Monday, May 23, 2011

Work stories

I, like the vast majority of humanity, work to survive. Unlike the legions of others who live on subsistence farming and nomadic ways of life, I live in relative splendor. However, such decadent living comes at a price. For some it is tireless hours at the office. Others it is at the machine in front of the assembly line. Again for people, whom I find myself lumped with, it is in the service industry toiling to "please customers."


This isn't me at all at work.

Working comes ith amusing stories as I'm forced to deal with endless masses of people all slobbering for their ridiculous movies, cds and books. Customer service isn't a strong suite of mine when most customers are idiots. I will amuse you with some sample dialog from 4 years at the same job. Note these have occurred on numerous occasions.

Customer: "If I sing you a song can you tell me who sings it?"
Me: "I can try"
Customer sings
Me: "I don't know what song it is sorry."
Customer: "Why not? You work at a music store. You should know"

Customer: "I can't find Avril Lavigne any where in the A's"
Me: "Did you try L?"
Customer: "Why would she be in the L's?"

Customer walks into the store and immediately stops at desk.
Customer: "Where are your movies to rent?"
Me: "To your left along the wall."
Customer: "Cool. Can you check to see how much credit I have on my card?"

Of course, these just get annoying by the sheer amount I have had to answer them. Some situations though have dumbfounded me. I've been yelled at for refusing to buy back from a customer a broken xbox; cursed at for 50 cents in late fees; and scolded for not knowing what was going to happen when the Harry Potter book comes out. In the moment, it is agitating. It hindsight, I'm confused and find each one ridiculous.

However, as absurd as each one of the previous examples are there are others that test my abilities to stay reasonable to customers. My favorite example is the Stink Bomb Scare.


WMD to many.

It had been a pleasant night at my job. Normally I don't get to work in a department and am forced to be a manager. This night though was nice as I didn't have to deal with irate customers. So I thought. We received a phone call as we often do. The girl who answered it wanted to have me answer a simple question which I quickly directed her to do after supplying the answer to her. The question was do we sell stinks bombs at our store which we do in packs of three for two dollars.

With a groan,the girl gave the caller the answer. A puzzled look came on her face before turning away from the phone to ask what was in the stink bombs. Rolling my eyes, I trudged to the back of the lifestyles department and snatched the item from the shelf. In my hand I returned to hand it to the phone answerer. She rebuffed my attempted and said it was better if I handled it. With a grunt of anger I picked up the phone. The voice on the other end snarled at a new voice.

Typically, I handle customers with a fair and just manner. This circumstances transcended it all. The voice was of an older lady and asked who I was. Answering her with my name and why I was put on the phone to answer the question. She bombarded me with the question of what was in the package. I listed off the three ingredients none which presented a safety hazard. As soon as she finished she wanted to know what each one did, to which I confessed I had no clue and searched the package for the answer.

Not satisfied and her rage unabated, she regaled me with a tale of why she was calling. Two 12-year-old boys were planning and using some in the presence of an asthmatic. She was wondering where they got such a violent weapon and with a certain air on confusion said to me, "I thought Hastings sold books, movies and music. Why would you sell these things?"


Criminal masterminds?

At this point, a feeling of regret for taking the the phone call came over me, and I decried to myself the girl who threw me under this bus. In a calm voice to the woman, I explained that it was a novelty item and for fun. This was the wrong answer. The phone caller asked if I ordered them. No I explained. I just get what is shipped from our warehouse and put them out. She grilled me if I given the choice would stock them. Again, a very unsatisfactory answer for her. It was at this moment she pulled the ace from her sleeve. For particular purposes, I will give the entirity of her comment.

"I see. Well I hope you know that I am an educator and I find that Hastings selling this stink bomb terrible. I will come in tomorrow and if you still have them on your shelves I will talk to the local chamber of Commerce and lodge a complaint about Hastings."

It was at the moment she mentioned that she was an educator I forced a laugh down. Part of me was tempted to say "Yeah. So am I." Of course I realized this would be as effective as claiming her down as one would do by throwing a rock at a large, upset bear that had just had its dinner stolen.

The conversation didn't last long after that. I apologized for the situation but couldn't do anything. Once the phone was safely hung up, I turned and laughed.
The moral of the story is that Stink bombs are dangerous and should be banned by in the US. So join me in a petition to your local congressperson to make stink bombs illegal. Together we can ride the world of these dangerous weapons.


Do you want your house to look like this? It will unless you join me.