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    Take A Guess Who The Better Half Is

    , | San Francisco Bay Area, CA, USA | Top

    (A couple approaches, and the dude ditches quickly to the back of the store while the woman barks…)

    Woman: “I need some tickets!”

    Me: “What show?”

    Woman: “I need tickets to the concert.”

    Me: “Which one?”

    Woman: “The concert.”

    Me: “There are a lot of concerts going on, which one do you want to see?”

    Woman: “I don’t know what it’s called.”

    Me: “Who’s playing?”

    Woman: “A bunch of people…I don’t know.”

    Me: “Do you know where it’s going to be?”

    Woman: “No.”

    Me: “When?”

    Woman: “No–why can’t you find my tickets?!?”

    Me: “I need something to go on.”

    Woman: “It’s a concert!”

    Me: “That doesn’t narrow it down for me. That pretty much only eliminates Phantom of the Opera.”

    (She finally yells at the dude who has been hiding in magazines.)

    Woman: “What’s the name of the concert we’re going to?”

    (The dude comes forward and gives me the name of the show, where it is and on what day.)

    Woman: “Oh, NOW you can find the tickets.”

    Me: “…”

    Woman: “We need two tickets…TOGETHER!”

    Me, looking at dude: “Are you sure?”

    (He smiled, she missed it, and I lived to do retail another day.)

    Urine Way Over Your Head

    | Durham, NC, USA | Top

    (I was in the ladies room during a shift, wearing a skirt. This is key.)

    Woman, in stall next to mine: “You’re not wearing any pants!”

    (I ignore her, thinking she’s on the phone.)

    Woman: *starts banging on the wall between us* “You’re not wearing any pants!”

    Me: “…I’m…sorry?”

    Woman: “You! You’re not wearing any pants!” *bangs some more*

    Me: “And you know this how?”

    Woman: “I can see your legs! They’re bare! You’re not wearing any pants!”

    Me: “Ma’am, I’m wearing a *skirt*.”

    (The woman stops banging on the wall, and is completely silent. I never got to know what she thought of a woman wearing a skirt.)

    Thank You, Dr. Frankenstein

    | Orlando, FL, USA | Top

    (I was helping a regular customer who had wandered in–as he did daily–from the nursing home across the street.)

    Old Man: “You’re working again?”

    Me: “Yes, every day.”

    Old Man: “You know what? Every time I see you, there’s a big smile on your face.”

    Me: “What can I say, I love my job.”

    Old Man: “Yes, you have a wonderful smile. You’ll make a good looking corpse.”

    Me: “…”

    (He got a wide berth after that.)

    Time To Moooove To Another Cowllege

    | Missouri | Top

    (For three years, my job was to deal with angry parents. I was very good at it. Most of the time.)

    Parent: *angrily* “I need to speak to someone about my daughter’s roommates!”

    Me: “Okay, ma’am, what seems to be the problem?”

    Parent: “Her roommates are awful to her! ”

    Me: “Okay. Can you detail the problems for me? The more specific you can be, the better we can help your daughter and her roommates settle their problems.”

    Parent: “They curse, and they play loud music, and they’re, well, they’re just not *like* us.”

    Me: “In what way are they not *like* you, ma’am?”

    Parent: “Well, they’re…farm people.”

    (Twenty seconds of absolute silence as I am, for once, thrown off my game. I’ve heard racial B.S. and religious B.S., but never *farm* B.S.)

    Parent: “Not that there’s anything wrong with farm people. It’s just that we’re not farm people.”

    (I’m still in shock. She keeps going.)

    Parent: I mean, farms are useful, but we’re from the city. My daughter grew up going to the theater and to museums.”

    Me: “Ma’am, I can assure you, as a kid from a farm myself, I’ve been to the theater and to museums. What we probably have here is a personality clash.”

    (There’s about a 10 second pause that just drips with uncomfortable.)

    Parent: “Perhaps I should speak to someone else.”

    Kids Say The Truthiest Things

    , | Belgium | Top

    (Santa was visiting our store, and every kid got a small bag of candy. Then this happened…)

    Santa: “Here you go, little boy!”

    Kid: “Thank you, Santa!”

    Mom: “Aren’t you forgetting anything?”

    Kid: “What, mommy?”

    Mom: “Ask Santa for another bag for your brother like I told you.” *looks at Santa* “He’s sick at home and couldn’t come.”

    Santa: “No problem!” *reaches for another bag*

    Kid: “But mommy, I don’t have a brother!”

    Mom: “…”

    Santa: *puts bag back*


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