I've been meaning to post this here and forgot. My apologies if you've seen it elsewhere since then. It's been picked up in a couple places. Should've gone here first.
I didn't bother editing out the naughty words since the censor's going to, according to the FAQ.
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(Setting the scene: Prettily cut fruit baskets, sometimes assembled in ceramic things shaped like ducks. This is quite insanely long. People keep saying 'this is long', but I don't think that word means what they think it does.)
Enough time has now passed that there's plausible deniability in the event of any of the principals in this little drama finding this and having a fit.
So. A gentleman calls with a complaint that we delivered a duck basket to his wife in the hospital after she had a baby, only there wasn't any duck, just a basket. Okay, mistakes happen. Offers of refunds for price of the $7 duck were made. Offer of future discount on order.
None of that was working for this fellow, however. You see, this particular ceramic yellow baby duck has a slit in its head, it's supposed to be a BANK, like a PIGGY BANK, and he REALLY REALLY WANTED THAT GODDAMN DUCK FOR HIS NEW SON. Here's a pic of something very much like what I'm talking about, complete with improbable flowers sprouting from its back.
One might briefly wonder just how much good a duck bank that also has a gigantic hole in its back (where we put the fruit in) is going to be. Rather pointless, no? One might wonder. One will never get a satisfactory answer for this.
Since he wants this stupid duck badly enough to be calling me all kinds of names that nobody says in church, I then say we'll bring him another one tomorrow. Here is where the shit hitteth the fan.
He wants it within THE NEXT HOUR. Well, that isn't going to happen. The driver's on the other side of town, with a truckload of a dozen other deliveries, on a route that I happen to know is very carefully planned out. How do I know? Because I plan the sucker, that's how. It takes into account people that will only be around at a certain time, traffic, and efficiency. I cannot just haul the driver back in, and give him a stupid 7$ duck, and send him peeling rubber out of the lot on this emergency 7$ duck run. This is especially true since the hospital's on the extreme far edge of our delivery turf, and he's currently on the other extreme far edge. To sum up: it would screw over everyone else on today's route, setting us back at least two hours, and guarantee that at least half the deliveries don't get done. Not going to happen.
He announces that it isn't a problem because his wife's now back at home, so we can just go there. Which turns out to be a good 25 miles outside of our delivery area.
Further arguments commenced. I certainly am not sending the driver on a wild $7 duck chase 25 miles out of town. Given our delivery charges, IF we decided to go out there for some batshit reason, it'd be a charge of about $40. All this, for (say it with me!) a $7 duck.
That doesn't signify, he still expects us to do it, and within the hour, and he doesn't care if I personally have to get into my personal vehicle and use my personal gas and my personal time, but he's getting his duck within the hour. I inform the man that my personal vehicle is nonexistent, and I don't think he's going to be reimbursing me for the cost of a taxi (rough estimate, there and back - ohhhh, probably about $80). For (say it with me!) a $7 duck. I was right; he wasn't.
There was also the tiny, utterly unimportant fact that I'm the only one minding the store and cannot leave.
None of this matters to him. He got gypped out of his duck, and he wants his duck, and he by god WILL HAVE HIS DUCK. Words like "unacceptable" and "Better Business Bureau" and "lawyer" now enter the conversation. Pairing them up with the word "duck", which I've always found to be hilarious for no known reason (nothing to do with cussing; thought so since I was a sprog), just about finished me. Thank goodness for mute buttons.
He ALSO upgraded his demands. Apparently, speaking with me is such a horror that NOW he feels he should be compensated with an all new arrangement. Now we're talking about $70, plus tax and delivery, if I remember correctly. I suppose I'm lucky he didn't demand a blow job to boot.
This all sounds like one conversation, right? It actually took four days and multiple calls, and eventually involved everyone in the store at some point or another. However, it was the same conversation every single time.
The notes on the account were hilarious. Some choice quotes:
"Says he didn't get a duck, wants whole new arrangement delivered TO HOUSE. Home address is almost in another state. Also says he sent two emails. No such emails located within system"
"Looked up last shipment of duck containers, contrasted with inventory. Careful count of current duck population in warehouse (4), in conjunction with prior shipment and inventory, strongly suggests that a duck was indeed delivered to customer. Probability of other explanation is approximately negative 20 percent"
Reading on, we find that at some point, he admitted to my coworker that we did, actually, deliver a duck to the hospital room where his wife was recovering from birth. He'd actually broken the duck himself before they ever went home! The notes say:
"he conceded, but stated that it was our responsibility to him, the customer, to replace it to his satisfaction. Advised him that he could come by and pick one up, but he said no"
And more time went by. My days were filled with pain, and my nights were filled with vodka.
We were all heartily sick of this guy, and it was a great relief when he finally agreed that we could drop off a fucking $7 duck at the same hospital's labor department, and Himself would graciously swing a block out of his way on his commute home to pick it up. We called the nurses on duty there, briefed them on the situation, and begged tearfully that nobody make off with this stupid duck, because we'd be having this same soul-withering conversation with this guy for the next thousand years.
I wish to stress that to my knowledge, none of us were ever anything but polite to him, and GOD IN HEAVEN we tried everything we knew to make him happy.
So, of course, one day later, here comes an email from corporate wanting to know why this man has said all this stuff about us. It included his email. Naturally, we were surprised to discover that this man, who'd never ordered from us before (records, aren't they a bitch), was a regular customer who'd spent maybe hundreds of thousands of dollars in the last month or two. Wow. Something must be very wrong with the database to have somehow deleted this guy's massive number of orders except the one involving the duck. Or something.
We were also shocked to hear what my coworker and I had actually said when we thought we were saying something else altogether. Most of the time, we were right there while the other one spoke to him, so the obvious conclusion is that citrus fruits cause brain damage, memory loss, and Tourette's.
We then learned that he's a "concept guy". That he's a "drug Rep" with lots of other "drug Rep" friends. Also, he has an MBA! And then he included a phone number that I took to the Internet, and found out he lied his ass off about most of that, although it turns out that there's really no way to prove or disprove the "concept guy" part.
Corporate basically said "what the duck EVER", and duck jokes ruled our lives with an ironfist wing for the next year.
I didn't bother editing out the naughty words since the censor's going to, according to the FAQ.
-------------------------------------------------------
(Setting the scene: Prettily cut fruit baskets, sometimes assembled in ceramic things shaped like ducks. This is quite insanely long. People keep saying 'this is long', but I don't think that word means what they think it does.)
Enough time has now passed that there's plausible deniability in the event of any of the principals in this little drama finding this and having a fit.
So. A gentleman calls with a complaint that we delivered a duck basket to his wife in the hospital after she had a baby, only there wasn't any duck, just a basket. Okay, mistakes happen. Offers of refunds for price of the $7 duck were made. Offer of future discount on order.
None of that was working for this fellow, however. You see, this particular ceramic yellow baby duck has a slit in its head, it's supposed to be a BANK, like a PIGGY BANK, and he REALLY REALLY WANTED THAT GODDAMN DUCK FOR HIS NEW SON. Here's a pic of something very much like what I'm talking about, complete with improbable flowers sprouting from its back.
One might briefly wonder just how much good a duck bank that also has a gigantic hole in its back (where we put the fruit in) is going to be. Rather pointless, no? One might wonder. One will never get a satisfactory answer for this.
Since he wants this stupid duck badly enough to be calling me all kinds of names that nobody says in church, I then say we'll bring him another one tomorrow. Here is where the shit hitteth the fan.
He wants it within THE NEXT HOUR. Well, that isn't going to happen. The driver's on the other side of town, with a truckload of a dozen other deliveries, on a route that I happen to know is very carefully planned out. How do I know? Because I plan the sucker, that's how. It takes into account people that will only be around at a certain time, traffic, and efficiency. I cannot just haul the driver back in, and give him a stupid 7$ duck, and send him peeling rubber out of the lot on this emergency 7$ duck run. This is especially true since the hospital's on the extreme far edge of our delivery turf, and he's currently on the other extreme far edge. To sum up: it would screw over everyone else on today's route, setting us back at least two hours, and guarantee that at least half the deliveries don't get done. Not going to happen.
He announces that it isn't a problem because his wife's now back at home, so we can just go there. Which turns out to be a good 25 miles outside of our delivery area.
Further arguments commenced. I certainly am not sending the driver on a wild $7 duck chase 25 miles out of town. Given our delivery charges, IF we decided to go out there for some batshit reason, it'd be a charge of about $40. All this, for (say it with me!) a $7 duck.
That doesn't signify, he still expects us to do it, and within the hour, and he doesn't care if I personally have to get into my personal vehicle and use my personal gas and my personal time, but he's getting his duck within the hour. I inform the man that my personal vehicle is nonexistent, and I don't think he's going to be reimbursing me for the cost of a taxi (rough estimate, there and back - ohhhh, probably about $80). For (say it with me!) a $7 duck. I was right; he wasn't.
There was also the tiny, utterly unimportant fact that I'm the only one minding the store and cannot leave.
None of this matters to him. He got gypped out of his duck, and he wants his duck, and he by god WILL HAVE HIS DUCK. Words like "unacceptable" and "Better Business Bureau" and "lawyer" now enter the conversation. Pairing them up with the word "duck", which I've always found to be hilarious for no known reason (nothing to do with cussing; thought so since I was a sprog), just about finished me. Thank goodness for mute buttons.
He ALSO upgraded his demands. Apparently, speaking with me is such a horror that NOW he feels he should be compensated with an all new arrangement. Now we're talking about $70, plus tax and delivery, if I remember correctly. I suppose I'm lucky he didn't demand a blow job to boot.
This all sounds like one conversation, right? It actually took four days and multiple calls, and eventually involved everyone in the store at some point or another. However, it was the same conversation every single time.
The notes on the account were hilarious. Some choice quotes:
"Says he didn't get a duck, wants whole new arrangement delivered TO HOUSE. Home address is almost in another state. Also says he sent two emails. No such emails located within system"
"Looked up last shipment of duck containers, contrasted with inventory. Careful count of current duck population in warehouse (4), in conjunction with prior shipment and inventory, strongly suggests that a duck was indeed delivered to customer. Probability of other explanation is approximately negative 20 percent"
Reading on, we find that at some point, he admitted to my coworker that we did, actually, deliver a duck to the hospital room where his wife was recovering from birth. He'd actually broken the duck himself before they ever went home! The notes say:
"he conceded, but stated that it was our responsibility to him, the customer, to replace it to his satisfaction. Advised him that he could come by and pick one up, but he said no"
And more time went by. My days were filled with pain, and my nights were filled with vodka.
We were all heartily sick of this guy, and it was a great relief when he finally agreed that we could drop off a fucking $7 duck at the same hospital's labor department, and Himself would graciously swing a block out of his way on his commute home to pick it up. We called the nurses on duty there, briefed them on the situation, and begged tearfully that nobody make off with this stupid duck, because we'd be having this same soul-withering conversation with this guy for the next thousand years.
I wish to stress that to my knowledge, none of us were ever anything but polite to him, and GOD IN HEAVEN we tried everything we knew to make him happy.
So, of course, one day later, here comes an email from corporate wanting to know why this man has said all this stuff about us. It included his email. Naturally, we were surprised to discover that this man, who'd never ordered from us before (records, aren't they a bitch), was a regular customer who'd spent maybe hundreds of thousands of dollars in the last month or two. Wow. Something must be very wrong with the database to have somehow deleted this guy's massive number of orders except the one involving the duck. Or something.
We were also shocked to hear what my coworker and I had actually said when we thought we were saying something else altogether. Most of the time, we were right there while the other one spoke to him, so the obvious conclusion is that citrus fruits cause brain damage, memory loss, and Tourette's.
We then learned that he's a "concept guy". That he's a "drug Rep" with lots of other "drug Rep" friends. Also, he has an MBA! And then he included a phone number that I took to the Internet, and found out he lied his ass off about most of that, although it turns out that there's really no way to prove or disprove the "concept guy" part.
Corporate basically said "what the duck EVER", and duck jokes ruled our lives with an iron
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