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    Archive for 2013

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    Shell Shocked

    , | Rehoboth Beach, DE, USA | At The Checkout, Bizarre, Food & Drink

    (It is late at night, in the middle of summer. I’m working at the first window, taking orders as well as working the register. The customer I get sounds drunk, but I don’t think too much of it until he gets to the window. The customer is in the rear seat of the car; thankfully the driver is sober.)

    Me: “Good evening. Your total is $[total].”

    Customer: “Okay… so that’s… uh…”

    (The customer stares at the money in his wallet for a moment before handing me a wad of bills.)

    Me: “Alright. Here’s your change and your recei—”

    (I turn to hand him his change, to see that he now has a large brown paper bag on his lap. He looks at me, then reaches in the bag and pulls out a crab covered in Old Bay seasoning.)

    Customer: “D’you want a crab?”

    Me: “Er… no thanks.”

    Customer: “You sure? They’re really good!”

    (The customer tries to hand me the crab anyways.)

    Me: “I’m sorry. We’re not allowed to take… tips?”

    Customer: “Aww… that sucks. Well, you have a nice night.”

    Me: “Here’s your change. You have a good night, too!”

    (My colleagues and I were all left wondering what he was doing getting fast food when he had something better!)

    Pass The Buck To Your Manager

    | IA, USA | Bizarre, Food & Drink

    (I am stocking the liquor section. An older customer comes up to the register. He is wearing cut-off jeans going three quarters of the way up his thigh and a flannel shirt unbuttoned to his belly button.)

    Customer: “I want the liqueur made of deer’s blood.”

    Me: “Could you repeat that?”

    Customer: “I want that liqueur made of deer’s blood.”

    Me: “Do you know the name of this drink?”

    Customer: “No, but I know it is made of deer’s blood.”

    (I call over the manager who deals with the liquor section.)

    Me: “Do we have a liqueur made of deer’s blood?”

    Manager: “I don’t think we stock anything like that. Let’s look.”

    (We look for a while and I eventually take a bottle of Jägermeister off the shelf.)

    Me: “Is this what you’re looking for?”

    Customer: “Yes. Thank you.”

    Highly Screwed

    | Muskogee, OK, USA | Bizarre, Home Improvement

    (I am working late evening, when a customer comes in near closing time. He is high on something and brings a 4 ft tall bong.)

    Me: “How can I help you today, sir?”

    Customer: “Well… umm… I broke it.”

    Me: “Broke what?”

    Customer: “I broke my smoker.”

    Me: “Okay… what can I do to help you?”

    Customer: “Screw. I need a screw. I think a screw will fix it. Or maybe something else. A screw. I need a screw. I need a screw!”

    (I try to help him find the right screw, but he’s not thinking. He walks away, with his screw, and, I’m sure, another chance to get high again.)

    Customer: “Need a screw. Need a screw. Need a screw…”

    Feeding The Baby And The Trolls

    | KS, USA | Health & Body, History, Top, Wild & Unruly

    (I work at a renaissance festival every year for the past 11 years. My son is about 6 months old. As there is no spot designated for breastfeeding, I just find somewhere quiet and out of the way. Two patrons notice me.)

    Patron #1: “Oh, my God. What are you doing!?”

    Me: “Beg your pardon? Are you talking to me?”

    Patron #1: “Yes, of course! That is so nasty. You should be ashamed. That is absolutely disgusting, and sinful, and child abuse.”

    Me: “Oh, please. I do not want to hear it. I’m feeding my son. There is nothing wrong with it and it’s my right to do it wherever I want.”

    Patron #2: “He’s right. You can’t do that here. Take that nasty s*** where it belongs. Get a f****** bottle.”

    Me: “Leave me alone, please. I have a right by Kansas law to feed my son anywhere I want.”

    Patron #1: “Feed him with a bottle. That’s nasty and unsanitary. You’re abusing him by making him do that. Why you feminist b****es want to do that is beyond me. You’re so gross.”

    Me: “Okay. I’m not going to defend myself to you. So, just keep moving guys.”

    (One of my fellow festival participants comes along.)

    Participant: “Excuse me, gentlemen. Is there something I can do to help you?”

    Patron #2: “Yeah. You can make her leave. No one wants to see that!”

    Patron #1: “You guys shouldn’t allow that in your festival. You’re promoting child abuse.”

    Participant: “She actually has every right to be here as she’s a member of the faire, as is her baby. She has to feed him, gentlemen. If it bothers you, please feel free to look away from her.”

    Patron #1: “No. I want to sit on that bench right there and watch the gypsy’s dance. She needs to move.”

    Me: “I’m not moving. If you want to watch the show and don’t want to sit by me, go sit somewhere else.”

    (All the participants carry a walkie-talkie to contact security. This participant calls them.)

    Patron #1: “That’s right. You get someone here to make her leave.”

    (I move my son to burp him and switch sides. One of the patrons grabs my arm and attempts to remove me himself. I have my hands full with my son. I spot a group of yeomen (royal guards) walking by and immediately start yelling for them.)

    Me: “Insuth! Insuth!”

    (This is a way to alert other performers that I am NOT acting, and that I am in actual danger. The yeomen run over and one of them draws his sword, which is very real.)

    Yeoman: “I’d suggest you let the lady go. It appears she does not wish to accompany you.”

    Patron #2: “This little b**** needs to get the f*** out and we’re going to help show her the way.”

    (The other three yeomen draw their swords as well.)

    Yeoman: “I’m really thinking that is not going to happen. As it is, you gentlemen will be the ones leaving the grounds.”

    Patron #1: *sarcastically* “Oh, yeah. You and your fake weapons are gonna make us, right?”

    (One of the yeomen steps up to the tree that is next to him and takes a swing at it. The sword embeds several inches before he pulls it back out to show it is very real and sharp.)

    Yeoman: “Is that demonstration enough for you, sir? Would you like another?”

    (Finally, security arrives and holds the patrons until two state troopers come and arrest them. The yeoman who helped me was given a pin of achievement, as he had not broken character during the entire ordeal. I made them muffins every morning for the rest of the festival and have done so every year since.)

    The Price Is Right, The Customer Is Not

    | Denver, CO, USA | At The Checkout, Extra Stupid, Food & Drink, Money

    (It is Thanksgiving. A customer comes up to the register with a mountain of ads from other stores, since we offer price match. She puts three turkeys on the belt.)

    Customer: “Hi. [Competitor Store] has turkeys for 87 cents a pound. Can you match it?”

    (Our price is 79 cents a pound.)

    Me: “Oh, ma’am. No need to price match; ours is cheaper.”

    Customer: “No, it’s not. I see the prices and [Competitor Store] prices are much cheaper.”

    Me: “Honestly, ma’am, they are indeed cheaper.”

    Customer: “Please humor me. Honor your policy and give me the price I want!”

    (At this point I shrug my shoulders and comply.)

    Me: “Alright. Your total is $47.90.”

    Customer: “See! Much cheaper.”

    (The customer puts the turkeys in her cart and walk away. About twenty minutes later, I’m helping the customer service desk. The same woman from earlier comes in line looking clearly upset. I open my register. Since she is next in line, she comes to me.)

    Customer: “You cheated me! You gave me [Competitor Store] price when you knew your stores prices were cheaper!”

    Me: “Ma’am, if I remember correctly, I tried telling you our price. You insisted on getting [Competitor Store] prices. Knowing that the customer is always right, I did as you wished.”

    (The customer turns bright red and starts yelling.)

    Customer: “In this case the customer was wrong! Now give me your price.”

    Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. Once meat leaves the store, we can no longer return it, nor change the price you received.”

    (The customer screams. She takes her three turkeys and runs off.)

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