Archive for the sucky customer service Category

Musical Chairs, Coffee & Waffle House Drama

Posted in Asshats, Obscene Drinkin, sucky customer service, you are a psycho on November 28, 2007 by catscratch

There are some things that you just expect when you are on a 3am-after-party-food expedition. Granted at 3am, choice are limited to few establishments.

After partaking in my fair share of cold brew and closing down Coyote Joe’s on Wednesday night, the whole load of us decided food was in order as it was late & we were packing a cool buzz. Never mind that my ass had to get up at 7:00am to finish brocolli casserole. So, personally, I was in need of coffee.

Where else would ya go at 3am on Thanksgiving morning for a little sobriety effort? Why, Waffle House, of course.

We wandered in giggling and cackling about anything and everything. All it takes for me to get tickled is enough beer and somebody else starting to laugh. No shit, laughing & yawning are contagious around me.

We finally played musical chairs long enough, got seated and our waitress came over. She was obviously annoyed that she was working and she was obviously even more annoyed that she was dealing with us. If you have to work that shift, at least make an effort to enjoy it.

Whatevers. This poor chick had the personality of a wet-sweat-sock. She took 2 of our orders, not speaking between, just sort of grunting at whoever happened to be next.

Just as she grunted toward #3, her cellie rang. The fact that she had her cellie on her was no big deal. Even the fact that it rang while she was waiting on us was no really big deal even. But when the bitch cut me off mid-order to answer it, now that just pissed me off. Her side of the conversation went this-a-way.

“I gotta answer this.” She grunted as she lowered her head, still facing our table(presumably so her boss wouldn’t see).

“Hello? Who is this? Who is this?” She acted like she didn’t know who HE was.

“Who the hell is this, I’m at work and I have customers.” Why the hell would you tell somebody you don’t even know that you are currently at work and are waiting on them?

“Jesus, Robert. No, I’m not talking to anyone else.” She DID know his ass.

“How can I be cheating if I’m working?” Apparently, Robert didn’t have any faith that she was truly working. I guess that Waffle House distinct waffle and bacon smell being emitted by her apron wasn’t enough proof.

Taucha, my drunk monkey friend, decideds she wants to talk to Robert. So, the waitress obliges (and takes another little bit of our order). After only 2.7 minutes, Taucha hands her the phone back and says to our lovely server, “Lose him, girl. He’s a dick.”

Mario getting on the phone didn’t help. It made Robert believe that she really was in the cubicle of a bathroom bangin’ the customers.

We all figured Robert would show up waving a semi-automatic threatening to blow up the Waffle House and everyone in it because in his head he believes that his girl was fucking us all.

Get a grip, pal. Let the girl bring home the bacon in piece you loser.


Telemarketer – The Tables Are Turned

Posted in Asshats, sucky customer service, Those Damn Solicitors on November 14, 2007 by catscratch

** The name of the company in question has been changed.

Ok, kids. I have been doing my bestest trying to be nicer to people. This has been going on for some time now. However, nothing gets the better of me than those annoying ass automated phone calls from Joe Solicitor. Or the calls you get from Sally Salesperson where they ask for you by first name and try to act like an acquaintance… Dayum. I thought that shit was borderline illegal on a harassment level.

Anyway, today I turned the tables. I got an automated call from “Kelly”. She was offering us the moon and stars and possibly the sun too if we would “press one to stay on the line for a representitive”.

So, I press one. I hold for a brief 20 seconds or so, expecting “Kelly” will pick up personally and explain to me this great pitch of hers. A pitch I intended to let her waste her time giving before asking to have all of our business numbers removed from her bullshit auto-dial system.

All that went out the window, when rather than “Kelly”, some deep voiced, crankity, old british dude picked up.

“You’re not Kelly.” I say to him, agast that the wool was pulled over my eyes.

“No, that was a recording. Are you interested in learning more.” He blurts out in harsh monotone.

“Uh. No. Actually. I’m really, really tired of you people calling us and would like you to remove our number from your database.”

“Done.” He said as he disconnects my call.


God bless *69. I annoy the shit out of many-a-telemarketer when I can actually get my hands on the number they called from.

So I dial *69 and get the number. I press each digit and the little british weasel that hung up on me answered.

**”First Asshat” He answers.

“Yah. I was connected to you to be removed from your call list and you hung up on me.” I lament.

“Well, I didn’t hang up, but you have been removed.” He sneers.

“How the hell am I removed when you only called one of our numerous numbers, sir? Can you explain that? Do you have a list with every company that notes every number within that company?”

I’m ready to fight with him by this time.

“We have them.” He hangs up again.

So, me (being me), I dial them up again.

“First Asshat” It was some uptight manly sounding british woman this time.

“I’m calling to be removed from your call list.”

“Yes, that’s why I answered, I heard the conversation with my employee.” She says.

“It’s pretty simple. Remove all of our numbers, now, or I will call you 500 times a day until Jesus comes back.” I tell her.

“They will be removed.” She retorts as SHE hangs up on me.

Needless to say, I have spent the last hour randomly picking up the phone, dialing the number and saying…

“Hi it’s me. Only XXX number of the promised calls left today.”

I kind of wonder if I can get in trouble for it. If anybody would like to have the same big ball of fun as I am, and help me annoy the shit out of these people, I’d be glad to share the phone number with ya.

Happy dialing!

Damn That Fortune Cookie Nazi

Posted in Asshats, Lame and stupid crap, sucky customer service on October 18, 2007 by catscratch

I am sad to say that my addiction to Chinese Food was abruptly halted as a result of the ongoing battle with the Fortune Cookie Nazi. He won, I lost; no MSG, salt loaded, sugary goodness for Diva. Dammit.

So, I come home from a business trip and OG tells me that while I was gone, she had went to said establishment to partake of take-out as her man had taken ill.

She went to the self serve bar, I remember so well. She filled her to-go boxes with treats of all kinds…

She went to the front to pay our friend the Fortune Cookie Nazi…

“You need-a any sauces today?” He asked.

“No. I don’t think so,” she politely replied.

“Well, you must-a take the fortune cookie,” he tells her.

A light bulb went off off over her head. She finds out first hand that I’m not kidding when I say he just won’t give me a fortune cookie. That he has an inner drive within his deep dark soul, which keeps him from simply dipping in and giving me my friggin cookie.

What’s wrong with a brother when he won’t even share a 5 cent cookie? He would give me a truck load of sauces, chop stix, but no damn cookie. All I want is my cookie!! Why can’t you just give me my cookie!!!

I’m going to go rock back and forth in the corner now.

Fortune Cookie Nazi Wins Battle… Game Over

Posted in Asshats, sucky customer service on September 14, 2007 by catscratch

I just hate craving that damned chinese food from that damned yummy place over here by the office.

I mean, I get a craving for it and I decided that, despite the fact I know that evil ass munch won’t give me the fortune cookie without a square off in the middle of the parking lot, I was going to go have me some tastey morsels of saucy goodness.

So, as usual, I go in, get my little styrofoam container, proceed to the buffet of happiness, load up my choices and go to the register to pay. I set my container on the scale, as they charge for buffet to go by the pound. This is where it the ugly gets on.

So, everything seems to be going smooth. I’m mentally preparing for the fight for the fortune cookie. I intend to win this time.

“You need sauce or fowk?” He asks me all smug like.

“Nope. But I want a Diet Pepsi.” I tell him.

“Diet Pesi” He calls out to the chick at the waitress station.

She totes it over and sets it on the counter as he rings me up.

“That be $4.62.” He tells me.

UH OH! Houston we have a problem. Diva don’t carry cash. Just something I don’t do. It’s way too easy to use my debit card to have to fool around with dollars.
This ass munch only takey the credit cawd fo ova fi dolla. Hasn’t he seen that VISA commercial that shows the world is officially going plastic???

Still yet, I try to slip it by him. I pull out my debit card with VISA logo and push it toward him.

“We only take cawd fo purchase ova fi dolla.” He reminds me.

“Look guy, I don’t have any cash. Well I have a handful of change in the bottom of my purse, but not enough.” I tell him as show him my empty wallet.

“You always can get another drink take wif you.” He tells me.

“Uh, no. You can run my card or I’ll have to leave it.” I tell him, now pissed.

“Well, I not running cawd. You get cash, come back.” He tells me.

“OK, fine.” So, I walk out the door. No lunch, no friggin fortune cookie, and definitely no balls to tell him what he could do with his no useless carton of to-go.

God Bless Taco Bell. They’ll takey my debit card for a 89 cent bean burrito.

Give Me My Friggin Fortune Cookie, Dude!

Posted in Asshats, sucky customer service on August 23, 2007 by catscratch

There is a tasty little Chinese Food place here in Oak Ridge that offers take out from the buffet. It’s very good; it’s always fresh, and super-dooper tasty! (Not to mention they always score well when the pesky healthy inspector happens to drop in unannounced).

Now our office has been in Oak Ridge for a many moons and my boss and I have traveled many miles, many times to partake of this sweet and sour plethora of tastiness.

I go so often that when I walk in the door, the little dude says, “Ahh. To go, right?”, and hands me my little environment-killing-Styrofoam container with which I am set free into the pasture of goodness.

I’ll graze for a few minutes, making my choices wisely. They have garlic beef w/broccoli, sweet n sour chicken, general tsao chicken, and my personal favorite – mixed spicy vegetable.

Then I wander over to the sauces and get a nice ladle full of that hot-ass mustard (yah, that stuff that when you get it in your mouth it makes your eyes water and your nose run… that stuff that makes you beg Jesus for forgiveness for eating something so friggin hot.)

All sounds like a beautiful lunchtime excursion in the making, yah? Well, no. I love the food at this place. It’s marvy, but the folks that run the place and work there make me more nervous than a cat in a room full of rockin chairs…

Now I don’t know if I’m just traumatized from being married to a man who’s mother and all of her friends are Korean and you know they talk about you in their language while you’re standing there… All the while they are looking at you, nodding their heads, laughing and smiling as the chatter on… Bring on the cold sweat… I know those bitches were talking smack and plotting my untimely demise by way of extra spicy food.

So, my selections are made, my mouth starting to water. I close up my little lunch box that still has steam pouring out the sides. I carry it to the front, so as to pay for it.

Let the uncomfortable state of affairs begin.
I am going towards the front to obtain my chopsticks, Diet Pepsi to go and to pay. When I notice the gaggle of them standing there… looking my way…. giggling like school girls… The skank at loitering at the cash register talking to dude keeps covering her mouth and saying “sorry” “sorry”.

Now this is what really just jerks my chain:
Don’t you expect to get a friggin fortune cookie when you have Chinese food? I mean, you eat in, they bring you the bill with a fortune cookie. You call for take-out, you go pick up and pay for it, in the bag you get your fortune cookie.

Well, not here. I think it’s just this guy’s way to annoy me. A kind of battle of the wits. He ain’t giving me no fortune cookie unless I ask for the fortune cookie.
And even then, it’s iffy if the asshat puts it in the bag.

Frankly, the guy who owns the place reminds me of the SOUP NAZI from Seinfield. NO COOKIE FO YOU! Be gone now!

I’d start screaming to give me my fortune cookie or I’m going across the street to Wok n Roll. But those guys suck big balls and I hate their food, generally greasy as hell and cold… but they give Diva her fortune cookie without her having to beg.