The dumbest customer of the day award goes to . . .
My
home phone rings. I wake up and pick it up.
"Umm, are you the
boy that works at the drug store?" says an old woman whose voice I don't recognize.
"Yeah."
"Can you deliver some
hearing aid batteries to me. I'm going to be out
in a few days."
So this wonderful lady is waking me up on a holiday when I'm hung over to ask me to deliver something she won't run out of for several days.
Yeah, I'm sure my boss would just love it if I drove up to the store I don't own to unlock the door without permission and boot up the computer system without permission to generate a delivery ticket for a $3 pack of friggen batteries some old lady isn't even out of yet. And I'm sure my boss would love to pay me my minimum billable hours (1 hour) and pay all the related social security employer taxes on that hour's wage so I can deliver an item with a profit margin of one stinkin' dollar.
Thanks for calling, lady. Here I thought I wouldn't get to give out an award today. But guess what? You win.
If you're wondering how she knew my home number, I'll explain: This is a very small town, so most of the customers know my full name and I usually know theirs. She owns a phone book. I can't afford an unlisted number, especially not since I'm saving up to move the hell out of this town.