Me: “Can I get your domain name please?”

Customer: “something@yahoo.com”

Me: “That’s actually an email address. What I’m looking for is something similar to www.website.com.”

Customer: “www.something@yahoo.com.”

Me: *sigh* “Can I get your name?”

Customer: “I’d like to return these ice pops.”

Me: “Ok, I just need to see your receipt.”

(I take the box of ice pops.)

Me: “…this is an empty box!”

Customer: “Well, we ate them. Some of them taste good, but some of them had a weird taste, so we threw them out.”

Me: “I can’t give you money back on something you already ate.”

Customer: “Why are you so difficult?! I’m never shopping here again!”

Female customer, from 15 feet away: “Hey, you!”

Me: “Yes?”

(Customer comes over with her friends and a dirty soccer-ball shaped pillow.)

Female customer: “This is the last one and it’s dirty. I want 20% off!”

Me: “I’d like to give you a discount, but you’ll have to talk to one of my superiors. I don’t have the authority to do that.”

Female customer: *points towards the sky* “My only superior is up there, and He’s the only one who I take orders from. ”

Me: “Let me see if I can get a manager.”

(I call for a manager, and of course, no one shows up. After 10 minutes…)

Female customer: “Why can’t you give me a discount?”

Me: “Because I don’t have the authority.”

Female customer: “Well, I think you can’t give me a discount because you don’t believe in Jesus!”

Me: “You can take that item to the service desk, and I’m sure they’d be able to help you out.”

Female customer: “Yeah and we’ll stick out like a bunch of sore thumbs since we’re the only black people in the store!”

Me: “Actually, our store manager is African American, as well as two of our assistant managers, who are both women.”

Female customer: “Oh.” *she finally walks away*

(I was working another very long day right after March of the Penguins had come out , stuck in the box office, when a sweet looking little old lady and her sweet little old lady friend walked up to the window.)

Me: “Hello, how can I help you today?”

Old lady: “Hello sweetie. I’d like one senior for March of the Penises.”

Little old lady friend: “Oh my God…” *shocked, puts hand up to mouth, whispers to friend*

Me: “I think you might have the wrong theater…”

Related:
Of All The Moments For Freud To Slip

(A little kid comes running up to counter and points at our menu board above my head.)

Kid: “I want that one!”

Me: “The taco or the burrito, honey?”

Kid’s mother: “Don’t point! That’s rude. You have to tell her what you want.”

Kid: “I want the taco.”

Me, turning to the mother: “Ok. What can I get for you?”

Kid’s mother: *points* “I want that one.”

Kid: “Mommy mommy, I want those shoes!”

Mom: “Why do you want those shoes?”

Kid: “Because everyone else is wearing them.”

Mom: “Wouldn’t you want to get something different and be more original?”

Kid: “No…then I wouldn’t be original like everyone else!”

(A customer hands me the tickets to the horror/torture movie, Hostel 2.)

Employee: “I’m sorry sir, but this movie is R-rated and I’m afraid I can’t let your child in.”

Customer, agitated: “Can’t you just let us in?”

Employee: “I’m sorry sir, but I’d lose my job if I did that. I CAN help you find another movie.”

(The customer then throws his $6 tub of popcorn in my face and all over the podium and walks off with his family. There’s good family values…)

Woman: “Hello, I’d like to report a ticket.”

Me: “I beg your pardon?”

Woman: “I want to report a speeding ticket.”

Me: “I don’t really have the ability to write tickets over the phone.”

Woman: “He’s speeding down the road; he must be doing 90mph!”

Me: “Generally at this time of day we have patrols on every major street.”

Woman: “I caught up to him and he is doing about 102. His license number is ******.

(I pretend to write it down so I can end this phone call.)

Me: “Thank you ma’am, I’ll get right on mailing this-”

Woman: “Did it come up?”

Me: “Yes it did.”

Woman: “What did it say?”

Me: “It says the car is stolen.” (It didn’t.)

Woman: “Oh my god!”

Me: “And what is your Driver’s License Number?”

Woman: “Why do you need that?”

Me: “You are aware it is illegal to drive and talk on your cellphone, right?”

Woman: *click*

Bored teen girl (between snapping her chewing gum): “Yeah–I’m looking for this book, When I Drop Dead?”

Me: “I can’t seem to find it in the system. Do you know who the author is?”

Bored teen girl: “I dunno. Flooker or Flocker or something.”

*A light goes on in my head*

Me: “Do you mean AS I LAY DYING, by WILLIAM FAULKNER??”

Her: *explosive sigh* “Yeah. Whatever. That.”

(I go to a table of four, a mom and dad and two kids who are ready to order.)

Husband: “How big are your pizzas?”

Me: “They are 10 inch pizzas, sir.”

Husband: “Well how big is 10 inches?

(And before I can answer, the wife chimes in.)

Wife: “You wouldn’t know anything about 10 inches, dear.”

(I stood there for a moment with my mouth open, before I ran to the wait station and started laughing hysterically.)