(While working at a large chain supermarket, a regular named Joe comes in acting strangely.)
Me: “Hey Joe, you’re not looking well, mate. Something up?”
Joe: “Yeah, I’m not too good. I had an accident at home and I need to go to the hospital. Just got the wife to stop here first for a few things.
Me: “Oh, sorry, man. Hope everything’s okay.”
Joe: “Im sure I’ll be fine. Can I have a bottle of [vodka], please?”
Me: “Sure thing. £7.99, please.”
(Joe then reaches for his wallet. Upon pulling it out, he also drops a freshly severed thumb onto my till, covering everything in blood. I then notice his hand is taped inside a sandwich bag, which, by now, is full of blood.)
Me: “Holy s***!
Joe: “Yeah, that’ll teach the b**** for making me cook dinner!”