Me: “Thank you for calling tech support. May I help you?”

Customer: “How do you fix Debian?”

Me: “Depends on what the problem is. What are some of the issues you’re having?”

Customer: “I paid $700 for it! It should work PERFECTLY!”

Me: “Ma’am, Debian is free. If you paid $700 for it, all that means is that you’re an idiot.”

Customer: “Really?”

Me: “Yep. Anything else I can do for you?”

Customer: *click*

(Our store is located in a one-level strip mall.)

Customer: “Do you carry lawnmowers?”

Customer service rep: “Just one second and let me find out for you…” *parks call* “Hey guys, do we carry lawnmowers?”

Salesman 1: “Yeah, they’re down in the basement.”

Salesman 2: “No, I saw them back by the overstock shelves.”

Salesman 3: “No, I moved them into the attic for storage last week.”

Salesman 4: “OOH! I know! They’re four walls down, under a big orange sign that says ‘Home Depot!’”

Customer service rep: *picks call back up* “No sir, I’m sorry, but we’re an electronics store.”

Customer: “I’m looking for a book.”

Me: “Were you after a particular book?”

Customer: “Yeah.”

Me: “What was the title?”

Customer: “I can’t remember.”

Me: “Do you know who the author is?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “Do you remember what it’s about?”

Customer: “I saw it recently…”

Me: “Can you tell me anything at all about it?”

Customer: “It had a nondescript cover.”

Me: “…”

(And I found it!)

(It is nearly Christmas, about 11pm. The Vicar has been out all day visiting elderly parishioners and has fallen asleep in front of the television. The phone rings.)

Me: “Hello. St. ***’s Vicarage. Can I help you?”

Man: “I need to speak to the Vicar.”

Me: “I am afraid he is unavailable at the moment. Can I take a message?”

Man: “Can’t you contact him? This is really urgent.”

Me: “I am afraid I can only disturb him in an emergency. What is the problem. I am a Reader (lay minister). Perhaps I can help?”

Man: “I have this really deep theological question. I’m sure only the Vicar can answer it.”

Me: “I do have a degree in theology, sir. I’m sure I can help.”

Man: “When is the Twelfth Day of Christmas?”

Me: “??”

Man: “Are you there? I told you, only the Vicar would know.”

Me: “It’s the 5th of January. The day before Epiphany.”

Man: “Are you sure?”

Me: “Definitely. Why do you need to know?”

Man: “Me and my mates are doing a pub quiz. It’s the one question we couldn’t answer. Thanks. Bye!”

Me: “…”

(I work at a coffee shop that is NOT a certain well-known coffee empire. Our company name is clearly displayed out front, on the menu, on the register, on our aprons and we generally don’t look a thing like the other company.)

Customer: “I’d like a medium mocha.”

Me: “Okay, that’ll be $3.26.”

(The customer pays, and comes to the end of the bar to pick up her drink.)

Customer: “Wait a second. This isn’t Starbucks.”

Coworker: “Nope, we’re *** Coffee.”

Customer: “Well, never mind. I wanted Starbucks. Give me my money back.”

Coworker: “I have your drink ready… give it a taste, and if you still don’t like it, we’d be happy to refund your money. ”

Customer: “NO! Just give me my money back! This isn’t Starbucks! I wanted Starbucks!”

Me: “Um, okay…”

(I worked at a shop that did passport photos. There was a fifteen minute wait on the pictures, so people normally just left and came back…)

Me: “That’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”

Customer: “I’ll come back. Do you need my name?”

Me: “No, I don’t need it.”

Customer: “You little snot. It’s ’cause there’s a black man in here!”

Me: “Sir, I am not racist. ”

Customer: “Oh, sure you’re not, you racist snot.”

Me: “Sir, I have your picture. That’s why I do not need your name.”

(The customer walked out and I never saw him again.)

(Our store used to have a completely gutted 1957 Chevy truck as a center piece. It was part of the store’s trademark. Walking down the store past the truck, I am stopped by an old man.)

Me: “Sir?”

Old Man: “Young lady, how much are you selling this truck for?”

Me: “Sorry sir, the truck isn’t for sale. It’s owned by [company].”

Old Man: “I’ll give you 100 dollars for it.”

Me: “Sir, the truck is not for sale. I apologize.”

Old Man: “All right…I’ll give you two hundred!”

Me: “Sir, the truck is not for sale. And even if it was, it would be for a LOT more than 200 dollars.”

Old Man: “Yes, I suppose you’re right… SAY! SOMEONE STEALING, LOOK!” *points behind me*

(As I turn to look behind me, the man climbs the crates next to the truck, opens the driver’s seat door and gets behind the wheel.)

Old Man: “WHOOOOOOOOO-HAW! CAN’T CATCH ME NOW, CAN YOU!” *swings steering wheel around and starts to make gun noises* “PEW PEW! PEWW PEW!”

(Mall Security ended up being called, after the old man was “trying” to run us over. I wish I was joking.)

(Note: the FDA recently recalled tomatoes because of a salmonella outbreak.)

Me: “… and what veggies would you like on your sandwich?”

Customer: “Lettuce, tomato and onion, that’s all. And some mayo.”

Me: “Sorry, ma’am, we’re not selling tomatoes right now, but I’ll put the rest of that on for you.”

Customer: “What? Why can’t I have tomatoes?”

Me: “Because the FDA is worried that they may be contaminated with salmonella and until we’re sure that ours are safe, we’re not allowed to sell them.”

Customer: “Your tomatoes are contaminated?! How can you sell tomatoes that are contaminated? That’s disgusting! I can’t believe you!”

Me: “Ma’am we’re *NOT* selling them.”

Customer: “Well, why the h*** not?!”

Me: “Because the FDA says they might not be safe and we don’t want our customers to get sick.”

Customer: “Well, that’s stupid. I want tomatoes.”

Me: “Alright, ma’am, but I suggest you leave off the mayonnaise, then.”

Customer: “Umm… okay, why?”

Me: “It tends to taste bad when mixed with salmonella.”

Caller: “Yeah, I bought this tattoo kit from you guys the other day, and there’s stuff missing from it.”

Me: “Stuff missing? Like what?”

Caller: “Well, for starters, there’s no book with it… and I don’t know how to assemble it.”

Me: “Book? What book? We don’t have books. We just sell tattoo inks, needles, machines… and assembly? Is there something not assembled in your kit?”

Caller: “Yeah, it’s all in pieces… it’s a piece of crap!”

Me: “Pieces? Did it get damaged during shipment to you?”

Caller: “No, it’s just a bunch of pieces. There’s a power supply, foot pedal, a couple of tattoo machines… but I gotta put it together myself. That’s bulls***! I don’t know what I’m doing! You guys should have assembled everything for me before shipping.”

Me: “You want us to assemble your tattoo shop for you? Wait a sec… did you say you don’t know what you’re doing?”

Caller: “That’s right. I’ve never tattooed before. That’s why I thought there’d be a book with the kit.”

Me: “You mean like, step one, put a picture on the skin, step 2 dip the needle in ink, step 3 tattoo the ink into the skin?”

Caller: “Yeah, that’s it! Why didn’t you guys give me that kinda book when I bought the kit!?”

Me: “So how are you expecting to learn to tattoo? Are you not doing a tattoo apprenticeship at a real tattoo shop, where they teach you to do this sort of thing?”

Caller: “Nah… I just figured I’d start off tattooing my wife until I can figure it out…”

(On this day in the bulk food store I worked in, I was on the floor, scrubbing underneath a bin of nuts. At this point in my life, I had very long hair, and a goatee. An older lady walks by:)

Older lady: “That’s a good Christian girl… cleaning, and saying her prayers at the same time!”

*30 seconds later*

Older lady: “OH! You’re not a girl!”