Sand in my shoes

This one from when I was doing inbound for Low Budget Holiday Camp.

So, usual day of taking bookings and getting my commission when I get one of the rare (ha!) complaint calls. For reference, officially that company did not have a complaints line. At all. All calls from every number across the country came to the same booking office. I’ll be Me.

Me: Hello, Low Budget Ho…

Cus: How the hell is there sand in my shoes?

Me: I’m sorry?

Cus: You had better be. I’m on the second floor and there’s sand everywhere!

Me: This is the booking line, but I’ll try and help. Second floor where exactly?

Cus: (camp in town 200 miles away). This is disgrace! Get your ass here and sort it! Room 202.

Me: I’m sorry sir, I’m not physically there, I’m in (town).

Cus: I don’t give a crap! This is the number on my room door, it’s got a local area code, so I’m telling you to get out of that building that I know you are in and clean the sand out of here. -hangs up-

I sigh a little, but I’m nothing if not professional and look up the email for the manager of the far away land and send a request. All done?

Nope. An hour later, same chap.

Me: Hello Lo…

Cus: Hey! I know that voice! Why the f haven’t you cleaned my room yet?

Me: Hello again. I did ask the manager of the resort (snicker) you are in but I…

Cus: I don’t want a manager! I want a f’in cleaner to get the sand out of everything! Are you incompetent? If you cant do it, get out of your chair and go outside and find someone who can!

Me: Sir, again, this is the booking office in (town). It would take me personally roughly three hours to get there. Have you tried just asking at the front desk at your resort?

Cus: -brief silence and hangs up-

I never did find out whether the sand was shifted or the pleasant holidaymaker got to make sandcastles on his bed.

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Calling back will hurt, not help, especially if you’re rude (:

Father Christmas gets the blame.