(It is a slow night and I am working with a co-worker when a guy walks in.)
Co-Worker: “Hi! How can I help you?”
Customer: “Do you have a room for tonight?”
Co-Worker: “Just tonight?”
Co-Worker: “How many in your party?”
Customer: “Just one.”
Co-Worker: “Do you have a smoking preference?”
Me: *just hearing the last part of the conversation* “What?”
Co-Worker: “We’re keeping him.”
Me: “Thanks for calling [hotel], how can I help you?”
Customer: “I need a room next weekend. My kid has a swim meet down there.”
Me: “Okay. Rooms with two doubles are going for $135.”
Customer: “Give me a corporate rate on that room.”
Me: “Sir, corporate rates are for business travel. You just told me you were coming for a swim meet.”
Customer: “Well, uh, I sell swimsuits!”
Logic That Doesn’t Hold Water
(I work front desk and am checking in a new patient. Note that I am a lesbian, wearing a clearly visible pentagram necklace, and am in a 5 year relationship.)
Me: “Good morning! Go ahead and sign in and I’ll let the doctor know you’re here.”
Patient: “Your eyes are gorgeous!”
Me: “Thanks. Have a seat while I look through your paperwork.”
Patient: *doesn’t move*
Patient: “Your eyes are really just so beautiful. I can see the power of God in you. You are truly an angel, do you know that?”
Me: “I…get that a lot?”
Patient: “Are you single?”
Patient: “Are you sure? Is it serious?”
Me: “Yeah, pretty serious.”
Patient: “Oh, but you’ll just love my son. You have to meet him as soon as he gets back from his Mormon mission!”
Patient: “Are you sure you can’t consider breaking up with your boyfriend?”
Me: “I really don’t think she’d take that well.”
Me: “I said I really don’t think I’m allowed to date patients or their family members.”
Patient: “Oh…but do think about it. Your eyes are really just so pure! He’d really be perfect for you!”
(She called several weeks later to say she’d been committed to a mental hospital.)
(I have psoriasis, a hereditary condition which leaves me with large red patches on my scalp. This occurs while I am waiting in line at a convenience store with a woman standing behind me.)
Customer: "What’s wrong with you?"
Me: "I beg your pardon?"
Customer: "Those ugly blotches all over your head. What do you have?"
Me: "Oh, it’s a highly contagious flesh eating disease. Very painful."
Customer: "Oh my gosh! Really? How contagious is it?"
Me: "Well, you probably already have it."
Customer: *rushes out of the store in a panic*
(Fast food places are often referred to as takeaway stores in New Zealand.)
Me: “Hello and welcome to [fast food]. May I take your order?”
Customer: “So, what is a tar… key… ah… way…?”
Me: “Um, takeaways. As in food you can take away.”
Customer: “Oh, is it a Maori word?”
Me: “No sir. It’s an English word. May I ask, are you from out of New Zealand?”
Customer: “Yes, I’m from America, but you’re lying about takeaways being an English word. I’ve been to Canada and they don’t use it there!”