I work for the customer service department of a big Dutch webshop. I have an irate customer who keeps on screaming their new Xbox 360 hasn’t arrived. Track and Trace says it was delivered, but the customer insists it was not.

When something that big goes missing, we need to inform the Losses Department, who will contact the carrier and will investigate the issue. I inform the client that I will be doing that and they’ll hear about it in the coming five days.

Most of the time, packages just show up and it was a faulty registration. Anyway, it’s the end of my workday, so I sign off and go home. On my way out, I pass a colleague who has an irate customer. When he confirms the address, I realize he’s talking to my customer.

Since I know this will be his last call, as well, I decide to wait for him so we can complain about customers together. He finishes the call and waits for the client to hang up; we are only allowed to hang up if people forget to do so. He uses this time to add to the case.

Suddenly, my coworker grabs his headphones. His eyes widen. His mouth falls open. Then, I see the line disconnecting. 

Me: “Are you okay?”

Coworker: “They… Oh, my gosh…”

Me: “What?”

Coworker: “They thought they had hung up already! Oh, my gosh… You’ll never guess what I heard!”

Me: *Curious* “What?”

Coworker: “’There! Now we’ll have a free Xbox for sure!’”

Guess which RECORDED call was passed through to the Fraud Department? And guess which delivery address was banned forever, alongside the customer’s account?

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(I am about seven years old and not a very social child. I have passed all of my tasks except for a ‘sewing meet’ that all of the girls are required to attend. The project is Barbie clothes.)

Me: *picks up blue cloth to sew a skirt*

Girl: “Ew! Why would you pick such a boyish color? Your Barbie is going to look so ugly in that! Girls should wear pink or purple! Blue is for boys!”

Me: *looks at the pink mini-skirt the girl is sewing* “Better my Barbie looks like a boy than a slut like yours.”

(My mother couldn’t stop laughing. While I passed, I wasn’t invited back to the sewing meet.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Retail Store]. How may I assist you?”

Young Male Caller: “Yeah, do you guys got any purple XBox’s?”

Me: *not sure if prank or real* “No. I’m sorry, sir, but there are a lot of online sites that offer custom paint jobs for consoles!”

Young Male Caller: “Well, do you think they would be able to put a picture of my butt on one?”

Me: *now convinced it’s a prank* “Well, I’m not sure if the image will fit but I’m sure they can try!”

Young Male Caller: *click*

(I am called up to do a price check on an item from my department. There is a long line of customers, but several serving staff. One of them is a lovely young girl wearing a Muslim headscarf who is trying to help a cranky looking old woman. My coworker is visibly upset.)

Me: *to my coworker* “Hi! What do you need a price che—”

Customer: “That [racial slur] is trying to rip me off! This [very expensive crystal decanter set] was meant to be $30. There’s a sign over there!”

Me: “Okay, look, you’re going to need to use appropriate language in this store if you want any of us to continue serving you. Now, I know for a fact that this set should be around the $200 mark. See, it has the original price here of $299? There is no way it would be $30.”

(The customer argues with me a bit until I ask her to show me the sign. She grumbles all the way about me being unable to do my job and making a poor old woman walk to the back of the store. We get to the crystal section, and she points triumphantly to a large sign on top of the stand.)

Me: “That says 30% off the marked price of all crystal-ware.”

Customer: “Exactly! You’d better give it to me for free because it scanned wrong. I’ve been dreadfully inconvenienced by you. What terrible customer service!”

(She continues in this manner all the way back to the register, where she again begins making loud racial comments about my Muslim coworker, who I see walking away from the registers. The other customers in line are clearly uncomfortable. I agree to call my manager down, but for different reasons than what she thinks.)

Customer: *spots the manager* “A-ha! I’ve been waiting for you! I want you—”

Manager: “Get out.”

Customer: “Excuse me?”

Manager: “[Coworker] just came out to me in tears because you were making disgusting comments about her. We don’t tolerate your type in this store. Now get out before I call security.”

Customer: “Well, I never—”

(The other customers in line begin clapping or adding their own comments. She eventually storms out, but we had to have her removed from the store twice later that day!)

(It’s my third night of waiting tables at a restaurant. The weather is really nice so we open up the patio area for seating. I seat two couples, one significantly older than the other. The women both place their purses in the middle of the aisle so that they virtually trip every server coming through the patio.)

Me: “Ma’am, I’m so sorry but could you move your purses? We need to get through this area safely and I would hate to spill or drop anything on you!”

(They both glare daggers but move their purses without a single word to me. Later on, I seat a couple next to the first table, a white woman and a black man. All goes well until I’m dropping off drinks for them and I hear this from the next table.)

Younger Woman: “I can’t believe a girl that pretty would be with someone like HIM. Ew.”

Older Woman: “I know. Your father and I would’ve died if you brought home that type of man.

(They all laugh derisively. I HOPE I’m thinking the wrong thing. But when I return they are shooting dirty looks at the interracial couple, who have been nothing but model customers.)

Me: *to the interracial couple* “Is everything all right here?”

(I notice the lady is looking VERY upset.)

Man: “They were looking at us funny the entire time. When I went to the car to get something I forgot, they said something about how I must’ve stolen it.”

(I look at where he’s pointing and it’s a shiny black BMW.)

Me: “Oh… hmm. I’ll be right back.”

(I pop inside to explain what’s happened to my manager, and ask whether I can comp the interracial couple a free dessert taken out of my tips. My manager agrees readily.)

Me: “Here’s a dessert on me, guys.”

(The entire table next to me turns and GLARES. I smile sweetly and walk back inside. Of course I earned no tip from the racist table, but the humongous tip I got from the interracial couple more than made up for it.)