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First off, 
. Finally decided to step out of the shadows and join in the fun...
I used to live on a little tourist trap of an Island off the South coast of the UK. When I was in High School I got my first job working for a family that owned 4 'gift' shops (one was cheap and tacky (C's shop), one sold collectable china (mainly teapots) (the top shop), one sold bath products, winnie the pooh and fresh herbs from it's 'Herb Garden' (the herb cottage), and the main shop had a clothes section, a jewellery counter, a cafe attached and then sold a mixture of collectable figuirines and cheap and tacky holiday souvenirs (known as the bottom shop)). I was hired at 15 to be the 'floater' - the person who could work in any of the four, depending on what was needed. Apart from the pay being so low that I had to work for 2 1/2 hours just to pay my bus fare there and back, I really enjoyed working this job.
These shops had a car park and a coach park attached. It wasn't uncommon to have up to 12 coach loads of tourists delivered and a full car park for most of the day. And, of course, everybody always wanted to come to the till and pay at the same time, because, you know, their coach was leaving in a minute. Each shop had one till (except the bottom shop, which had one in the main part of the shop, and one in the clothes section, which was only supposed to be used in the sale of clothes). Naturally, it could be pretty stressful working there, and apart from one girl (M), who had been there longer than me, and another (S) that started about a year later than me, the turnover of the weekend staff was pretty high.
One busy summer day, I was working in the bottom shop (hurray! the only one with air conditioning!), trying to clear as many customers as possible in as short a time as I could, whilst remembering to write down everything I sold in the little book that each shop had for this (no scanners, just plugged the price of everything into the till (when you could get a turn) and used this book to keep track of what needed to be restocked), and keeping up to date with having the shop floor neat and fully stocked (including unpacking, individually checking and pricing the contents of the 40 boxes that were delivered that morning), when this little old lady came up to the back of the till (was in a horse shoe shaped counter, normally only served from the front) and asked if someone could help her. There were three of us on the till at that point, since it was so busy that the manager had come out of his office to help clear some people out, and the kind of gymnastics the three of us were doing to be able to all use the till, get to that little book and use the bags were quite impressive. I was on the outside of the horseshoe, so I went to help her.
She was after one of our folding walking sticks that had a pretty floral pattern on it. So I unpacked the thing from its carry pouch and showed her how to clip it together. It's the wrong height for her. Easily fixed, these things are fully adjustable. She misunderstands the way it works and so we get off to a bit of a false start with me making it shorter instead of taller. It's fine, she's a bit rude but her nice husband calms her down and we get it all worked out. It takes about half an hour, but eventually she's ready to buy this thing. It costs £14.99. She pays and leaves, and in theory this is the end. Of course nothing about that transaction was so bad (and to be honest, in hindsight nothing about the whole thing was all that terrible, but this was seven years ago and thinking about this woman still annoys me...)
About an hour later I answer the phone, and the lady on the other end asks to speak with a manager. I've been told *numerous* times, that unless I get a name and what the person is calling about, the managers will not be happy about being called out of their nice quiet office. So I politely ask for these details. The lady tells me 'that doesn't matter'. I explain that I need them to be able to find the right manager (clothes go to R, stock goes to St, and anything else can go to D). She tells me again it doesn't matter. I give up and go see who's in the office. No-one, but R is on the clothes counter, so I ask her to pick up.
At this point its worth mentioning that R and D are sisters and own the four shops, whilst St is married to R's daughter. This is a small, family run 'chain' of shops, in the middle of one of the more expensive tourist villages on this Island.
The woman had found her walking stick £2 cheaper in the next village over and wanted a cheque for the difference mailed to her. We were supposed to just take her word for this and make up the difference. I don't know of a single place on this Island that price-matched, let alone over the phone. Admittedly she could have just come in and asked for a refund (although I'm not sure if she would have got one, maybe just store credit- tended to be for faulty items only), and then bought the other one, but the idea still amused me.
The worst part though, is that she got the cheque sent out to her.
OK, this turned out to be a lot longer (and more full of brackets) than I thought it would. It also never seems that bad in the retelling, and she was by no means the worst customer I had during my three years working there, but she's always the first thing that pops into my head when people mention sucky customers...
. Finally decided to step out of the shadows and join in the fun...I used to live on a little tourist trap of an Island off the South coast of the UK. When I was in High School I got my first job working for a family that owned 4 'gift' shops (one was cheap and tacky (C's shop), one sold collectable china (mainly teapots) (the top shop), one sold bath products, winnie the pooh and fresh herbs from it's 'Herb Garden' (the herb cottage), and the main shop had a clothes section, a jewellery counter, a cafe attached and then sold a mixture of collectable figuirines and cheap and tacky holiday souvenirs (known as the bottom shop)). I was hired at 15 to be the 'floater' - the person who could work in any of the four, depending on what was needed. Apart from the pay being so low that I had to work for 2 1/2 hours just to pay my bus fare there and back, I really enjoyed working this job.
These shops had a car park and a coach park attached. It wasn't uncommon to have up to 12 coach loads of tourists delivered and a full car park for most of the day. And, of course, everybody always wanted to come to the till and pay at the same time, because, you know, their coach was leaving in a minute. Each shop had one till (except the bottom shop, which had one in the main part of the shop, and one in the clothes section, which was only supposed to be used in the sale of clothes). Naturally, it could be pretty stressful working there, and apart from one girl (M), who had been there longer than me, and another (S) that started about a year later than me, the turnover of the weekend staff was pretty high.
One busy summer day, I was working in the bottom shop (hurray! the only one with air conditioning!), trying to clear as many customers as possible in as short a time as I could, whilst remembering to write down everything I sold in the little book that each shop had for this (no scanners, just plugged the price of everything into the till (when you could get a turn) and used this book to keep track of what needed to be restocked), and keeping up to date with having the shop floor neat and fully stocked (including unpacking, individually checking and pricing the contents of the 40 boxes that were delivered that morning), when this little old lady came up to the back of the till (was in a horse shoe shaped counter, normally only served from the front) and asked if someone could help her. There were three of us on the till at that point, since it was so busy that the manager had come out of his office to help clear some people out, and the kind of gymnastics the three of us were doing to be able to all use the till, get to that little book and use the bags were quite impressive. I was on the outside of the horseshoe, so I went to help her.
She was after one of our folding walking sticks that had a pretty floral pattern on it. So I unpacked the thing from its carry pouch and showed her how to clip it together. It's the wrong height for her. Easily fixed, these things are fully adjustable. She misunderstands the way it works and so we get off to a bit of a false start with me making it shorter instead of taller. It's fine, she's a bit rude but her nice husband calms her down and we get it all worked out. It takes about half an hour, but eventually she's ready to buy this thing. It costs £14.99. She pays and leaves, and in theory this is the end. Of course nothing about that transaction was so bad (and to be honest, in hindsight nothing about the whole thing was all that terrible, but this was seven years ago and thinking about this woman still annoys me...)
About an hour later I answer the phone, and the lady on the other end asks to speak with a manager. I've been told *numerous* times, that unless I get a name and what the person is calling about, the managers will not be happy about being called out of their nice quiet office. So I politely ask for these details. The lady tells me 'that doesn't matter'. I explain that I need them to be able to find the right manager (clothes go to R, stock goes to St, and anything else can go to D). She tells me again it doesn't matter. I give up and go see who's in the office. No-one, but R is on the clothes counter, so I ask her to pick up.
At this point its worth mentioning that R and D are sisters and own the four shops, whilst St is married to R's daughter. This is a small, family run 'chain' of shops, in the middle of one of the more expensive tourist villages on this Island.
The woman had found her walking stick £2 cheaper in the next village over and wanted a cheque for the difference mailed to her. We were supposed to just take her word for this and make up the difference. I don't know of a single place on this Island that price-matched, let alone over the phone. Admittedly she could have just come in and asked for a refund (although I'm not sure if she would have got one, maybe just store credit- tended to be for faulty items only), and then bought the other one, but the idea still amused me.
The worst part though, is that she got the cheque sent out to her.
OK, this turned out to be a lot longer (and more full of brackets) than I thought it would. It also never seems that bad in the retelling, and she was by no means the worst customer I had during my three years working there, but she's always the first thing that pops into my head when people mention sucky customers...
Maybe I don't know what they charge for bus fare now but I do know national minimum wage is over $6 here in the states--I'm not sure about the UK. I do know gas is quite expensive there opposed to here but 2 1/2 hours.... 
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