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    Location Is Clearly Not Your Vocation

    | Phoenix, AZ, USA |

    Me: “Policyholder service, how may I help you?”

    Customer: “I’d like to change the beneficiary on my policy.”

    Me: “I can help you with that. Do you have your policy number?”

    Customer: “No.”

    Me: “That’s fine. “What is your name?”

    (The customer gives me her name, but it’s common and we have several dozen policyholders with the same name. I need more information to find her policy.)

    Me: “Okay. What state do you live in?”

    Customer: “Springfield.”

    (Unfortunately, we cannot sort or search by city names, only by states. I do a quick look and see more than one Springfield in different states.)

    Me: “What state is that in?”

    Customer: “Springfield.”

    Me: “Springfield is the city that you’re in. What is the name of the state that you’re in?”

    Customer: *slowly* “Spring. Field.”

    Me: “That’s the city you’re in…what is the state?”

    Customer: *annoyed* “The UNITED States!”

    Dance of the Eye Gouger Fairies

    | Olympia, WA, USA |

    (Our office sells tickets to two different locations that are no more than 10 minutes apart for event and performances that are often very different. A caller is inquiring about one of these performances.)

    Me: “This performance is at [address].”

    Customer: “Wait, it’s at [address]? Oh, that’s too far to drive. Is there anything happening downtown that day?”

    Me: “Yes, sir. There is a performance of the Nutcracker that evening.”

    Customer: “Oh. Well, I think I’d rather gouge my eyes out than be exposed to culture! I’ll have to call you back.”

    Getting To The Root Of The Problem

    | Phoenix, AZ, USA |

    (I am selling souvenir programs and backpacks for Legally Blonde: The Musical in the lobby. The customer I’m talking to is a brunette; so am I.)

    Me: “Would you like a souvenir program?”

    Customer: “But you’re not blond.”

    Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am? Would you like a program?”

    Customer: “This is Legally Blonde! You should be blond.”

    Me: *thinking she’s joking* “You know, it’s funny…I was blond for six months and just dyed my hair back to my natural color before I found out this show was coming.”

    Customer: *completely serious* “But you are not blond!”

    Me: “No ma’am, I am not.”

    Customer: “Why would they let you sell things for the show when you are not blond?”

    Me: “Well, you don’t have to be blond to work at the theater.”

    Customer: “But it’s Legally BLONDE!”

    Me: *giving up* “You see, ma’am they needed someone who could do math, so they got a brunette.”

    Customer: “Oh, that makes sense. I will take two, then!”

    Another customer behind her: “Well played. Now I feel like I have to buy one!”

    Book You In For Six (Feet Under)

    | New Mexico, USA |

    (My boss passed away earlier this year. Her phone forwards to mine so that I can redirect individuals that need assistance.)

    Customer: “Hi, can I speak to Dr. ***?”

    Me: “I’m sorry, Dr. *** passed away earlier this year. Is there something I can help you with instead?”

    Customer: “No, I think I’ll just call back. When do you think she’ll be in?”

    Me: “Ma’am, she passed away.”

    Customer: “Right…so when will she be in?  Can I call back tomorrow?”

    Me: “Ma’am, she’s dead.”

    Customer: “Oh…how about Monday then?”

    Random Acts Of Wetness

    | Eau Claire, WI, USA |

    (I work at a convenience store with an automatic car wash that’s located in a seedy part of town. One day, a man walks in wearing a pure white t-shirt and jeans, both liberally smeared with his own feces.)

    Man: “Help! Help! Man, you gotta come help!”

    Me: “Are you okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance for you or something?”

    Man: “No! You gotta get out here?”

    Me: “What’s wrong? Do I need to call the cops?”

    Man: “No! In the car wash! You gotta help!”

    (I go outside to the car wash when a little old lady–completely soaking wet–bumps into me and shoves her car keys in my hand.)

    Little old lady: “You go! You wash car!”

    (As I walk into the car wash, I see that she missed the wheel guides when she drove in.)

    Me: “What–”

    Little old lady: “You wash d*** car now, please!”

    (I take her keys and get her car in the wash correctly. About halfway through the five-minute cycle, I realize that I just left the store unattended and begin thinking the worst. Finally, the wash is done and I drive around to the front of the store. I’m surprised to see the soaking wet lady standing in front of the entrance with her arms spread wide, blocking anyone from entering. There’s a line of about a dozen customers in front of her that stretches down the sidewalk. I get out and give her back her keys.)

    Little old lady: “Thank you! You nice young man!”

    First customer in line after the lady: “What the h*** just happened?!”

    (As for the man covered in feces, I later found out that there was nothing wrong with him besides the fact that he routinely gets so drunk that he craps himself.)

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