I worked for <insert name of large home improvement store here>, and when I wasn't out in the garden center, my preferred station in the building was the returns desk. Which for anyone who's worked retail, might see that as a sign that I might not be quite right in the head. I wish I had made these stories up. But I didn't. I promise you, they're all true.
----
During my first week doing returns solo, a man came into the building, carrying one of the largest/heaviest log-splitting mauls we stocked. He was a big guy, as in tall and broad-shouldered, and walked right up to the returns desk, put the maul on the counter, and said in a -very- thick Eastern European accent:
"I would like to return ax, it does not fit in suitcase."
----
The scene: mid-afternoon on a Saturday about two weeks after a major ice storm had gone through the area, leaving a large portion of the population without power.Â
A man arrives to the store, and he is irate -- I can hear him ranting and raving, and he hasn't even entered the building yet. He finally enters, carrying a door, and he practically throws the thing at me and starts screaming about how his house had gotten broken into just before the storm, he had come in and bought a door to replace the one that had been damaged and then had to seek shelter elsewhere because of the storm, and that he had finally returned home after power had been restored to his neighbourhood to find that because we sold him a defective door all the pipes in his house had frozen and burst, and that he was going to sue the company for damages and repairs. He finally stops to catch his breath, and I ask him what's wrong with the door.
"The f---ing thing is defective! It let in a draft!"
I look at the door, then at him, and nod and enter that into the computer. And since the customer's reason for returning was defective, I have to tag the item as defective. He gets his money back, I pass him off to the manager who's been watching in disbelief the whole time, and I go about taking care of the next customer. A little while later, a co-worker who deals with the vendor returns comes up.
"... What's up with this door that just popped up in my system?"
I point at the door.
"... What's wrong with it?"
"It lets in a draft."
She stares at it, then at me.
"You're -kidding-, right? It's a screen door!"
----
Late night, about twenty minutes to closing, woman comes in and up to the desk to pay off part of her credit card bill. She hands me the most recent statement, I scan it in, and she hands me a cheque. Standard procedure, I need to verify a few things on the cheque before I try to process it... and I notice that the printed name on the cheque is 1) for a man and 2) the bottom is signed with a woman's name that doesn't share the last name on the top... and neither names match the man's name that is on the credit account. Now... normally we don't really nitpick about the name on the account matching the name used on the payment method as long as the payment method matches whoever is presenting it at the counter, but at this point I have three different names and I'm smelling something strange.
Policy is that the name on the top of the cheque must match the signed name at the bottom, and that the only time I can take a cheque as payment that doesn't belong to the person presenting it is if the name on it matches the credit account it's paying off. So, at this point, I try to politely reject the cheque. Holy crap, wrong move.
Woman goes into rant mode. About how she's trying to pay off her credit account and that the law says if I reject payment then she is no longer responsible for the balance. I attempt to politely point out that the name on the account is a man's name, and that if she shows me some ID I can gladly make sure she's on the account and from there we can discuss her using payment that I can legally accept. She tosses an ID on the counter... and now I have four different names, and her name is not on the account. I tell her that her name isn't on the account... she goes into her purse, and pulls out another ID... with a completely different name.
That's FIVE names now, folks. None match, and both the ID's have her picture on them.
So... I call my supervisor up, and very quietly (though not as discreetly as I'd like, cause the crazy woman on the other side of the counter is leaning over it so far that I'm thinking she's about to climb over it to join us) tell her of the situation. Supervisor turns to the crazy woman and informs her that both company and bank policy is that we cannot accept cheques for any sort of payment if the names do not match.
Crazy mode starts again. Now we're being treated to a rant about how rejecting the payment because of names not matching is proof that the government has gotten to us and begun to genetically mutate us into real sheep-people and that the president is a lizard-man from the center of the earth and the genetic mutations are part of a plan where the other lizard-men turn us into a food source and that they're about to move to the surface and take over.
Forty-five minutes after the store closes, we finally get the woman out of the building under threat of police intervention, account still unpaid.
----
Before working at <insert name of large home improvement store here>, I worked for a regional chain of convenience stores/gas stations. The company prided itself on having above-state-requirements when it came to ID checking and alcohol/tobacco/tobacco paraphernalia sales, including requiring employees to attend classes and be certified by the state in these matters.
So, I'm at the register, the store manager at the manager's desk which is nearby and behind some shelving so she isn't seen by customers. The manager and I do -not- get along, but she's unwilling to fire me because I willingly take some of the shifts that are normally considered to be REALLY crappy ones. Kid comes in, stops as he approaches the counter, then sighs and steps up and asks for a pack of cigarettes.
I don't even bother asking to see his ID, I tell him no and to get out.
Manager pops up from the desk, signs onto the backup register, and tells the kid to come over to her, she'll sell him the cigarettes.
Me: "... You.. can't do that. I already denied him a sale, company policy is that if a customer is denied by one employee, none of the other employees can override."
Boss: "I'm not an employee. I'm the manager."
She rings in the ciggs, and overrides the check ID prompt.
Me: "... You might want to check his ID..."
Boss: "He's old enough."
Me: "How can you tell?"
Boss: "Look, when you've been doing this as long as I have, you can accurately gauge the age of anyone who comes in."
She finishes the sale, hands the kid his receipt, and he heads out the door, pausing just long enough to mumble 'sorry' to me before he leaves. Store is empty now, and the manager is informing me that she's writing me up for insubordination and starts grabbing the paperwork. I'm not really paying much attention to her, as I watch the kid return to the rather official looking navy-blue Crown Victoria I had seen him get out. From where I'm standing, I can clearly see him handing over both the cigarettes and the receipt to the driver. Driver gets out of the car and comes into the building.
The lapel on his windbreaker identifies him as a member of the state's Tobacco and Alcohol Commission.
Official: "So! Which of you ladies wants to take responsibility for selling these cigarettes to a minor?"
Boss: *looks a bit panicked, then points at me* "She did it."
Me: "Ah, no? I denied the sale, you overrode me and didn't even bother to check his ID."
Boss: "Don't you dare try to pin this on me."
Official: *looks at the receipt, then at my nametag* "Well, according to the receipt... she's not the one who sold it. And according to the kid I sent in here, she did deny the sale and you overrode her. So, she's not in trouble."
He writes out the citation, the manager signs it, and he goes to leave and stops. He turns, looks at me, and tilts his head.
Official: "Y'know, the kid said you flat-out refused him without checking his ID. That is within your power according to the State, but why did you do it?"
Me: "Next time, you shouldn't send in my sixteen-year-old brother."
----
During my first week doing returns solo, a man came into the building, carrying one of the largest/heaviest log-splitting mauls we stocked. He was a big guy, as in tall and broad-shouldered, and walked right up to the returns desk, put the maul on the counter, and said in a -very- thick Eastern European accent:
"I would like to return ax, it does not fit in suitcase."
----
The scene: mid-afternoon on a Saturday about two weeks after a major ice storm had gone through the area, leaving a large portion of the population without power.Â
A man arrives to the store, and he is irate -- I can hear him ranting and raving, and he hasn't even entered the building yet. He finally enters, carrying a door, and he practically throws the thing at me and starts screaming about how his house had gotten broken into just before the storm, he had come in and bought a door to replace the one that had been damaged and then had to seek shelter elsewhere because of the storm, and that he had finally returned home after power had been restored to his neighbourhood to find that because we sold him a defective door all the pipes in his house had frozen and burst, and that he was going to sue the company for damages and repairs. He finally stops to catch his breath, and I ask him what's wrong with the door.
"The f---ing thing is defective! It let in a draft!"
I look at the door, then at him, and nod and enter that into the computer. And since the customer's reason for returning was defective, I have to tag the item as defective. He gets his money back, I pass him off to the manager who's been watching in disbelief the whole time, and I go about taking care of the next customer. A little while later, a co-worker who deals with the vendor returns comes up.
"... What's up with this door that just popped up in my system?"
I point at the door.
"... What's wrong with it?"
"It lets in a draft."
She stares at it, then at me.
"You're -kidding-, right? It's a screen door!"
----
Late night, about twenty minutes to closing, woman comes in and up to the desk to pay off part of her credit card bill. She hands me the most recent statement, I scan it in, and she hands me a cheque. Standard procedure, I need to verify a few things on the cheque before I try to process it... and I notice that the printed name on the cheque is 1) for a man and 2) the bottom is signed with a woman's name that doesn't share the last name on the top... and neither names match the man's name that is on the credit account. Now... normally we don't really nitpick about the name on the account matching the name used on the payment method as long as the payment method matches whoever is presenting it at the counter, but at this point I have three different names and I'm smelling something strange.
Policy is that the name on the top of the cheque must match the signed name at the bottom, and that the only time I can take a cheque as payment that doesn't belong to the person presenting it is if the name on it matches the credit account it's paying off. So, at this point, I try to politely reject the cheque. Holy crap, wrong move.
Woman goes into rant mode. About how she's trying to pay off her credit account and that the law says if I reject payment then she is no longer responsible for the balance. I attempt to politely point out that the name on the account is a man's name, and that if she shows me some ID I can gladly make sure she's on the account and from there we can discuss her using payment that I can legally accept. She tosses an ID on the counter... and now I have four different names, and her name is not on the account. I tell her that her name isn't on the account... she goes into her purse, and pulls out another ID... with a completely different name.
That's FIVE names now, folks. None match, and both the ID's have her picture on them.
So... I call my supervisor up, and very quietly (though not as discreetly as I'd like, cause the crazy woman on the other side of the counter is leaning over it so far that I'm thinking she's about to climb over it to join us) tell her of the situation. Supervisor turns to the crazy woman and informs her that both company and bank policy is that we cannot accept cheques for any sort of payment if the names do not match.
Crazy mode starts again. Now we're being treated to a rant about how rejecting the payment because of names not matching is proof that the government has gotten to us and begun to genetically mutate us into real sheep-people and that the president is a lizard-man from the center of the earth and the genetic mutations are part of a plan where the other lizard-men turn us into a food source and that they're about to move to the surface and take over.
Forty-five minutes after the store closes, we finally get the woman out of the building under threat of police intervention, account still unpaid.
----
Before working at <insert name of large home improvement store here>, I worked for a regional chain of convenience stores/gas stations. The company prided itself on having above-state-requirements when it came to ID checking and alcohol/tobacco/tobacco paraphernalia sales, including requiring employees to attend classes and be certified by the state in these matters.
So, I'm at the register, the store manager at the manager's desk which is nearby and behind some shelving so she isn't seen by customers. The manager and I do -not- get along, but she's unwilling to fire me because I willingly take some of the shifts that are normally considered to be REALLY crappy ones. Kid comes in, stops as he approaches the counter, then sighs and steps up and asks for a pack of cigarettes.
I don't even bother asking to see his ID, I tell him no and to get out.
Manager pops up from the desk, signs onto the backup register, and tells the kid to come over to her, she'll sell him the cigarettes.
Me: "... You.. can't do that. I already denied him a sale, company policy is that if a customer is denied by one employee, none of the other employees can override."
Boss: "I'm not an employee. I'm the manager."
She rings in the ciggs, and overrides the check ID prompt.
Me: "... You might want to check his ID..."
Boss: "He's old enough."
Me: "How can you tell?"
Boss: "Look, when you've been doing this as long as I have, you can accurately gauge the age of anyone who comes in."
She finishes the sale, hands the kid his receipt, and he heads out the door, pausing just long enough to mumble 'sorry' to me before he leaves. Store is empty now, and the manager is informing me that she's writing me up for insubordination and starts grabbing the paperwork. I'm not really paying much attention to her, as I watch the kid return to the rather official looking navy-blue Crown Victoria I had seen him get out. From where I'm standing, I can clearly see him handing over both the cigarettes and the receipt to the driver. Driver gets out of the car and comes into the building.
The lapel on his windbreaker identifies him as a member of the state's Tobacco and Alcohol Commission.
Official: "So! Which of you ladies wants to take responsibility for selling these cigarettes to a minor?"
Boss: *looks a bit panicked, then points at me* "She did it."
Me: "Ah, no? I denied the sale, you overrode me and didn't even bother to check his ID."
Boss: "Don't you dare try to pin this on me."
Official: *looks at the receipt, then at my nametag* "Well, according to the receipt... she's not the one who sold it. And according to the kid I sent in here, she did deny the sale and you overrode her. So, she's not in trouble."
He writes out the citation, the manager signs it, and he goes to leave and stops. He turns, looks at me, and tilts his head.
Official: "Y'know, the kid said you flat-out refused him without checking his ID. That is within your power according to the State, but why did you do it?"
Me: "Next time, you shouldn't send in my sixteen-year-old brother."
