're an awful caller, we don't pay to see how fast you can say numbers, I've never had to complain about anyone besides YOU. I'm older than you, you know!"

I was stunned. I've had people criticise my calling before but I've never had someone be so vicious to me. She said the same thing to my manager, who backed me up 100%, but I didn't even know how to react. I would never talk to someone like that, especially when they were doing their job.

I was calling again the next day, something I was really anxious about after this, but it went off without a hitch. I got so many people complimenting my calling and I even got a hug off somebody who had won. A couple of customers said they wanted me to be the regular caller, but sadly I'm only a part-timer!

I suppose the moral of this story is that although some custys are absolutely awful but there are those who are truly lovely.

Until next time!



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