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    Make A Pesto Oneself

    | Italy | Top

    (I am a 17 year old girl working at a pizzeria. A tourist who looks about forty approaches me, looking angry.)

    Tourist: “How dare you sell this food in an Italian restaurant!”

    Me: “Sir, I’m not entirely sure what you mean.”

    Tourist: “This food! Don’t you know that pizza and ice cream are American? How dare you take credit for what we have done! This is ridiculous! I am going to sue you!”

    Me: “Sir, that really isn’t necessary. I–”

    Tourist: “Don’t you take that tone with me! Stop sounding all professional! It’s annoying!”

    Me: “Sorry, sir, you-”

    Tourist: “Shut up! This food is American! How dare you be so racist against Americans!

    Me: “Sir, I am originally American, so why would I–”

    Tourist: “This food is American!”

    Me: “Sir, I–”

    Tourist: “American!”

    Me: “Ask anyone anywhere. Look it up on the Internet, even. I assure you that all this food is Italian.”

    Tourist: “The customer is always right!” *storms off*

    (I continue to serve customers. 25 minutes later he comes in again.)

    Tourist: “Yeah, so I looked it up. Turns out it was Italian. Uh, so can I have your number?”

    The Customer Is Always Right (And Regular)

    | Pennsylvania, USA |

    Coworker: “Hello, how may I help you?”

    Caller: “I just called and made an order for delivery, but please tell the driver to wait. I have to go have bowel movements.”

    Coworker: “Um, sure thing, ma’am.”

    (About 10 minutes go by…)

    Me: “Hello, how may I help you?”

    Same customer: “You can tell the driver he can bring my food to me now. I’m done with my bowel movements.”

    A Misunderstanding Of Pi

    , | Howard Beach, NY, USA |

    Me: “Hello, can I help you?”

    Customer: “Yeah, I’d like a large pepperoni pie and a bottle of [soda] delivered to [address].”

    Me: “Okay, your total is ***. That’ll be about a half hour. Is that all?”

    Customer: “Oh, also, how much extra would it cost to have my pie be 16 slices instead of 8? Because I’m really hungry tonight.”

    Allergic To Honesty

    , | Duluth, MN, USA |

    Me: “Hello, thanks for calling [pizza place] how may I help you?”

    Customer: “I ordered a pizza and it has green peppers and mushrooms on it.”

    Me: “Oh, I’m sorry, but it says here that’s what you ordered.”

    Customer: “No! I am allergic to green peppers! Why would I order something I’m allergic to?”

    Me: “Alright, I understand. What did you intend to order?”

    Customer: “Ham and pepperoni.”

    Me: “Okay, we’ll have that out to you right away. Just make sure to give us the other pizza when we get there, okay?”

    Customer: “I can’t.”

    Me: “Why not?”

    Customer: “I ate it already.”

    Pepperoni Extremism

    | Georgia, USA |

    (I’ve just finished giving a guy his pizza when he notices my car in the driveway.)

    Customer: “That your car?”

    Me: “Yes, it is. You like it?”

    Customer: “Yeah! Mind if I go look at it?”

    Me: “Sure. I’ll show you around it.”

    (We get there and he studies the decals in my window. I have an “Obama ’08″ button on the back of my headrest.)

    Customer: *gasps* “Are you a terrorist?”

    Me: “What?”

    Customer: “Don’t play dumb with me! You’re a terrorist!”

    Me: “What are you talking about?!”

    Customer: “You’re a terrorist and you voted for a terrorist for president!”

    Me: “Sir, I can assure you that our president is not a terrorist.”

    Customer: “But he is! He’s not American! He’s an illegal immigrant!”

    Me: “Sir, why would we have an illegal immigrant terrorist as president if the government were on his side?”

    Customer: *gasps again* “You’re right! Everyone’s a terrorist!”

    Me: “No, no, no! They’re not terrorists!”

    Customer: “You’re on their side?! Don’t kill me!”

    Me: *giving up* “Yes, I’m a terrorist.”

    (The customer screams and runs inside. A few moments later, the pizza falls out a second story window.)

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