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  • A Caffeinated Christmas Miracle
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  • It’s About The Destination, Not The Journey

    | Ohio, USA |

    Customer: “Yeah, I went to order your cream online and there’s a problem. It asked for my name and address. I want to order anonymously.”

    Me: “Well, we would have to have your name and address to able to ship you anything.”

    Customer: “Why?

    Me: “We need to know where to ship it to.”

    Customer: “Really?!”

    Maybe He’s Italian?

    | Bay Area, CA, USA |

    Customer: “I’ll take a small cappuccino.”

    Me: “Sure. Anything else today?”

    Customer: “Just a small cappuccino.”

    Me: “Okay, I got that. May I have your name please?”

    Customer: “Small cappuccino.”

    Me: “No, sir, I need your name for the order so we can call it out when your order’s ready.”

    Customer: *tries to save face* “Err…Small Cappuccino. My name is Small Cappuccino!”

    It’s Not Like They’re Permanent Or Anything

    | Bristol, UK |

    (A walk in customer goes to sit in the tattoo chair, which is unusual before a consultation.)

    Me: “How are you today?”

    Customer: “Oh, a little nervous. This is my first tattoo.”

    Me: “There’s nothing to be afraid of. The process is generally more annoying than painful. What sort of design are we doing for you?”

    Customer: “Oh, I have to pick one?!”

    Name Brain Drain

    | United Kingdom |

    (A customer reads my name tag.)

    Customer: “That’s a strange name isn’t it?”

    Me: “Heh.”

    Customer: “How do you pronounce that? Tain-ee…Trenay? Seriously, what is that? Welsh? Irish?”

    Me: “Uhm…”

    Customer: “It sounds really exotic, really foreign.”

    Me: “No no, I am a Trainee. Trainee isn’t my name.”

    Customer: “Ohh, right. Well, thanks for the help, Train-ee!”

    Life’s A Beach

    | Australia |

    (Note: I work as a lifeguard at a beach.)

    Beachgoer: “Excuse me!”

    Me: “Hello, ma’am. How can I help you?”

    Beachgoer: “I just got cut by a rock in the beach.”

    Me: “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. Would you like to make a trip to first aid?”

    Beachgoer: “No, I would like to complain.”

    Me: “About what?”

    Beachgoer: “You work at the beach, right? You should make sure the sea is safe enough to swim in!”

    Me: “I’m sorry, but I don’t actually–”

    Beachgoer: “Nonsense! You should make sure there are no rocks! I want to talk to your manager!”

    (I call up my supervisor.)

    Supervisor: “Yes, what seems to be the problem?”

    Beachgoer: “I want to complain about your staff.”

    Supervisor: “Yes, what did they do?”

    Beachgoer: “She told me she can’t clean the sea of rocks. What if I get another injury?”

    Supervisor: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but it’s not her fault that there are rocks in the sea. If you want, we can treat your cut in first aid?”

    Beachgoer: “What kind of idiots are you? I want this beach cleaned! I am going to get the government on you! And I don’t want any stupid first aid, I am going to get you both arrested for my injury!”

    (She storms off, but not before showing both of us a tiny scratch on her foot. The government never called.)

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