Crazy Town: Circus Clown

04. March 2013 · Write a comment · Categories: Crazy Town, Life · Tags: , , ,

About 3 weeks ago, I received an e-mail from my company’s Customer Service Department stating “We received a complaint today that a customer tried to return a pair of jeans and he was sent away unhappy.  Also, manager Andrew was very rude to him.  Please address.”

Ummmm, 1.  I was there all day and never saw this supposed customer.  2.  I have three males on my payroll.  None of them were working that day and none of them are named Andrew.  I was given this customer’s phone number, so without hesitation, I called to see what drugs he was taking to make up imaginary scenarios in my store.  I’m sort of kidding.

I called him, he answered.  I told him I was informed that he had an unsatisfactory experience in my store, and I wanted to see what I could do.  He replied with “Oh, I never went into the store.  I called customer service to get permission to return some jeans.”  BULL SH… “Oh.  I was under the impression you spoke to someone here today.  You can bring them in later and I’ll exchange them out for you.”  He was really chipper and said “Oh really? Great, because I work in the circus and I never even wore these jeans, but I lost the receipt.  All I want is a different pair.  See you tonight!”  I emailed all of my respective bosses and assured them this was taken care of.  I also added that he was a liar. And circus boy never showed up that night.

So, I worked for a week, went to LA for a week, and then went back to work.  A short blonde guy walked up to the register on Saturday and put a pair of jeans on the counter.  “Hi.  I’m Johnny.  I spoke to your District Director a few weeks ago and they approved me to return these jeans.”  “Hi.  I’m Jenn.  I’m the one you spoke to, I think.  You work in the circus and need to exchange these, right?”  “Oh, yeah.  But I also talked to your head district director.”  That position doesn’t exist, but okay.  I picked up the jeans and, low and behold, the entire waistband was torn off, the bottom of the jeans were dirty, and the back pocket was torn.  I jokingly said, “Wow, did the circus tiger get you?”  He said, “Oh no, that just happened when I went to wear them for the first time.”  PANTS ON FIRE.  Jeans don’t just magically tear away from the waistband with giant slash marks all over them. Thanks a lot, Customer Service.

I told Johnny to grab another pair to exchange them out and let him know the price he was working with.  His mangled jeans were on clearance for $30 or so.  He grabbed a pair of regular priced jeans and brought them to me.  When I told him he would owe $24, he was confused about the exchange.  They don’t teach mathematics in clown school, apparently.

After finding the exact pair of jeans he was returning, he left happy.  I sent a text to my district manager that said “Circus clown came.  He said he talked to you.  He’s happy.”  He responded with “He never talked to me.  Stories…”  Of course he didn’t.  Just like he never came in the store and talked to imaginary Andrew, the non-existent manager.  And just like he didn’t wear the jeans that were completely trashed.  Nobody noticed this during the purchase?  Doubt it.

ecard 2

Tell the truth, friends!  And don’t join the circus.

Xo,

Jenn

Crazy Town: Selective Hearing

06. January 2013 · 1 comment · Categories: Crazy Town · Tags: , ,

I know.  It’s been too long.

The holidays provided me with a lot of interesting stories and no time to write about them.

I’ll have to give them to you as I remember them.  I should have written them down as they happened.

The setup:  Woman, 40-50, sweet, yet annoying.  She returns EVERYTHING she buys, and her 17-year-old looks like a baby prostitute.  (Honesty, folks.  I’m all about honesty.)

  Helping them is arbitrary.  They take forever to decide on things and then it’s back in the store within the week anyway.  Sometimes I make bets on when they’ll be back.

They come in together and I’m last in the “not it” game.  Baby P wants sandals.  Mom: “How much are these, Jenn?”  Me: “They’re the price on the red sticker.  These are $34.95″  Mom: “$32?”  Me: “$34…95″  BP: “Mom, they’re really cute, pleeeeaassseee.”  Mom: “So they’re $32?”  Me: “They’re $34.95.”  I tell her she should try them on and that I’ll be back in a few.  I talk to some other people and then vent to my staff about how much I hate them for making me deal with her.

I actually love them and they know it, so they just laugh.  Jerks.

I go back over to the darling duo.  Mom: “These are really cute, you said they were $32, right?”  “NO, MORON.  THEY ARE $34.95!!!” is what I wanted to say.  But I didn’t.  I said “They’re actually the price on the box.  $34.95.”  For the hundredth time.  Mom:  “Okay, I’ll take them.”  The super-smiley, happy pair come prancing up to the register.  I ring them up.  The total was $36 and change.

Mom: “Ohhh… I thought they were $32.”  Holy. Eff.  How?!  How could you possibly think these were $32?  How? How? How?

Me: “They’re $34.95, remember?  They’re the price on the box.”  Mom: “Well, I was going to get them if they were $32, but $34 is too expensive.” 

ecard

Two things:

1.  I told her more than enough times that they were not $32.

2.  IT’S TWO DOLLARS.  I could scrape two dollars off the ground.

She put the shoes back, bought a romper, and then brought it back the next day.

The  human race completely baffles me at times.

Until next time,

Jenn

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Crazy Town: I Think You Forgot Something…

10. October 2012 · Write a comment · Categories: Crazy Town, Life · Tags: , , , , ,

I received a phone call early in the morning.  A girl bought a handbag in Miami and wanted to return it to my store.  I told her we could do it and I told the management team she was coming.  (I was on my office day, so I wasn’t on the floor.)  About 5 hours later, one of the managers came into the back room where I was writing a schedule.  She was in tears from laughter and of course, I wanted to know what was so funny.

She said “Your girl returned this purse, but guess what she left in there.”  Her laughter continued.

I said “Drugs?”  (I found a purse once with a boatload of weed inside and thought it was pretty hilarious when the girl came back to pick it up…And checked to make sure it was still there.)

“Nope.  Worse.”  We played the guessing game and finally she said “A BULLET!”

I went on and on about her bullet, wondering how it could fall out of gun, why would someone carry around bullets, maybe she was a serial killer.  I was abruptly stopped.  “JENN!! Are you serious??  Not a bullet from a gun! hahaha.”

I asked her what in the world she was talking about.

“A VIBRATOR!!”

The girl left her bullet vibrator in the purse she returned.  When the manager found it, she said “I think you forgot something.”

Hilarity ensued.

The girl tried to reassure her with, “I swear I didn’t use it and then put it back in my purse!”

So awesome.

Note to self: Remove all of your belongings before returning anything, especially your personal bedroom toys.

Hello, Crazy Town.

Xo,

Jenn

Crazy Town: Inappropriate

27. September 2012 · 4 comments · Categories: Crazy Town, Life · Tags: , , , ,

I hate getting hit on.  I get uncomfortable.  I don’t know what to say.  I get creeped out and then I try to be nice.  It’s terrible.

It’s even more terrible when people have never learned about self control.

Three men in particular stick out in my mind.

Person 1: Guy in his mid 40′s came in with his two kids.  He asked me to help him with jeans, so I go over to a table, squat a few inches (I was in a skirt so I was being careful) and he SLAPS THE BACK OF MY LEG and says “Dang girl, you work out?”  I was so utterly appalled that I answered: “Obviously.  And don’t touch me.  Should I put these in a fitting room?”  No apology.  No acknowledgement.  Nothing.  Next time, I will karate chop your throat.

Right?

Person 2:  Guy in his late 30′s, cowboy style, with his 16-year-old daughter.  I know this because she was super sweet, looking for a homecoming dress.  I was in a dress, so when I reached up to grab something, it rode up a little. I hand her the item, tug mine down, and her dad says “Oh don’t pull it down, it looks good short.”  I’m sure my eyes were huge, but his daughter’s eyes were bigger.  She said “Dad!  Ew!”  I looked at her and said “You said it, not me.”  He said “What? You don’t think she’s hot?”  Poor child.  She was mortified.  Poor me.  I was, too.  I said “Maybe you should sit up here while we shop.  I’ll let you know when we’re done.”  The girl was apologizing like crazy and I, of course, told her not to worry about it, but I admitted I was with her on that one.

Ha.

Person 3: Short guy, alone. (SHOCKER).  I was walking to the front, he was walking to the back.  I say, “Hey, how’s it going?”  He says “Oh hello, long legs.”  Sick.  Great.  Where’s the nearest hiding spot?  I tell my co-worker he’s a creep and she’s confirms.  Then he’s on his way out as quickly as he came in.  I step back into one of the rooms.  Of course he comes up to me.  And then he drops this, “I wish I was white, ’cause I’d rail the shit outta you.”  I dry heaved.  In his face.  3 times. I should have kicked his face in, but I decided against it.

WHO SAYS THAT?!

The male population in Crazy Town just gained a few.  They can be single forever together.

Of course, someecards.com always brightens my day.

Don’t be like these guys,

Jenn

Crazy Town: The Retail Trap

04. September 2012 · Write a comment · Categories: Crazy Town

Some of the things that happen to me are beyond the realm of understanding.  Recently, I hired a girl who was super cute and really trendy.  I thought she would be perfect as a sales associate.  Let’s call her Keisha.

So Keisha worked with me on a Friday night.  She seemed to be doing well.  She was talking to people, picking outfits for them, doing what associates do.  Her sales were high. I gave her an overview of her performance.

So the next day, I was a little surprised when I walked in the door and she greeted me as if I were a customer.  “Hello, how are you today?”  I told her “Girlfriend, you must have a bad memory.  I just worked with you last night.  Ha!”  She recovered.  “Oh my goodness.  Jenn, my bad.”

Well, Keisha wasn’t doing so hot that day.  She was like a little mannequin standing at the front of the store.  I kept having to remind her to do things.

Another manager was telling me about one of Keisha’s tattoos that she had seen the night before.  She went to get a close-up.  When she asked to see the tattoo, Keisha was pointing to every one she had.  “This one? This one?”

Anybody want to drum roll this one out?

She turns to the manager and says “Don’t tell anyone, but Keisha is sick today.  I’m her twin.”

Yeah.  That happened. Real-life version of “The Parent Trap”.

Of course she didn’t realize she was speaking to a manager… because she isn’t an employee!

So after I learned of the switch, I called Keisha (the real one) from my cell phone.  She answered, and I proceeded to ask her how she was working my floor and also on the phone with me.  Do do do…

Of course this was a first for Human Resources.  And of course it was me.  It usually is.

What is wrong with people?!

The twins have been shipped out.

Until next time,

Jenn

Wet Pants Returns… Returns.

19. June 2012 · Write a comment · Categories: Crazy Town · Tags: , , ,

I’m not sure I dislike anyone as much as I dislike Wet Pants.  This is one of those things where people say “too soon?” and the answer is a definite yes.  I haven’t had enough time to recover from his last visit and I was not ready to deal with him again.  Too bad, Jenn.

The other manager was on break when I stumbled upon my least favorite customer/person of all time.  Wet Pants was back in the store.

Apparently, he had been in the store a few days before and was returning some shoes he had bought. (SHOCKER).  Communication got messed up somewhere and he ended up with a store credit.  It was inevitable that he would be back again.

I watched him make his way toward me.

“I’ve got some bad news” he says.  He’s holding up his store credit.  “I bought this for my dad for father’s day, but he doesn’t want it.  I’ll just take cash for it.”

  I couldn’t take it.  I said “Well, I’ve also got some bad news.  You got that when you returned your shoes, you didn’t buy it.  It’s also non-refundable.  Nice try, though.”

He laughed, “Oh yeah, that is how I got it.  Oops.  Well, I don’t have a use for it, so can I sell it?”

I told him it was his card, he could do whatever he wanted with it.  Then this FOOL tried to sell it to my sweet, wonderful, not annoying customer.  “Hey, uh, would you give me $51 in cash and I’ll give you this card?” I interrupted promptly with a “No, no, no, no, no.  Not here.  You can sell it to your friends, but do not bug my customers.”

WHO DOES THAT?!

He left.

(Someecards.com is always so insightful.  Thank you.)

True story.

Until another dummy arrives,

Jenn

Crazy Town: “Wet Pants”

11. June 2012 · Write a comment · Categories: Crazy Town · Tags: ,

It’s been a little while since I encountered a person nut-worthy enough to ship to Crazy Town.  Personally, I can’t believe it’s taken this long.  And this one is a guy.  I think that’s a first.

He might have been between 23 and 25.  Normal looking.  He was returning something.  (Aren’t they always?)  Anyway, he had the bag and the receipt.  He had the merchandise for just 3 days.  He didn’t have the tags, but we can work around that.  They fall off sometimes.  I asked if there was a problem with the item and he told me he just didn’t like it anymore.  That’s fine.  I asked to see the merchandise.  He presented to me, a pair of jeans.  Soaking wet.

  I’m sure I looked puzzled, I was puzzled.  I asked him what happened to them, why they were wet.  He said “They’re not wet.  I never wore them.”  I cannot tell you enough how much I hate people who lie about dumb things.  I said “Feel them, they don’t feel wet to you?” I thought I was going crazy.  He said, “No, can I just have my money back?  I don’t like them.”  For my own sanity, I put the jeans on top of a sheet of paper.  When I lifted them up, the paper was clearly damp.  I told him to hang on a second.  I went in the back to my boss.  “What do you think about these pants?”  I threw them to him.  “They’re wet” he said.

I’m not delusional after all.

When I came back, he said “You have to take them back.  I wore them to the club and now I want to return them and get another pair.  I can’t wear them again.  It was raining, that’s why they’re wet.”  I had to explain to him that you can’t just buy stuff, wear it out, and then return it.  He said, “I do that with everything.  That way, I don’t have to keep buying clothes I’ll only wear once.  So, I bought this.  I wore it.  And now you’re going to return it for me.  Then I’ll get a new pair.”

Moron.  Moron.  Moron.

I got an approval to do an exchange this one time only, and I may or may not have told him he wasn’t allowed to return anything anymore, ever, under any circumstance.  Maybe I told him that… maybe I didn’t.

  He agreed. Then started looking around.

I escaped.  I went on my hour break because I could not look at him any longer.  I pawned him off on another manager, went home, ate, came back… and he was still in the store!  Why?  Because the kid has issues.  Everyone in the store was happy to put him back in my possession.  So sweet.

I got rid of him 3 torturous hours later.

And now he will stay in Crazy Town.  And if I see him again, I’m running.

Xo,

Jenn


Crazy Town: UPDATE

25. January 2012 · Write a comment · Categories: Crazy Town · Tags: , , , , ,

Do you guys remember the whack job from the “Minion” story a few months back?  The lady who yelled and yelled about some nonsense in a totally different state?  Yeah that one.

I MET HER.

IN PERSON.

And she’s just as strange in real life.

She came in to return the things she called about from forever ago. She was being extremely nice, dancing around and singing to the music, happy to be helped.  She pulls everything out, all clearance merchandise.  She has no tags, no receipt, nothing.  She tells me she wants them all returned for the regular price, in cash. Naturally.  Well, when I explained to her the policy for the 30th time and how her logic made absolutely no sense, she started jumping up and down screaming with her hands over her ears.  Like a small child who doesn’t want to hear that they can’t watch cartoons.  Screaming.  Did I mention she was probably in her late 50′s or 60′s?  While I was slightly embarrassed for her, I couldn’t help but laugh on the inside.  I looked around and there were about 7 people, dead stopped, staring at her in disgust.  It was great, actually.  Since I couldn’t talk to her over her temper tantrum, I called my district manager.  I explained to him briefly what was going on and held the phone out so he could hear.  She had no idea I was even on the phone.  His response?  “She sounds like she’s a little off, just get her out of the store.  Do what you have to do.” “Off” doesn’t even come close to it.  I laughed, I gave her cash back for their clearance prices.  Call the police, I broke the rules.  “Bargaining with lunatics” is not in my job description, so she got away with this one.  And hopefully, I never see her again, although I’m sure there are plenty out there waiting to take the throne.  At least my decision to move her to Crazy Town was a smart one.

Write you soon,

Jenn

Crazy Town: Two Birds, One Post

30. December 2011 · Write a comment · Categories: Crazy Town · Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

People move into Crazy Town pretty seldom, but I had something very rare happen the other day: two people in one day packed their bags and joined the rest of the misfits.

#1.  LIAR, LIAR (pants on fire):

This one happened in the store.  An associate called me over the headset with a request to help her out at the register, as someone was upset about who knows what.  As I approached, two ladies (a mother/daughter duo) were standing at the register with two shirts and a receipt.  I asked how I could help them and the mother proceeded to tell me that she wanted to return the two items.  Okay, easy.  The two shirts were $10 each, marked down to clearance and an extra 50% off that price.  “Would you like store credit or did you want to exchange them?” I asked.  She tells me, “I want my money back on my card.”  I told her that clearance merchandise could only be exchanged for another item or store credit.  It’s basically the same at every store, sale merchandise is usually final.

She asked me where there was a sign that said that in the store.  Conveniently, there is one directly in front of every register.  I pointed it out to her and her daughter chimed in, “It’s a law that during the holidays, you’re supposed to have signs all over the store that state your policy.  We shouldn’t be responsible for reading this tiny print!”  I haven’t heard of this newly devised law, because it doesn’t exist.  I tell her that the policy is available for customers to read, regardless of the print size.  Then her mother tells me, “I’m not leaving until I get my money back.  The girl who sold this to me told me I could get my money back if I returned it.  I don’t buy things I can’t return.”  I gave her the benefit of the doubt.  We hired a lot of new people and it is quite possible that they got confused about the policy, in which case I would have honored her request and lack of literacy and given her the money back, just to make her happy.  So I asked her if she remembered who it was, she couldn’t.  Luckily, our names are on the receipts when we ring people up.  I look at it.  CASHIER: JENN CUMMINGS.  Trifling. Hoe.

After I told her that it was me, she changed the story; that I didn’t tell her before she purchased it and it was my fault anyway.  That it was my job to tell people when items couldn’t be returned.  Not.  That’s why the policy is there.

No, the money did not go back on her card.  She exchanged it for a different shirt and complained the whole time about reading a sign so small and never coming back.  Have a great life, I hope I never see you again.  Then she told me to “get my shit together.”  I wanted to tell her to learn how to read, quit being a complete bitch, and stop lying to get $20 dollars, plus a few things that shouldn’t be said.  I didn’t.  I told her to have a great day, have a happy new year, and thank you for shopping with us :) .

#2. START THEM YOUNG

On my way out of the mall that day, I couldn’t wait to get home to normalcy.  I walked out of the employee exit and right into two police cars, two grown women wearing shower caps, and an 8-year old in a purple shirt with a glittery pink flower on it.  The girl was in handcuffs.  I pretended to tie my shoe.

I heard one of the ladies address the officer by name.  “Officer Kirk, you know she steal sometimes.  I can’t control it.”  He also knows her name, “Denita (or Benita, or something ending in ita), this is the second time this week.  It’s gotta stop.”  I untie and re-tie the other shoe.  I obviously couldn’t leave at this point!  “I’m not gonna take her in today, but if it happens again, she’s gonna come with me.”  Lady: “Praise Jesus!  My baby can’t go to jail yet!  Thank you, Kirk!  She gon’ stop!”  I couldn’t believe she said she can’t go to jail yet.  What does that even mean?!  Meanwhile, the little girl is sitting with her barrettes in her hair and her glittery shirt and all I can think is they probably taught her to steal.  Outrageous.  Absolutely outrageous. I didn’t hear the rest because I only have two feet and I can only tie and untie each shoe so many times before I’m blatantly eavesdropping.

So with that, two people earned a spot in the Crazy Town Neighborhood.

Write you soon,

Jenn

Crazy Town #4… Let’s be serious.

17. December 2011 · 1 comment · Categories: Crazy Town

I was helping a lady pick out jeans.  After trying a few on, she came to the register with two pairs in hand.  I started the transaction.

She asked if we accepted WIC.

(WIC provides Federal grants to States for supplemental foods, health care referrals, and nutrition education for low-income pregnant, breastfeeding, and non-breastfeeding postpartum women, and to infants and children up to age five who are found to be at nutritional risk.)

I told her “if it has a Visa or Mastercard emblem on it, I’ll take it.”

Obviously, we don’t take WIC as payment.  Your designer jeans are not provided by the government.  Go get some eggs.  I thought about renaming Crazy Town to “If I only had a brain” Town.

Write you soon,

Jenn

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