*lady swipes her card*

Lady: “Which button do I press? Credit or debit?”

Me: “Is it a debit or credit card?”

Lady: “Credit.”

Me: *face meet palm*

Related:
It’s Not Exactly Rocket Science

Me: “We’ve got a special offer on chocolate at the moment, if you’re interested at all?”

Customer: “Chocolate?! You know what? I will have some. I hope you’re happy. I mean, honestly…why do you think I have a weight problem, let alone the rest of the world?”

Me: “Sir, I didn’t say you had to buy it…”

Customer: “Well no, you didn’t, but I’m not going to turn down a special offer, am I?”

Me: “Would you like me to offer you a health bar instead?”

Customer: “No, I’ll take two chocolate bars.”

Customer: “Do you have anything without calories?”

Me: “Not except water, no. But I can make the baked potato with chili beans with no butter, making it more low-fat than anything else you’ll be likely to find around here. ”

Customer: *rolls eyes* “Well, if that’s the best you can do…”

(A customer comes storming in a few days after a sale.)

Customer: “I want to speak to the person who sold me this!”

Me: “Actually, I believe that was me. I remember you.”

Customer: “No, it couldn’t have been you! The girl I spoke with had long hair!”

(I wordlessly take my hair out of the ponytail.)

Customer: “No, she was prettier than you are. I’ll come back tomorrow.”

(So, GTA4 came out recently… it never occurred to me how many people didn’t know roman-bloody-numerals.)

Customer: “I’d like to pre-order Grand Theft Auto Five.”

Me: “Four.”

Customer: “Four? No. I wanted Five. Four is old.”

Me: “Four is the one coming out in a week or so.”

Customer: “No it isn’t! It’s GTA Five you…” *mumbles*

Me: “Sir. That’s GTAIV. IV is Four. V is Five.”

Customer: “Well if you’re going to lie to me, I’m going to another store!” (…and he did.)

(Another occasion…)

Customer: “What is that… Grand Theft Auto Eye Vee…”

Me: “Four.”

Customer: “What?”

Me: “Grand Theft Auto Four.”

Customer: “I don’t understand.”

Me: “It’s like the Rocky Movies.”

Customer: “OH. Oh. I see now. Heh. Four.”

(And finally, the big day: GTA IV was due to be released at midnight. I lost all hope for humanity when a customer came in and paid off the game, then asked…)

Customer: “Excuse me, what’s midnight?”

(Confronted by a customer with an extremely high pitched voice and impenetrable Highland accent. This is one of those tiny old Scottish women with a headscarf nailed on and muscles like steel wires. They are a common sight in the East of Scotland, and are almost immortal. Only the slow action of the wind off the north sea will gradually erode them.)

Me: “That will be £***, please.”

Old Lady: “Areyenamerican?”

Me: “I beg your pardon?”

Old Lady: “Ah sid, are ye Namerican?”

Me: “I’m sorry, I missed that.”

Old Lady: “Are… ye… an… American?”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. I misheard you. No, I’m English.”

Old Lady: “Oh… why?”

(I have spent much of the last three years trying to come up with a satisfactory answer. As yet I have made no progress.)

Angry Old Woman: “Excuse me! I am very upset because you sold my young grandson pornography!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we don’t sell pornography.”

Angry Old Woman: “Get me the manager now!”

Manager: “What seems to be the problem, ma’am?”

Angry Old Woman: “Your pervert cashier sold my grandson pornography!”

Manager: “Are you sure about that? We don’t sell anything like that here.”

Angry Old Woman: “Do you think I’m stupid? I saw it with my own eyes! It had naked women and he told me he bought it here with no problem!”

Manager: “Could you show me on the shelf what it was?”

(She goes over to the magazines, and points at Maxim.)

Angry Old Woman: “It was this one! See right here! Where any child could see!”

Manager: “Ma’am, this magazine is not pornography. Granted, the women are scantily clad in a few pictures but they aren’t naked and there is no age restriction on its sale.”

Angry Old Woman: “I know pornography when I see it, and this is very offensive. How could you sell it to young children?”

Manager: “Well, actually our store policy dictates that we won’t sell this to a young child even though it is still legal. How old is your grandson?”

Angry Old Woman: “He’s only sixteen!”

Manager: *rolls eyes* “I don’t want to offend your moral beliefs, Ma’am, but if your sixteen year old grandson wants to look at women in bikinis there is no force on earth that is going to stop it, seriously.”

Angry Old Woman: “The power of Jesus can stop it! The power of Christ should compel you to remove this magazine from your shelves!”

Manager: “Right…real quick, ma’am, before I get back to work, can I ask you a question? Does your grandson have internet access?”

Angry Old Woman: “What does that have to do with anything?”

Manager: “A lot, and I think that the power of Christ should compel you to learn how to look up his browser history. Have a good day.”

Me: “Hi, did you need any help today?”

Customer: “Nope, I’m just looking.”

Me: “Alright, just tell me if you need anything.”

(The customer stops and looks at the rats.)

Customer: “DO PEOPLE EAT THOSE?”

Me: “N-no, no they don’t…”

Customer: “Oh, okay. Just wondering!”

Me: “…”

(I’ve just finished setting up this individual’s service call to get a technician out to his house. I flub a few words, because it’s 2 in the morning.)

Me: “So the technician will be out sometime between 8 and 6 pm next Tuesday, then.”

Customer: “Is this call center located in The United States of America?”

Me: “Actually, we’re outsourced. I’m in Canada.”

Customer: “BECAUSE IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA, 6 COMES BEFORE 8 YOU STUPID F**K. BE HAPPY THAT I DON’T DISCONNECT MY SERVICE FOR SOMETHING LIKE THIS, YOU G***D**N FOREIGNER!”

Me: “…thank you for calling, have a great day!”

Customer: *hangs up*

Server: “What can I get for you to drink today?”

Customer: “Diet Coke.”

Server: “Is Diet Pepsi okay?”

Customer: “No, I want Diet Coke.”

Server: “Well, we only carry Pepsi products.”

Customer: “Fine, then! I won’t drink anything!”

(Whatever floats your boat, lady. It doesn’t make any difference to me whether or not you drink something.)