The summer after my freshman year in college, I worked at the local mall in a shop called The Laminators. It was basically a framing shop, but instead of putting people's diplomas and photos into frames, The Laminators turned them into plaques--at least, when it didn't accidentally shred or burn them. The shop was too small to house the actual lamination works; I never saw the factory. It was basically just a counter and a small display room, from which we sold posters and prints that already had been plaque-ified. We didn't do a lot of business, and I almost always worked alone.
In order to earn my minimum wage, I accepted customers' orders, worked the register, and struggled to answer their questions about the posters for sale, most depicting very expensive cars or military hardware. But my most memorable customer didn't buy a thing; he showed up with something to return--a damaged plaque The Laminators clearly hadn't sold him (it was the wrong color and lacked the signature beveled edge). He was a big guy in a muscle shirt, and he seemed to sense that I was alone and not very self-confident. Our interaction went something like this:
Customer: You guys sold me this piece of crap and I didn't notice it was already damaged until I unwrapped it at home. I'd like a full refund.
Me: I'm sorry. I think you might be mistaken. We don't make plaques like this one. Could you have purchased this from a different store?
Customer: You don't think I know where I bought this? Look, I'm in a hurry. This cost me $110, and I'd like it back. Now.
Me: I'm sorry, sir. We don't issue refunds once our products leave the store. We never wrap them before the customer sees and accepts them. And like I said, I don't think we made this plaque. Do you have a receipt? If you like, I can get in touch with the manager . . .
Customer: What?? No, you little @$%!#. Don't play games with me! Don't call your manager! Can't you think for yourself? I am a customer and I'm showing you that you sold me damaged goods. I want my f%$@# $110. Now!
Me: Well, I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not authorized to give it to you. Please, just let me put you on the phone with the manager. He can explain . . .
Customer: You f%$@#! Stop being such a p%&*!@! Look, if you can't use your tiny little brain to process a $%@#! simple refund, I can f%$@#! do it for you! Now open that f%$@# register and give me my g@!d@%$# $110! NOW!
Me: F%$@# you, sir!
For ten seconds, we stared silently at each other, me paralyzed with fear: not that the man was going to take my head off (a distinct possibility, but I could live with that) but that I was going to be fired for cursing at a customer. Then the man turned around and stormed away. Two minutes later I had my manager on the phone, and he absolved me of blame. He was just glad I hadn't given the refund.
So what "interesting" jobs have you had? Any good stories?
In order to earn my minimum wage, I accepted customers' orders, worked the register, and struggled to answer their questions about the posters for sale, most depicting very expensive cars or military hardware. But my most memorable customer didn't buy a thing; he showed up with something to return--a damaged plaque The Laminators clearly hadn't sold him (it was the wrong color and lacked the signature beveled edge). He was a big guy in a muscle shirt, and he seemed to sense that I was alone and not very self-confident. Our interaction went something like this:
Customer: You guys sold me this piece of crap and I didn't notice it was already damaged until I unwrapped it at home. I'd like a full refund.
Me: I'm sorry. I think you might be mistaken. We don't make plaques like this one. Could you have purchased this from a different store?
Customer: You don't think I know where I bought this? Look, I'm in a hurry. This cost me $110, and I'd like it back. Now.
Me: I'm sorry, sir. We don't issue refunds once our products leave the store. We never wrap them before the customer sees and accepts them. And like I said, I don't think we made this plaque. Do you have a receipt? If you like, I can get in touch with the manager . . .
Customer: What?? No, you little @$%!#. Don't play games with me! Don't call your manager! Can't you think for yourself? I am a customer and I'm showing you that you sold me damaged goods. I want my f%$@# $110. Now!
Me: Well, I'm sorry, sir, but I'm not authorized to give it to you. Please, just let me put you on the phone with the manager. He can explain . . .
Customer: You f%$@#! Stop being such a p%&*!@! Look, if you can't use your tiny little brain to process a $%@#! simple refund, I can f%$@#! do it for you! Now open that f%$@# register and give me my g@!d@%$# $110! NOW!
Me: F%$@# you, sir!
For ten seconds, we stared silently at each other, me paralyzed with fear: not that the man was going to take my head off (a distinct possibility, but I could live with that) but that I was going to be fired for cursing at a customer. Then the man turned around and stormed away. Two minutes later I had my manager on the phone, and he absolved me of blame. He was just glad I hadn't given the refund.
So what "interesting" jobs have you had? Any good stories?
