Customer consistently asking for changes outside of scope then questioning price. Clearly using ChatGPT to generate feedback on work we’ve done, then emailing the feedback over without checking accuracy of gpt’s output. Total time waster
Booked an MOT slot. Cancelled it. Rebooked it. Cancelled it again. Repeated this dance four times over a fortnight, always within the hour before the appointment, at which point we stopped holding our breath. Fifth booking: total silence. No show, no call, no acknowledgement that a bay had been sat empty on his account four times running.
An entire term of weekly complaints — the room too warm, too loud, the wrong pen used, materials "not quite right" — delivered with the calm certainty of someone filing a formal report. And yet, every single week, rebooked the same tutor without fail. Make it make sense.
Glowing in the chair every single visit — thanked us, tipped, the works — then a fresh one-star review online within 48 hours, always a different invented grievance. Never once mentioned a single complaint to an actual human being at any point. We now check the reviews before we check the till.
A five-minute delay, caused by the previous client's appointment running long, was apparently sufficient grounds for a full verbal broadside against a junior therapist who had personally caused none of it. Loud enough that people in the waiting area started googling "is this normal."
Had a full set of nail extensions done, admired them at the till, paid, left happy — then disputed the entire charge with the bank three weeks later insisting the service "never happened." We had before-and-after photos taken at completion, as we do for every set, purely for the portfolio. Turns out that's also excellent evidence.
Reported the item as arriving "smashed to pieces" and requested a full refund *and* a replacement, all while quietly keeping hold of the apparently obliterated original. Asked politely for photos for the incident report. None materialised. The item, fully intact, later turned up for resale online — a remarkable recovery for something we were told no longer existed.
Booked a full colour and cut — three hours of chair time, product, and someone else's appointment turned away to fit her in — and cancelled by text four minutes before start time. Rebooked the following week. Did it again. At this point we assume it's performance art.
Screamed at a driver through the intercom over being "eleven minutes late," inside a two-hour delivery window the driver was, by any honest measure, comfortably within. The driver described it as the least two-hour-window-respecting eleven minutes of his career.
Signed for the parcel himself. Personally. In his own handwriting. Filed an "item never received" claim a week later. The signature on file and the name on the claim were, extraordinarily, the same person.
Ordered same-day delivery on a bank holiday weekend, and when it arrived the next working day — exactly as stated at checkout, in writing, in a font he presumably scrolled straight past — left one-star reviews on three separate platforms. Dedication, if nothing else.
Booked a full term of private tuition, attended four sessions like clockwork, then went completely dark the moment invoices started arriving. The sessions had, somewhat inconveniently for us, already happened — and taken up slots other families would have gladly filled.
Requested three separate bespoke quotes for a training course, each a slightly different flavour of the same thing, went silent the instant a final price appeared, then resurfaced a month later to start the entire ritual again from scratch. We now have a folder just for her.
Arrived unannounced demanding to speak to a specific tutor immediately over a mark their child received, and treated reception's polite "let's book you in properly" as a personal insult rather than, you know, how appointments work. Left only after being asked several times, in increasingly clear English.
Fifteen-year-old car, north of 150,000 miles on the clock, in for a routine service — and genuinely furious afterwards that it hadn't been resurrected into something showroom-fresh. The electrical fault we flagged verbally, wrote on the invoice, and quite possibly should have had tattooed on his arm was, shockingly, still there.
Booked the full wedding photography package, paid the deposit, then cancelled with two days' notice — long after every other enquiry for that date had been turned away out of professional courtesy. The date remained, memorably, empty. As did the point of the deposit, in his mind.
Hired the full equipment and staffing package for a party, used every last bit of it, danced the night away by all accounts, then declined to pay the final balance on the grounds of a parking complaint that had absolutely nothing to do with anything we did, said, or provided.
A guest at a corporate do took exception to the drinks package limit — the one clearly stated in the booking confirmation he presumably didn't read — and escalated from mild grumbling to full-volume confrontation with bar staff. Security eventually had a quiet word, then a considerably less quiet one.
Booked the entry-level DJ package, then spent the run-up demanding lighting rigs, staging, and extra hours that were, in black and white, listed as chargeable extras. Each time the price difference was explained, the hostility ticked up a notch, as if repetition might eventually make the maths go away.
Brought the car back in demanding a "warranty repair" for a dent that had, by his account, mysteriously appeared as a direct result of work we did six months prior — on a panel we never touched. His own dashcam, which he'd forgotten was still running, later showed the actual moment of impact: a car park, several weeks after our job, and nothing to do with us whatsoever.