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    Directionally Challenged

    | Chicago, IL, USA |

    Me: “Hello! How can I help you today?”

    Customer: “Yeah, I need a Whopper, two large fries, and a shake.”

    Me: “I’m sorry, sir, we don’t sell those here. Burger King is next door.”

    Customer: “OH!”

    (He walks into my dining room and promptly returns to the counter. He appears slightly confused.)

    Me: “Can I help you, sir?”

    Customer: “Yeah!¬†I thought you said Burger King was next door.”

    Me: “Yes sir, it is.”

    (I proceed to walk with him back to the dining room and point next door.)

    Me: “If you come back this way and go through our side exit, you can walk right over to Burger King.”

    Customer: “OH!”

    (I follow him back to the area near the side door and point him in that direction. He appears to be on his way to a Whopper, two fries and a shake when I hear our restroom door open and close. Sure enough, moments later he appears at my counter again.)

    Customer: “Why did you send me to the bathroom?!”

    Me: “I’m sorry, sir. Please follow me.”

    (I escort the gentleman out the side door and tell him Burger King is next door.)

    Customer: “OH!¬†Thank you!”

    (He starts walking toward the front of both my building and Burger King. I feel confident he is going to get there. I was wrong. He walks around my building and through the parking lot, and is last seen heading towards an empty lot and the railroad tracks.)

    What Planet Is She From, Because I Want To Live There

    | Davis, CA, USA |

    Me: “Hi, how are you doing today?”

    Customer: “I’d like a large coffee.”

    Me: “That’ll be $1.95.”

    Customer: “Oh, I don’t want to pay for it.”

    Me: *shocked* “Ma’am, this is a store. We sell things for money in order to make a profit.”

    Customer: *stares blankly*

    Me: “The coffee isn’t free.”

    Customer: “Can I have the coffee anyway, since you already poured it?”

    Me: “No. ”

    Customer: *looks at me for a moment and then walks away*

    Mom In A Thong: Wrong

    | Santa Cruz, CA, USA |

    Me: “Ma’am, you’re not allowed to have non-service dogs in the store unless you’re holding them.”

    Woman: “Oh, I know.”

    Me: “Well… I am going to have to ask you to keep the dog in your arms while you’re shopping.”

    Woman: “That’s fine. I just had to readjust my thong.”

    Woman’s young daughter: “MOM!!!!”

    Woman: “What? I wanted him to know.”

    Related:
    Way Too Much Information

    Talk To The Click

    | Clermont-Ferrand, France |

    (Having moved, I got a new phone number which previously belonged to a retail store in Clermont-Ferrand. I had already had a few calls for that store, so I knew the drill.)

    Woman: “Hello, is this ***? I would like to know until when you are open.”

    Me: “I’m sorry, you dialed a wrong number. *** doesn’t have this number anymore. I’m pretty sure they closed.”

    Woman: “That’s not my problem! You didn’t answer my question. When do they close?”

    Me: “No, seriously, you’re calling me at home here. I’m sure that if you look in the yellow pa–”

    Woman: “Now look here, young man! I don’t have all day. Do you live in Clermont-Ferrand?”

    Me: “Well, actually I do, but–”

    Woman: “THEN TELL ME WHEN *** CLOSES! GO LOOK IT UP OR SOMETHING!”

    Me: “Seriously?”

    Woman: *calmly* “Yes.”

    Me: “I’m hanging up now.”

    Woman: “WHAT? DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE TALKING TO–”

    Me: *click*

    Aaaa-men, Brotha

    | Kansas City, MO, USA |

    (When I was a teenager I worked in a skateboard shop in the mall. I was working with my buddy and we see a loud, filthy group of guys coming down the hall towards our store.)

    Loud, filthy customer #1: ¬†”You guys sell hackie sacks, the kind with sand in ‘em?”

    Me: ¬†”Yup, right there.” *pointing*

    Loud, filthy customer #2: “What’s the return policy?”

    Me: “Thirty days with a receipt.”

    Loud, filthy customer #2: ¬†”So, if I shoot this hackie sack with mah sawed-off 12-gauge and run it over in mah truck, you’ll still take it back?¬†HAW HAW!”

    Me: ¬†”Heh, no. Thanks, guys.”

    (They leave. All the while, my coworker has been there, arms crossed, not moving an inch, with a cold, dead, angry stare.)

    Coworker: ¬†”Cousins need to STOP f***ing.”

    (I’d never laughed so hard in my life.)

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