Customer Disservice

Every woman who's ever held any type of service or sales job knows about one of the major inherent hazards associated with their chosen profession.

Namely, the unavoidable encounters with creepy fucking dudes.

Fortunately, most men today possess enough intelligence to realize women employed in the sales / service industry act in a pleasant manner simply because everyone in that type of postion has to in order to make a living.

Because that's their fucking job.

They would like you to buy something.

They would like to earn a nice tip.

They represent the face of their employer.

But then you have the skeevy, lecherous, bottom-dwelling jackasses who simply don't understand this phenomenon.

The instant you smile or make prolonged eye contact with one of these pathetic assclowns in your working environment, they are absolutely convinced, for whatever reason, that you are somehow in love with them.

That your smile somehow reveals a crush. Or the way you stood next to him when you tried to sell him that new cellphone obviously meant you wanted to fuck him. Or because the real estate agent took that extra time to show a bedroom, she of course was implying that she wanted to have sex with him in that bedroom.

I'll give you another example.

I used to work in a scummy industry, and my boss epitomized the rancid, fecal crust that rose to the top of his trade. We'll call him Lee.

Lee would prostitute his own mother if he could figure out a way to get three dollars out of it. He easily made mid-six figures a year, but he was so cheap he wore the same ratty, wrinkled, off-white oxford shirt with yellow pit stains on it every day for weeks on end.

He never tipped at restaurants, but always provided female waitresses with his signature punchline: "If you're wondering where your tip is, it's in the price of the food."

And then he'd smile at her, waiting for her to smile back, because he thought his little punchline was pretty cute. Then, as promised, he'd leave her nothing.

He was morbidly obese, and he also regularly paid some back-alley bodychopper to plug dead horsehair into his forehead until his hairline looked like something you might use to scrape lichen off a barn.

So at some point, Lee began mouthing off about a certain barista that "kept hitting on him." When I was offered the opportunity to help him pick up a large order, I decided to go along to see what kind of near-blind, socially inept female buffoon worked at this coffee stand.

She was a beautiful, but very shy, girl in her early 20's.

And she was fucking terrified of Lee. I could see it in her eyes.

But she smiled nervously as Lee kept telling her she had "luscious legs" or "lovely breasts," simply because she needed to keep her job. She was too afraid to tell Lee to go fuck himself.

"Didn't you see the way she smiles at me?" he asked after we left.

Two weeks later, the owner banned Lee from the coffee shop.

Go figure.

And all Lee could talk about at work was how that manager had totally ruined his chances of fucking this hot teenage chick that was "totally into him."

"I'll find her," he'd say, "and I bet you she'll be blowing me within 5 minutes."

You're absolutely right, Lee. Because beautiful 20 year-old college girls always fall for fat, cheap, balding 50 year-old fuckstains who wear the same shirt for 14 days in a row.

You ignorant ass.

Kate writes in to PLFM with a similar story, but in her case, her "client" stepped over the line when he started contacting Kate at home.

Kate works at a small biotech lab located on the campus of her local university. Kate's company specializes in DNA sequencing and bacteria analysis for a number of other local labs.

Kate had a longtime client named Rick who frequently came in to Kate's lab to drop off samples for his company. She was always friendly with Rick, simply because part of her job entailed maintaining profitable relationships with her roster of clients.

But off the record, Kate wasn't fond of Rick. He tended to act like a braying ass when any opportunity to do so presented itself.

Kate explains:

"He's the type of guy who always wants to be the "white knight," riding in and saving the damsel in distress. He once offered to go an beat up the mechanic of a co-worker of his when they, in Rick's view, overcharged her for car repairs."

We all know exactly what you're talking about Kate.

He's the macho, small-cocked blowhard keen on making empty threats of physical violence towards others to "impress" and "protect" the ladies.

Let's all yawn as a group, shall we?

Kate knew Rick had a wife and two kids, and Rick knew that Kate had a long-term live-in boyfriend with whom she had a son and shared a farm.

But at some point, these factors suddenly became irrelevant to Rick.

Rick began stopping by Kate's office every time he came into her company's headquarters. He'd sit around and hit on Kate, and Kate was cordial at best simply because she had to be. Kate also noticed that Rick began to remove his wedding ring as he entered her office.

Rick's efforts got him nowhere however, so he began asking Kate out to lunch.

He'd ask her on Monday, and she would politely say "no." He'd ask her out on Tuesday, and she'd politely say "no" again.

Utilizing the "Can I have a cookie?" process employed by cunning six year-olds worldwide, Rick continued asking Kate out to lunch, figuring Kate would eventually crack under the pressure and agree to have lunch with him.

No dice.

Kate stood her ground.

Rick then reached deep into his arsenal of tired seduction tricks and found the "backrub routine" sandwiched between his fake Ferrari key and his "I'm a movie producer" line.

Kate's desk faced away from her door, so she never saw Rick coming until his hands were already massaging her shoulders. Completely disgusted, Kate organized an office-wide threat-level program whereby all of the other employees began alerting Kate the minute Rick walked in the door.

When the system failed, she finally took her issues with Rick to the boss.

The boss had to have a private and direct conversation with Rick, instructing him to not make any further attempts to date or harass the employees of his company, and by "employees" he specifically meant "Kate."

A few weeks later, Kate was sitting at home at 9 PM on a Wednesday night when her phone rang.

It was Rick.

Somehow, he had located Kate's home phone number. She does not know how.

Rick wanted to know if Kate would like to meet up with him "for coffee" later that night. And by "coffee," he meant "sexual intercourse." On a Wednesday. At 9 PM. And he lived over an hour away from Kate.

Kate had had enough at this point. She lost her cordial attitude, and gave Rick a fucking earful, saying in as many words .....

"Do not EVER fucking call me at home, Rick. Do not ever contact me again outside of work. Ever!"

Now, as a common, puny, and worthless man, even I would get the hint at this point that, hmmm, maybe this Kate girl doesn't have any interest in me?

Let's look at the evidence.

1. Rick hits on Kate, and she routinely shows no interest.

2. Rick asks Kate out to lunch repeatedly, and she refuses every time.

3. She practically pukes when he tries to give her shoulder massages.

4. Her boss intervenes and instructs Rick to have no further contact with Kate.

5. He ignores that advice, and violates her privacy by somehow acquiring her home phone number.

6. He calls her at home, where she lives with her boyfriend and son, to ask her out for coffee.

7. She tells him in no uncertain terms to go fuck himself.

You think maybe Rick would get the hint?

Well, he wouldn't be on PLFM if he did.

Kate went back to work the next day only to find the following email in her inbox.

From Rick, of course.

Take it away, Romeo.

Hello cutie,

I know you told me not to contact you outside of work, so I'm sending this to your work address. That makes it work related, right? :)

If you haven't guessed by now, I really dig you. The highlight of my week is droping off DNA to your lab, and I would love to make a more direct deposit.

I would treat you like a queen. My wife would never know. We're on the rocks anyway. I'm only staying with her because of the girls. She doesn't satisfy me in bed, the way I know you would with your tight little body.

You figure into my dreams nightly. It's the only satisfaction I get these days.

Let me know when you want to spend a night or more in heaven.

Rick.

What Rick didn't know is that by emailing Kate, he also emailed the entire lab, so everyone got a gander at Rick's final overtures to Kate.

And I say "final" because this is the exact same email Kate used against Rick to obtain a restraining order. If Rick decides to ask Kate out to lunch again, he will now have to yell his question from a distance of at least 1000 feet.

Now, this story may not involve knives to the throat, death threats, or the well-barbequed kittens my readers have developed such a fine taste for.

But I printed this story for a reason.

The weekend prior, this exact topic came up amongst a large group of my female friends twice. And each time, the women were falling all over themselves with horrible stories of dealing with deviant, sometimes psychotic, and often stalkerish behavior from clients and / or customers.

Represented were waitresses, bartenders, real estate agents, saleswomen, baristas, and advertising executives.

PLFM wants to hear YOUR story in the comments, because we know you have them.