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Oh how I attract them. Kudos to anyone who might possibly get the reference in the title.
This little tiny woman came in the store earlier this evening. Seemed normal at first glance, decently put together, and she was asking a common question, whether or not we had an order for her to pick up.
Er....no. Our log book was showing nothing about a special order. Hell, the only thing in there at all from the last week was all the info about our crappy fridge and even crappier warranty.
She insisted on seeing the book. Coworker showed her that the most recent note was dated last Friday, and that it had nothing to do with her. The Crazy looked at the book, flipped it over, and pointed at the receipt stapled there, saying that was her order. At which point, I start thinking she's a scammer, especially with the way she kept talking over me. The receipt she pointed at was from a non-profit org who didn't give us their tax-exempt letter, so it was in the book in case they came back with the proper paperwork.
At that point, it all went to Hell. She wandered off to look around the store. I got out from behind the counter to go assist her (and hopefully to keep her from just grabbing a bottle and dashing out). She asks about Cristal Rosé, which we have *never* carried, so I attempt to show her our French sweet sparkling rosé. As I'm explaining it to her, she cuts me off to say she knows wine, that's why she's in the store, don't we know she's a "wine-eer"?
Ooook. I planted myself back behind the counter, where I proceeded to tell all my friends online that if they didn't hear from me in a half-hour, I'd been abducted by a psychotic customer. Said customer came back, demanded to see the book again, and when told, I'm sorry, we don't have any record of you, cut me off again (see a pattern?) and insisted that she only deal with my coworker. Crazy and coworker are the same race, I'm....very not. And that started to become an issue. Crazy started to cut me off every time I spoke, driving up my stress level and my blood pressure, because, well, I'm the manager, and should be able to protect my store from situations like this. Crazy sits herself down on the ledge near the door where all the local businesses leave cards and says she can wait all day for her order. After a couple minutes of coworker and I exchanging looks, Crazy gets up and wanders around the store again.
Crazy starts grabbing random bottles of wine and bringing them up, asking whether we have ten, no fifteen bottles of this one Cava - the answer is no. She says that's ok, and she'll just take the couple she has. She brings a bunch of stuff up to the counter, asks to see the book again, and when coworker reminds her that we don't have her info, she tells me to typey-type type into my little computer and find her. Somehow, at the same time, she's demanding that I carry her bags to the door, and ordering me around. I give her the Look of Doom, ponder the wisdom of telling her I'm not doing a damned thing for her ass, and am saved yet again by the 'ooo shiny' aspect of her disorder. She starts belittling me, saying that I can't find her info because I'm stupid and because I don't care about her or the fact that she's a customer, and that I need to learn how to provide customer service, because that's my role in life.
As I get more and more hacked off, coworker hands me the phone and tells me to call the cops. She rushes off to keep Crazy from going into our stockroom (Crazy thought it was another part of the regular store) and I dash into the loo to dial emergency services. They dispatch a local squad car, and I wander back out into the store. By this point I'm practically shaking with adrenaline and hope that she's not carrying a knife, because I'm close to grabbing her and physically ejecting her from my store. I'm making notes on my personal laptop for later and trying to calm myself and waiting for the cops to show up.
Crazy sees me quivering and being generally upset, but interprets it as me being uncomfortable with <race>. She tells me that I work in <neighbourhood> now and I need to be comfortable serving people of <race> because that's what I do now. She turns to coworker and says that this is why people of <race> have to stick together, because otherwise no one would know where their place was.
Luckily, at that moment, we noticed a regular customer and his wife coming towards the store. Coworker goes over to let them in (we have a locked door with a buzzer system) and manages to shoo Crazy out without further incident.
The cops showed up ten minutes later. Crazy was long gone. An anti-climactic end to an odd experience. And one that I'm personally loath to repeat.
This little tiny woman came in the store earlier this evening. Seemed normal at first glance, decently put together, and she was asking a common question, whether or not we had an order for her to pick up.
Er....no. Our log book was showing nothing about a special order. Hell, the only thing in there at all from the last week was all the info about our crappy fridge and even crappier warranty.
She insisted on seeing the book. Coworker showed her that the most recent note was dated last Friday, and that it had nothing to do with her. The Crazy looked at the book, flipped it over, and pointed at the receipt stapled there, saying that was her order. At which point, I start thinking she's a scammer, especially with the way she kept talking over me. The receipt she pointed at was from a non-profit org who didn't give us their tax-exempt letter, so it was in the book in case they came back with the proper paperwork.
At that point, it all went to Hell. She wandered off to look around the store. I got out from behind the counter to go assist her (and hopefully to keep her from just grabbing a bottle and dashing out). She asks about Cristal Rosé, which we have *never* carried, so I attempt to show her our French sweet sparkling rosé. As I'm explaining it to her, she cuts me off to say she knows wine, that's why she's in the store, don't we know she's a "wine-eer"?
Ooook. I planted myself back behind the counter, where I proceeded to tell all my friends online that if they didn't hear from me in a half-hour, I'd been abducted by a psychotic customer. Said customer came back, demanded to see the book again, and when told, I'm sorry, we don't have any record of you, cut me off again (see a pattern?) and insisted that she only deal with my coworker. Crazy and coworker are the same race, I'm....very not. And that started to become an issue. Crazy started to cut me off every time I spoke, driving up my stress level and my blood pressure, because, well, I'm the manager, and should be able to protect my store from situations like this. Crazy sits herself down on the ledge near the door where all the local businesses leave cards and says she can wait all day for her order. After a couple minutes of coworker and I exchanging looks, Crazy gets up and wanders around the store again.
Crazy starts grabbing random bottles of wine and bringing them up, asking whether we have ten, no fifteen bottles of this one Cava - the answer is no. She says that's ok, and she'll just take the couple she has. She brings a bunch of stuff up to the counter, asks to see the book again, and when coworker reminds her that we don't have her info, she tells me to typey-type type into my little computer and find her. Somehow, at the same time, she's demanding that I carry her bags to the door, and ordering me around. I give her the Look of Doom, ponder the wisdom of telling her I'm not doing a damned thing for her ass, and am saved yet again by the 'ooo shiny' aspect of her disorder. She starts belittling me, saying that I can't find her info because I'm stupid and because I don't care about her or the fact that she's a customer, and that I need to learn how to provide customer service, because that's my role in life.
As I get more and more hacked off, coworker hands me the phone and tells me to call the cops. She rushes off to keep Crazy from going into our stockroom (Crazy thought it was another part of the regular store) and I dash into the loo to dial emergency services. They dispatch a local squad car, and I wander back out into the store. By this point I'm practically shaking with adrenaline and hope that she's not carrying a knife, because I'm close to grabbing her and physically ejecting her from my store. I'm making notes on my personal laptop for later and trying to calm myself and waiting for the cops to show up.
Crazy sees me quivering and being generally upset, but interprets it as me being uncomfortable with <race>. She tells me that I work in <neighbourhood> now and I need to be comfortable serving people of <race> because that's what I do now. She turns to coworker and says that this is why people of <race> have to stick together, because otherwise no one would know where their place was.
Luckily, at that moment, we noticed a regular customer and his wife coming towards the store. Coworker goes over to let them in (we have a locked door with a buzzer system) and manages to shoo Crazy out without further incident.
The cops showed up ten minutes later. Crazy was long gone. An anti-climactic end to an odd experience. And one that I'm personally loath to repeat.
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