(We have two branches of my store in our town of about 3,500. Ours is referred to as the ‘ghetto’ store.)

Me: “How’s it going?”

Customer: “Pretty good.”

Me: “Will that be all?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: “Total is $2.98.”

Customer: “Here’s $3. Plus, a little something extra.”

(He hands me a bud of weed.)

Me: “What’s this for?”

Customer: “It’s a Friday night, and you are trapped in hell. Now you tell me what it’s for.”

Related:
Weeding Out The Good Customers

Me: “And here’s your waffle, sir, with bacon on the side.”

Customer: “What? No, I didn’t order this. I ordered the bacon egg and cheese omelette.”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry, sir. I have it written down that you got a waffle with bacon. I will have to fix that.”

Customer’s wife: “No, you will not. He ordered the waffle. I heard him.”

Customer: “No, I didn’t. I specifically ordered the omelette. I know I did.”

Customer’s wife: “No, honey! We had the conversation on which one you were going to get. You told me you were going to get the omelette, and it surprised me when you didn’t.”

Customer: “Then why didn’t you say something?”

Customer’s wife: “Because you always ask my opinion, and say that’s what you’ll do. Then you change your mind! I just figured you were ignoring my opinion again!”

Customer: “Well, fine. I guess I’ll have to eat this.”

Me: “Are you sure? I can change it.?”

Customer: “Actually, would you?”

Customer’s wife: “No! You ordered it, you eat it.”

Customer, to me: “That’s what she says to the kids.”

Customer: “Is the chicken caesar sandwich vegetarian?”

Me: “No, ma’am. It has chicken in it. But we can substitute tofu if you’d like.”

Customer: “I don’t want tofu. Don’t you have any vegetarian meat?”

Me: “Vegetarian means no meat, ma’am. Would you like a non-vegetarian option?”

Customer: “No, I’m a vegetarian. Your menu says you have vegetarian options.”

Me: “We do have vegetarian options. Anything can be made without meat.”

Customer: “Why don’t you have any vegetarian meat?”

Me: “Are you sure you’re a vegetarian, ma’am?”

Related:
Telling Porkies

(It is prom season. We have a lot of girls coming in to try on dresses. Three girls have been trying on heaps of dresses. They finally select the ones they want.)

Me: “I see you’ve made your final selection! If you just bring them to the register, I’ll be happy to ring you up.”

(Their mother walks over.)

Mother: “Oh, what lovely dresses!”

Girl: “Yeah. We had to go through a lot of dresses before we found anything decent.”

(The mother gets a weird look on her face.)

Mother, to me: “Excuse me, miss?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am?”

Mother: “Are those the dressing rooms?”

Me: “Yes.”

Mother: “Do you mind if I run in there for a minute?”

Me: “Go ahead!”

(The mother walks in, and sees all the dresses on the floor of the dressing rooms. She comes out fuming.)

Mother: “You girls march right in there, pick up every dress, and hang them back up! Right now!”

Girl: “Why? It’s her job!”

Mother: “I did not raise a bunch of pigs! Get in there now, or you won’t be going to prom!”

(I work engineering support late in the evening.)

Me: “Pennsylvania Support Center. How may I help you?”

Caller: “The cleaning crew just came through my office, and now my mouse doesn’t work. The cursor just jumps all over the screen randomly when I move it. They broke my mouse. I need a new one.”

Me: “You have a SPARCstation with an optical mouse, correct?”

Caller: “Yes, with the cool glass mouse-pad.”

(Old-school optical mice used to require special reflective mouse-pads with grids etched into their surfaces. To increase tracking resolution, the vertical and horizontal grids had slightly different spacing.)

Me: “Did the cleaning crew wipe down your desk?”

Caller: “Yes.”

Me: “Did they move your mouse-pad?”

Caller: “What does that have to do with anything?”

Me: “Did your mouse-pad get rotated? Is the long edge of the mouse-pad now parallel to the edge of your desk?”

Caller: “I really don’t see why that’s relevant. I just want a new mouse!”

Me: “The orientation of the mouse-pad matters. The–”

(The caller cuts me off and starts to yell. I realize that I can actually hear his voice coming from down the hall.)

Caller: “Listen! Just open a ticket and have someone bring me a new mouse. I don’t have time for this. I design chips, so I know what I’m talking about. I probably designed the chip in the phone you’re stuck answering all day!”

(I take off my headset, walk down the hall, and walk into his office up to his desk.)

Caller: “…so don’t try to bulls*** me with, oh. Hold on, someone is in my office.”

(I reach down, and rotate his mouse-pad 90 degrees. I move the mouse, and the cursor happily moves around the screen as expected. I walk out of his office, back down the hall, sit down at my desk, and put my headset back on.)

Caller: *silence*

Me: “Thank you for calling Pennsylvania Support Center. I trust I have resolved your case.”

Caller: *silence*

Me: “You will be receiving your ticket number via email. Thank you.”

Caller: *click*