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A Shitty Story

probablymikephotography

So here’s the thing. If you’ve never shit your pants before, you will. It’s an inevitability. One day, you’re gonna have to fart, and you’re gonna think “no one’s around. I’ll just let this li’l guy out.” and then it’ll turn out it was not a fart, and the tiniest amount of poop is gonna come out.

It will only be a little, and it might not even escape your cheeks and stain your pants. But it’s going to happen eventually, and it’s gonna be embarrassing as hell.

The thing is, what won’t happen to most of us until we are too old to care or even be aware of what’s happening is the event of THOROUGHLY shitting your pants. Fully, completely, and undeniably shitting your pants.

But some of us… we are the unlucky few who have experienced this horror.

Our story begins on what seemed like a regular day. I woke up, got out of bed, went to the bathroom and had my usual healthy morning poop, followed by brushing my teeth and getting dressed to head to work. I’m more of an evening showerer. Go to bed feeling all clean and get to sleep in a little more. I skip breakfast, which was pretty normal for me at the time  and I head out the door and begin walking to the bus stop.

I get about halfway through my 5 minute walk when suddenly I feel a vast movement in my gut. I immediately turn around and start walking home as quickly as I can, because it was immediately apparent that this was an emergency. I needed to get home as fast as possible, and running was not an option, as doing so would, without question, lead to me losing full control. 

I get to my front door, and reach into my pocket only to realize I forgot my keys inside. I immediately make my way to the garage door at the back of the house, knowing that with every passing second my hopes of making it to the bathroom are getting smaller and smaller. I enter the code into the keypad by the garage and wait as the door slowly rises. I have to wait until it’s over my head because any attempts at bending over will result in a complete fecal meltdown. 

I finally get my chance and I hustle in, faster than before, as the balance between the risk of moving faster is quickly being outweighed by the risk of taking too long. I get into the kitchen and turn to the stairs, chanting to myself “oh god oh god oh god” as I make my way up before I get half way and my chant turns into me screaming “fuck fuck FUCK FUUUUUUUCK”.

It was at that moment that the reactor reached critical mass, and containment was completely lost.

I began to thoroughly, fully, and completely shit in my pants.

I waddle as fast as I can to my roommate’s bathroom because it was right at the top of the stairs, and while at this point I had no way to stem the torrent that was actively erupting from my ass, I knew that if I tried making it to the master bath it would breach the flimsy containment of my underwear and jeans and begin getting on the hardwood floors. I get in, point my ass at the toilet, whip my pants down and immediately sit, hoping to minimize any of the fecal geyser hitting outside the bowl. I knew there was going to be a hell of a mess to clean up regardless, but that’s not a good reason to try minimizing the damage. 

Having finally reached safety, I let out a primal scream of frustration and sorrow. As my scream comes to an end, I hear a voice from around the corner. 

“Please, for the love of God, close the door.”

My sister was living with us at the time, and she was home, awake, and in her room with her door open. In my rush I had failed to close the door to the bathroom, and this meant every sound and scent that was coming out from me was traveling straight to her room.

I grab the nearest bath towel and whip it at the door knob before jerking it back and slamming the door shut. I maintain that I will never be able to complete that feat again, and that it was only made possible by the Divine Power of whatever God had been looking down on my situation and decided to grant me the smallest bit of pity.

I finally take a moment to look down at the damage caused to my pants. The underwear is, without question, a lost cause. I carefully slip my legs out of my pants, and delicately transfer my underwear to the shower. I take a closer inspection and discover that the aforementioned god had, in fact, granted me a second boon. In an act that defied our current knowledge of the universe and the laws of physics by which it is governed, my underwear had fully and completely contained the entire incident. I would be washing the pants regardless, but unlike the underwear, they could be saved. 

It is at this point that I realize I am nearly at the 1 hour mark before my shift was set to start. Per company policy, you had to call 1 hour or more before your shift if you were sick. The issue was that I was still actively purging my body of what can only be described as the concentrated essence of pure evil. But I had no choice. I pulled out my phone and began calling my work. It rang, and I asked the phone operator to transfer me to a manager. They do, and the worst possible manager picks up. 

“Thank you for holding. This is the front end manager, Kerri.”

Kerri was the last person you wanted to pick up when you were calling out, as she not only would try to guilt trip you for calling out, but will actively pry into your business. She did this because in her tiny management lizard brain, she thought she would be able to find some kind of hole in your story and force you to come in. Of course this is entirely inappropriate, but that never stopped her. 

“Kerri, this is Mike from flooring. I’m sick and will not be making it in.”

“Oh noooooo, what’s wrong?” As you read this, pretend to hear her voice in the most sarcastic tones you can muster.

“I’m sick. I would prefer not to go into any more detail than that.”

“Well I’m looking at the schedule, and your department is really short staffed today. We really need you to come in.”

“That is absolutely not happening today. I’m too sick today to leave my house.”

“Well you don’t sound very sick to me. Maybe if you tell me what’s wrong, I’ll be able to understand because you sound just fine.”

It is at this point that, in addition to losing my literal shit, I lost my metaphorical shit.

“Fine, Kerri. You want details? I will give you details. I just shit my pants. And I don’t mean a little spot of brown from a fart I shouldn’t have trusted. I mean I just lost any and all control I have over my body, and I FILLED my underwear with shit. I am, at this very moment, still actively shitting into a toilet. I’ve been at this for 10 minutes and it is showing no signs of slowing down. I have shit so much that I am honestly unsure how my body could hold all of this in the first place. This is going to require me to shower afterwards, do laundry, and spend at least an hour cleaning this bathroom. I sincerely do not know if I can trust my body to be more than 30 seconds away from a bathroom for the rest of today. So, Kerri, I will not be coming in today. I am sick.”

Silence hung in the air so thick you could cut it with a knife. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Kerri spoke up.

“I hope you feel better soon.”

“Thanks, have a great day.” I reached behind me and flushed the toilet, making sure it could be heard before hanging up the phone. 

**** **** ****

Another 20 minutes pass and finally my body stops convulsing. I finally feel secure that the event itself has passed, but the aftermath was going to require some work. I flush, stand up, and turn to survey the damage. Unfortunately my aim as I tried to sit had been less than stellar, and the back of the toilet and seat were covered with my shame. I knew it was going to be an ordeal, but it was going to have to wait. First I needed to deal with my underwear in the shower so that I could clean myself up before cleaning up everything else. 

I carefully pick up my underwear and hold it over the toilet. I dump what I can into the bowl, flush, then drop my underwear into the trash can. I immediately tie the bag shut, take it out  and set it by the bathroom door. I hop into the shower and begin cleaning what I assume was the physical manifestation of my lifetime of sins off of my body. Using the variety of body washes my sister kept in her shower, I am eventually able to reach a state in which I no longer feel horrified by my own existence. 

I step out, dry off, and immediately begin cleaning the bathroom. For once in this story, I shall spare you the details, but sufficeth to say it was an ordeal. After nearly an hour, I left that bathroom cleaner than I had found it. My penance for what my sister had to experience earlier. 

I make my way out of the bathroom, towel around my waist, surviving clothes bundled under one arm, trash bag containing what WAS my favorite pair of underwear held in the other. I step around the corner and look into my sister’s room. She’s sitting  on her bed with her dog, watching videos on her phone. She looks up at me. 

“You good?” She asks.

“Absolutely not, but I cleaned your bathroom.” I replied. 

“Sweet.” And with that she went back to her phone.

I make my way downstairs and into the garage. I had never closed the garage door, so I walk to the washing machine, drop my clothes in, and make my way to the trash can outside. I lift the lid and drop my bag of shame. I turn back to see my neighbor outside, and remember I am only wearing a towel. I give him a courtesy nod, and make my way back into the house, making time to actually hit the close button on the garage door.

**** **** ****

I spend the rest of the day, honestly feeling fine. No other irregularities. I go to work the next day, and am immediately contacted by HR to come into her office. Apparently Kerri was not happy with how I spoke with her, but after I explained how much Kerri was prying (which is apparently a big no-no for managers when employees call out) I was let off with a warning on vulgar language, and Kerri was later called in for her own discussion.

To this day, I have no idea what triggered this event. I felt perfectly fine beforehand, and just as well after. The event seemed to have no trigger, and I’ve never experienced anything like it since. It was as though my body just felt the need to rebel against me for a single brief moment of my life. 

I’ll close this story with a warning. While I tried to keep this lighthearted, and can look back and laugh now, at the time it was a harrowing event. Please don’t feel bad if you laughed at this tale, as that was the intention, but be forever aware that you could be next. Someday, eventually, you’re gonna shit your pants.

customer service stories

(Don’t) Call Me, Maybe?

probablymikephotography

So I recently did a stint at a cellular service call center.

Honestly, I have no idea how people manage to do that job without losing their absolute fucking minds. The best kind of interaction you can hope for is “neutral”, and it wears on you heavily.

Something that was said to me in the training was that people don’t GET to call in to customer service, they HAVE to call in. Calling us is just another chore on their list, and they just want to check it off.

Typically, most calls are easy enough to handle. Can’t make your payment? We can work with you. Don’t understand your bill? Fear not, I can explain. Want to add an authorised user to your account? Easy. The overwhelming majority of issues are honestly very simple.

What isn’t simple is getting the actual customer to accept the resolution.

On this particular call, I spoke with a man who was heated right from the start.

“Thank you for calling CellService, my name is Mikey, how can I he-”

“ABOUT TIME SOMEONE PICKED UP! IT’S BAD ENOUGH THAT I HAVE TO CALL YOU PEOPLE IN THE FIRST PLACE, BUT THEN YOU PUT ME ON HOLD FOR 2 HOURS!”

It is worth noting that at the time this call took place, our hold time was under 5 minutes, but I’ve been familiar with customer time for years before this job, so it didn’t shock me that he thought he’d been on hold forever.

“I’m sorry you were on hold for so long, sir, but thank you so much for your patience. How can I help you?”

“Well I’d think that would be pretty obvious.”

“Unfortunately, sir, I don’t know what the issue is until you tell me. How can I help you?”

“My bill is too damn high!”

“I’m sorry to hear that, sir, I know exactly how frustrating it is when your bill is a lot higher than your were expecting, but rest assured that as an account expert here at CallCenter I can absolutely help you get to the bottom of this and figure out what’s going on, so thank you for giving me this chance to help you out today!”

Yes, I’m aware of how insanely artificial that response sounds, but we were expected to get our greetings out in a specific format like that. We verify into the man’s account and I probe a bit further into what the issue was. Ultimately, it turns out that his bill is about $75 higher than he was expecting.

“Alright, well while I pull up your bill, did you happen to see if there was anything you didn’t recognize on it?”

“Well I didn’t look at my bill! You need a damn PhD to read those things!”

“I understand, sir” I said with a roll of my eyes “these bills can be pretty hard to get through, but I’m happy to explain it to you.”

I pull up the man’s bill, and immediately see the issue. There’s a $75 charge for “Toll Fees”. I pull up his call history and sure enough there are a bunch of calls to 411. For those who don’t know, 411 is a number to call for directory support. You call them, say what/who you’re looking for, and they give you a phone number. I’m pretty sure they can also give you addresses and stuff, but the big point here is that they are like $3 per call. Now, this service USED to be free, but the fact of the matter is that it hasn’t been for a long time.

“Okay, sir, so it looks like you made a bunch of calls to 411, which is why the fees have appeared on your bill.”

“Well that doesn’t make any sense!”

“Well 411 is a paid service…”

“I know that!” The man snapped “But I haven’t called them since March!”

“Yes, I can see that, and that’s why they’re on this bill, because it’s your first bill since that billing cycle closed.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

Now, I knew the answer to what I was about to ask, but historically I’ve found it’s better to ask anyway, because sometimes the act of answering a question can cause a customer to walk themselves through a situation and answer it themselves.

“What doesn’t make sense to you, sir?”

“Well it’s May now. I haven’t called them since March. So obviously these are fraud.”

Swing and a miss.

“Alright, so sir I CAN confirm that all the calls were made at the end of march. Specifically, they were all made between the 28th and the 31st. Your billing cycle starts on the 28th of every month and then ends on the 27th. So those charges were all in the most recent billing cycle, which is why they appeared on this month’s bill.”

“You don’t understand, I made those calls in MARCH. It’s MAY now. They shouldn’t be on my bill. I didn’t make any calls after march cuz I KNOW 411 charges you and it’s honestly a scam, because they never give you the right information anyway. Let me tell you about my last experience with them…”

It is at this point that I do that thing they do in movies, where I take off my glasses and pinch the bridge of my nose because clearly this man is an idiot. I let the man ramble about how he asked for a taco bell phone number, and they gave him a number for taco time, and how he had to call them back and is in the process of building a case to sue them. Eventually he finishes the story and says he still doesn’t get why the charges would be on his bill now.

”Okay, let me try explaining this another way. You seem like a clever guy,” I lied “so I’m sure you already know how billing cycles work, right?”

“Well obviously!”

“Great, I’m gonna go over it anyway just so I can make sure I don’t miss anything. So your billing cycle goes from the 28th of every month through to the 27th of the following month, right?”

“Yeah, I know that.”

“Cool, and every month your bill generates on about the 3rd, and is due to be paid by the 16th, yes?”

“Yeah, exactly the same every month.”

“Awesome, so you’re following me so far. Now, because your billing cycle ENDS on the 27th, anything you do on the 28th won’t appear on the newest bill, because the bill that appears on the 3rd only has what happened on the 27th or before, right?

“Yes, but I don’t understand what this has to do with the charges.”

“I’m getting there.” I took a deep breath and dove back into my explanation “So you made, according to the records here, 25 calls to 411 between the 28th of March, and the 31st of March, correct?”
“That sounds right.”

“Awesome, So your bill on April 3rd wouldn’t have those charges on it, because they happened AFTER March 27th, right?”

“Yeah”

“Cool, now those charges are on the billing cycle from March 28th, to April 27th. Then when that bill cycle closed, the new bill generated on May 3rd, which brings us to today, May 11th. So the charges ARE where they need to be, it just feels like a long time because of when your billing cycle ends. Does this make sense to you now?”

“I just don’t get it. You said you know I haven’t called them since March, and now you’re trying to say they belong on my bill now, all the way in May?!”

Y’all, when I say I nearly screamed, I mean I had to hit the mute button on my microphone because I sincerely was not sure if I could hold it in. Somehow, I managed, and I unmuted my microphone.

“Yes, sir, that’s what I’m saying. Where did I lose you in that explanation, because I’m happy to go back and explain further.”

“Your explanation makes sense, I’m not an idiot. I just don’t get why I’m only now getting charged for these calls.”

I wish I could say this story has a happy ending, but as you all know, they rarely do when you work in customer service. I re-explained everything again in an ever more dumbed down way, and by the end of it, he STILL didn’t understand. But he thanked me for my time, and said he was just going to make sure these charges were included in his lawsuit against 411.

The call ended, and I was given 20 seconds of breathing time before diving right into the next one.

customer service stories

Disrespect for the disrespectful

probablymikephotography

So this older gentleman comes into my work. At this point, I have very little patience for rude customers and even less for Trump supporters.

How did I know this guy was a Trump supporter?

Well at first, I didn’t, but he made it VERY clear by the end that Donald Trump was his personal lord and savior. But I digress…

So I say hello and this guy comes up and leans on my podium. This dude’s face is like 4 inches away from mine, and he says

“So I’m gonna tell you what I need.”

Now, this bitch is not about having a stranger’s nasty fucking face right next to mine, especially during a pandemic (even if he is wearing a mask), so I scoot my stool back a bit. 

“I need a king sized headboard, and I need it today. I ONLY want the headboard. I’m not gonna have you trying to scam me into anything. I bought a perfectly good bedframe 7 years ago, so I just need a new headboard.”

“Alright, sir. I can order most of my headboards on their own, bu-“

Let me pause a moment and make something clear. I HATE when customers cut me off mid sentence. It shows nothing but pure fucking disrespect for me as a human being.

“I’m not ordering anything. I just had to deal with ordering stuff from Amazon, and I’ll never order anything ever again. I’ll just take something in stock.”

“Well, sir, we’re just a showroom, so w-“

“Look, I’m not gonna let you bullshit me. Just show me what you have in stock.”

So I just sit and stare at this guy. I count in my head as the silence hangs. 30 seconds later he finally says “Well?!”

I respond “will you let me finish what I’m trying to say?”

The guy actually goes “humph” and I take that as my cue to speak.

“Okay, so my store is just a showroom. We ONLY order things in, and we do not keep inventory beyond our floor displays. We WILL sell our display once it’s discontinued or heavily damaged, but right now I have nothing king sized on clearance, and even if I did, we will only sell it as a full set.”

“So you’re refusing to help me? This shit is exactly what’s wrong with this country! I can’t wait for Donald Trump to get elected again so that he can put an end to this kind of shit and make sure that REAL Americans get the treatment and respect that they deserve!”

I muster up every ounce of self control I have not to roll my eyes. I told you he made it clear.

“Sir, I’m not refusing to help you. I’m saying that if you’re not willing to order it, then I don’t have a way to help you.”

The guy just stares at me in silence. We stare into each other’s eyes, neither of us wanting to be the one to break first.

Normally, this would be the end of the story. He’d eventually huff and stomp out the door, and I’d continue waiting for another customer.

But not today.

“Alright, well I’ll tell you what else I need.”

Y’all, my mouth started forming the word fuck before I managed to stop myself. I’m glad I was wearing a mask because it would have otherwise been REALLY obvious.

“My wife bought me a recliner from here last year. The electric kind that go up and down to lift you out of it. I already had to repair the controls myself, but now it won’t go up and down at all.”

“It should still be under warranty, so if you go to our back desk, my coworker should be able to set up to have a tech co-”

“No, listen, I already took it apart, all the wires are still connected, and nothing’s frayed or anything. It just won’t work.”

“Alright, so I personally can’t do much for this, but what you need to do is go talk to the folks in our offi-”

“Look, I started by getting it turned over…”

This guy legitimately spends the next 5 minutes, explaining everything he personally did to try and diagnose and fix his chair. And when I say 5 minutes, I mean it, because I checked my watch every 30 goddamn seconds waiting for this guy to finish. After going over every detail, he finally stopped, and stared at me. I waited a few seconds to be absolutely sure he was done speaking. I folded my hands together and set them on the podium.

“Alright, sir, so what you need to do is head to the desk at the back of our store and ta-”

“Look, I am sick and tired of being given the run around here!”

I just stare at this man again for a few seconds, again making sure he’s done talking.

“Sir, what would you like me, specifically me, to do for you?”

“I want someone to come fix my chair!”

“Great, but I personally cannot set that up, so you need to go ba-”

“I just want someone to co-”

“SIR, LET ME FINISH MY SENTENCE”

I didn’t yell this but it was definitely with a raised voice, and the man looked absolutely shocked that I cut him off.

“I do not have access to the system to send a tech out to your home. You need to go to the big desk at the back of my store and speak with one of the ladies there so THEY can set up to have a technician reach out to you to repair your chair. Would you like me to walk you back there?”

“Oh… no, I’ll find it.”

Now, I never talked to the guy again, but I was told later that he complained about how disrespectful I was.

customer service stories

Customer wants it his way, and the manager agrees.

probablymikephotography

So here’s the thing, some people just hate being wrong.

Actually, let me clarify. Everyone hates being wrong, but some people HATE being wrong. They hate it so much, that they won’t acknowledge any reality in which they’re mistaken, and will immediately shift the blame on to other people.

This is a story about a plastic bin.
This was a couple years into my tenure at Lowes. I was sitting at my desk in flooring putting together some estimates for an installation when a customer came up to me. I say he came up to me, but really he stood about 15 feet away and stared at me. OFFICIALLY I was supposed to greet any customer I notice within a certain radius of me, but 1) he was way further away than that, 2) I was honestly pretty focused on the estimate I was working on, and 3) I’m not going to reward behavior like staring at me distantly and silently.

So he stands there and stares at me. As I knew he was there, but was ignoring him until he spoke to me like an adult, I glanced at the clock on my computer screen and after 2 minutes, I heard him loudly clear his throat.

“Eh-hem”

Sorry, sir, but that is not the proper way to get my attention when you’re 15 feet away.

“EH-HEEEEEEM”

Now we’re turning up the volume, but sir, we are adults. We use our words.

“Are you gonna help me or not?!” The man finally yelled out at me.

Well… it’s hardly a reasonable way to talk to someone but it’s a step above just loudly clearing your throat, and honestly I can’t pretend I hadn’t seen him no, so I politely greet the man.

“Oh, hello sir! I didn’t notice you there. How can I help you?”

“I need you to do your damn job!”

“… Okay, I’ll be happy to help you, sir, but I’m going to need you to be a little more specific.”

“Just come help me!” the man snapped, storming away from the desk.

Sadly, I knew that was my cue to follow, so I stood up from my desk and hobbled after the man. I say hobble, because at this point in my life, I was using a cane to walk. Honestly I was still moderately mobile, and was technically fine to use powered lifting equipment, but the act of walking or climbing stairs was pretty painful, and pushing around the power-lifts was basically impossible.

So I followed the man who was huffing every time he had to stop and wait for me to catch up. We made our way down the store and a ways away from my desk to the aisle where we keep plastic storage bins. The man points to a stack of bins up in top-stock.

“Get me those bins.”

“Okay, How many do you need?” I smiled and gritted my teeth, having an idea about where this was going.

“Well why does that matter?!”

“Well, Sir, I have a stack of those bins right over here.” I gestured to the home location for those bins “Do you need more than what I have on the shelf?”

At this point, I’m a little annoyed, because there’s 15 of this bin in the home. I know there’s basically no chance that this guy needs more than that, because… well it’s pretty rare a customer comes in asking for more than 2 or 3 totes like this.

“I don’t want those bins. I want those ones!” he points to the ones in top-stock again.

“Uh…” I paused for a moment, and decided to try to avoid getting these bins down. “Sir, they’re the exact same bins.”

“Are you stupid? Those ones have handles.” he said, waving his hand at the ones in the home. “I want the ones without handles.”

“Oh, I understand the confusion.” I fought the urge to roll my eyes “The ones in top stock just haven’t had the handles installed yet because it makes them easier to ship and store. If you’d like, I can take the handles off of these ones for you.”

“Are you fucking stupid” He snapped again “I don’t want to get the ones with handles.”

Honestly, I hate myself for what I said next, because it felt like giving in to terrorist threats.

“That’s fine, sir. Give me a few minutes to find someone who can get them down for you.”

“Why aren’t you going to get them?! There’s a ladder right there!” He pointed at the giant ladder 10 feet away.

Y’all, I mentioned it before, but I feel this is an appropriate place to repeat it… I WAS USING A FUCKING CANE.

“Well, sir, I can’t use a ladder right now as I have an injured knee, but if you give me a few minutes, I can get another employee who is able to help you.”

“Get me your manager. NOW.”

Now at the time, I had the capability to call all the managers on the store mobiles at once. It was super convenient. Unfortunately, out of all the managers who COULD have answered, I got the one manager who I DIDN’T want dealing with this.

We’ll call him Brian. His name was actually Bryan, but it pissed him off when you spelled his name wrong, therefore I did it literally every chance that I got, and will continue to do so until the end of time.

Brian answered the phone, and I let him know that I had a customer asking to speak with a manager on aisle 4. Apparently he was right around the corner, because he was right next to me before I could even hang up the phone.

“Hello, sir, How can I help you.”

“This KID is refusing to help me” The old man said, gesturing to my 27 year old self.

“Mike, why won’t you help this man?” Notice, this fucking customer simp immediately takes the customers side.

“Well, Brian, I’ve offered to help in a number of ways, but he’s refused to accept any of the available options.”

“Don’t you bullshit me, all you have to do is climb a ladder and get me the bins I’ve asked for.”

Now, to Brian’s credit, he did point out to the gentleman that I was using a cane, and was unable to climb a ladder. Unfortunately, Brian’s simpy nature forced its way through mere seconds after he had a burst of common sense.

“I’ll be happy to get them down for you myself, sir.” Then he turned to me, and said “Mike, next time get someone to help you instead of just refusing.”

I consider this moment to be conclusive proof that it is impossible to start fires with your mind, because if there was any chance it could happen, I would have lit brian on fire at that exact moment. I excused myself and limped my way back to my desk. I got back to work on the estimate I was working on when this started, and a few minutes later, Brian came up to me.

“So care to explain why you were refusing to help that customer?”

“Well, Brian, I never once refused to help him. The only thing I wasn’t willing to do was climb that ladder myself. I offered to take handles off the bins in the home, that way he wouldn’t have to wait any longer, and I offered to get someone who could use the ladder to get the exact same bins down for him from topstock. At no point, did I ever refuse to help him.”

“Well that’s not what the customer said.”

Brian then proceeded to tell me a story in which I refused to help the customer, called him an idiot, and then told him I didn’t even need the cane, and I was faking it so I didn’t have to help old morons like him.

I honestly had no idea how to respond to that. Like, I just stared at Brian, jaw dropped, completely dumbstruck that he would even begin to entertain this old man’s story. After a minute of me just staring at him, I finally spoke up.

“Brian… in the years that we have worked together, have I ever done or said ANYTHING that would lead you to believe that I’d ever say something like that to a customer?”

“Well be more careful how you word things next time, because he was really upset, and I had to give him 10% off his purchase today.”

At this point, there was NOTHING that could possibly have come out of my mouth, so I just stared at him in silence.

“So… are we good here?” Brian said, breaking the silence.

I just continued to stare at him. If this was going to escalate, I was not going to be the one to do it. Eventually he just walked away, finally getting the hint that I had nothing further to say to him. I got back to work on my estimates, and finished my day without further incident, but for sure, that day more than any other cemented my absolute hatred for Brian as both a manager and as a person.

customer service stories

Memories…

probablymikephotography

So the following is a story I originally posted on Facebook, and it popped up as a memory, so I felt it appropriate to share on here.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So I was putting away some boxes when a gentleman comes up to me in flooring.

“I need to talk to the man who sold me my bathtub and tub surround.”

And good morning to you too, sir… So I ask if he remembered their name, or what they look like, so I can see if they’re working right now. He snaps back that he shouldn’t have to remember that crap, and just to get him the guy who was working a couple days ago.

Now, for those of you who have worked in retail, I’m sure you’re aware that in the mind of a customer “a couple days” could be anywhere from an hour ago, to a full year ago (no, that is NOT an exaggeration). Even if it was just 3 or 4 days ago, my entire staff in plumbing had worked in that time, not to mention anyone from a neighboring department who may have been helping out.

So I try calling plumbing, knowing full well that associate was probably at lunch, and when no one answered, I told the customer that my plumbing guy was on break. Then I asked him what his questions were, thinking I could help him out.

“I was sold a tub surround, and the parts in it are wrong. They don’t fit together.”

I ask him to elaborate and suggest we go over to the display so he can show me what he means.

“Well your display is wrong too!”

Alright, so I’m now super skeptical… I mean, our displays are super prone to getting broken (customers want to “test” the displays, which sometimes apparently means attacking them with razor blades and/or hammers), but it seemed odd that our display and his product would both be “wrong” in the same way.

I say let’s look at it so he can show me what he means, and we walk over. We get to the display, and he points out some ridges on the left and right panels of the tub surround.

“You need to get me one without those ridges, and you need to fix this display!”

So I look closer at the display, and it’s instantly clear that this is how the product is designed. The ridges are to make room for the back panel to lock into the side ones and make it water tight. Admittedly, not the prettiest design, but it works, and it probably is why this model was cheaper than a lot of others.

So I explain this to the customer, and ask if that’s what he meant when he said they don’t fit together.

“Well, yeah. They lock together, but they have that damn ridge on them!”

Alright, so I say I want to check one more thing, and I open the product up on our website. The offending ridges were clearly visible in the picture, so I explain to the customer that that’s just how it’s designed.

“So you’re telling me they made it this stupid way on purpose?!”

I confirm what I had literally just told him, and then apologize that the person who helped him before hadn’t shown him the display model so that this could be avoided.

“Well he did show me the display, but I didn’t think the real product would have those stupid ridges too!”

I facepalm internally, and ask if the associate had told him that. He said no, and so I say that unfortunately that’s how all iterations of this product will come, as it’s the way it’s designed. I then ask if the customer had glued in the panels yet.

“No. I saw those damn ridges, and put it right back in the box.”

Great, I tell him as long as it’s all in like new condition, he can return it and see about finding a model without the ridges.

“And it won’t cost me more money, right?”

Lolno. I tell him the other models cost more, and he would have to pay for the upgrade.

“Well I don’t think I should have to pay extra when it’s not my fault that it has these stupid ridges!”

So, let’s recap. This guy came in, looked at our display, decided ON HIS OWN that the product in box would be different from the display, and now expects a discount on a more expensive product because he assumed something idiotically.

I explain that since the product wasn’t defective, and came EXACTLY AS DISPLAYED, that we wouldn’t give him a discount on an upgrade.

I did, however, offer to help him sign up for an in-store credit card, which would give him 5% off of all his purchases!

He grumbled about figuring something out to live with the ridges, and wandered off, leaving me to go back to my department and continue working on freight.