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Dear customer, please die. Love, Me.
Aug. 24th, 2004 06:48 pmI've tried my best to stop posting rants about work here, since I only have six shifts left to work and no one wants to listen to me bitch anyway. But this guy I had to deal with yesterday... well, I've got to post this so I can remember it in the future and tell myself, "Things aren't so bad. It could have been foam bead guy."
So, foam bead guy. He came in to the store yesterday and was looking at our little styrofoam-filled pillows. The pillows aren't meant to be opened- the beads are so small and static-y that they cling to everything and make a huge mess. But one day a while ago, two kids were playing tug-of-war with one of the small pillows (where were their parents? God only knows.) and ripped the covering. We scooped up some of the beads and put them in a plastic jar, then superglued the lid of the jar down. This way, we figured, people could see what was inside the pillows without another three days of cleanup.
Enter foam bead guy. He's looking at the pillows, and wants to see what's in them. I go get the jar from behind the registers, and say, "Now, don't open the jar... but you can see that each of those little dots is one bead. They're just made of styrofoam, but it's the small size that makes the pillows squishy." He shakes the jar. I wince. "The lid's glued down, sir.. but you can see the beads quite well with the jar closed." Meanwhile, he's unlatching each of the four locking clasps on the lid of the jar. I say again, "Sir, please don't open the jar. The beads are very light and will get everywhere if the lid comes off. Besides, the lid is super-glued down, so the jar can't be opened."
He looks at me.... and pries the lid off the jar, tipping it sideways in the process. The beads clinging to the cover fall all over the counter. He then says, "It wasn't superglued, it came off easy!"
At this point I'm restraining myself from leaping across the counter and strangling this guy. It's not like he didn't understand me... native English speaker, probably about thirty-five years old.
"Yes, sir. The lid came off because you pried it off. Now as you can see, the beads have gotten everywhere. Now may I please have the jar back?"
He then sticks his hand into the jar, pulls out a small handful of the beads, and hands the jar back to me, saying, "I work for an import company, and people have been telling me to check out these microbead pillows, but I'd never seen one before. Now I know what's in them." All I have to say is, God help whatever company employs you, you self-righteous, incompetent, disrespectful jackass of a man. I point out that the beads have now gotten all over the counter. He then brushes them off onto the carpet (!) and proclaims the area clean. Never mind that I now have to vacuum the carpet due to this fucker's idiocy.
Meanwhile he's managed to read my nametag (bully for you, jackass, given it's probably at your usual eye level when addressing a woman) and proceeds to wander the store, trailing foam beads and bellowing questions across the store, preceded by my name. I answer his questions extremely snappishly, and he either doesn't notice or doesn't care. Eventually he leaves. I put the lid back on the jar and walk it into the back room, slam it on the break table and tell my manager to glue the lid back down. He asks why, and I relate the story of "bead guy."
In summary, foam bead guy, I hope you choke on those beads. Jackass.
So, foam bead guy. He came in to the store yesterday and was looking at our little styrofoam-filled pillows. The pillows aren't meant to be opened- the beads are so small and static-y that they cling to everything and make a huge mess. But one day a while ago, two kids were playing tug-of-war with one of the small pillows (where were their parents? God only knows.) and ripped the covering. We scooped up some of the beads and put them in a plastic jar, then superglued the lid of the jar down. This way, we figured, people could see what was inside the pillows without another three days of cleanup.
Enter foam bead guy. He's looking at the pillows, and wants to see what's in them. I go get the jar from behind the registers, and say, "Now, don't open the jar... but you can see that each of those little dots is one bead. They're just made of styrofoam, but it's the small size that makes the pillows squishy." He shakes the jar. I wince. "The lid's glued down, sir.. but you can see the beads quite well with the jar closed." Meanwhile, he's unlatching each of the four locking clasps on the lid of the jar. I say again, "Sir, please don't open the jar. The beads are very light and will get everywhere if the lid comes off. Besides, the lid is super-glued down, so the jar can't be opened."
He looks at me.... and pries the lid off the jar, tipping it sideways in the process. The beads clinging to the cover fall all over the counter. He then says, "It wasn't superglued, it came off easy!"
At this point I'm restraining myself from leaping across the counter and strangling this guy. It's not like he didn't understand me... native English speaker, probably about thirty-five years old.
"Yes, sir. The lid came off because you pried it off. Now as you can see, the beads have gotten everywhere. Now may I please have the jar back?"
He then sticks his hand into the jar, pulls out a small handful of the beads, and hands the jar back to me, saying, "I work for an import company, and people have been telling me to check out these microbead pillows, but I'd never seen one before. Now I know what's in them." All I have to say is, God help whatever company employs you, you self-righteous, incompetent, disrespectful jackass of a man. I point out that the beads have now gotten all over the counter. He then brushes them off onto the carpet (!) and proclaims the area clean. Never mind that I now have to vacuum the carpet due to this fucker's idiocy.
Meanwhile he's managed to read my nametag (bully for you, jackass, given it's probably at your usual eye level when addressing a woman) and proceeds to wander the store, trailing foam beads and bellowing questions across the store, preceded by my name. I answer his questions extremely snappishly, and he either doesn't notice or doesn't care. Eventually he leaves. I put the lid back on the jar and walk it into the back room, slam it on the break table and tell my manager to glue the lid back down. He asks why, and I relate the story of "bead guy."
In summary, foam bead guy, I hope you choke on those beads. Jackass.