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    Dysfunctional Doppelgangers

    , | Cooby, Australia |

    (An old, drunken man stumbles in to our fast food restaurant.)

    Me: “Hello, how are you tonight sir?”

    (He stumbles to the front counter, leans over, and stares intently at my name badge.)

    Me: “Umm, can I help you?”

    Drunken customer: *reads my badge* “Tahiiinaaa..”

    Me: “…yes?”

    Drunken customer: “That’s a really pretty name. I want your name. Sell me your name!”

    Me: “Sorry, I can’t sell you my name… do you want some chicken?”

    Drunken customer: “I. WANT. YOUR. NAME!”

    (Suddenly, the drunken guy lunges over the counter and rips my badge off of my shirt and runs out of the store laughing.)

    Me, to my manager: “I think I need a new shirt…”

    Too Much Information, Part 6

    | Delaware, USA |

    (I’m cleaning up several tables at a restaurant and overhear this conversation between three customers.)

    Female Customer #1: “…porn star. You can’t be shy about it! There’s not being shy if you’re just going to be a porn star, anyway.”

    Female Customer #2: “Yeah! What’re you working with, anyway?”

    Male Customer: *gets up and faces table, hands moving towards jeans*

    Me: *abandons tasks and leaves section immediately*

    Related:
    Way, Way, Way Too Much Information
    Way, Way Too Much Information
    Way Too Much Information
    TMI Redux
    TMI (Too Much Information)

    When In Rome (Or An Indian Restaurant)…

    | Southampton, UK |

    Me: “Did you enjoy your meal?”

    Customer: “No, the madras was hot.”

    Me: “Oh, I’m sorry it wasn’t to your liking, but madras is a hot dish.”

    Customer: “No, no it’s not. Madras is a mild dish. It’s mild.”

    Me: “Okay, but if I check with the chef, he’ll tell me we serve it as a hot dish.”

    Customer: “What would he know? He’s Indian! What would he know about curry?”

    Related:
    When In Rome (Or A Kosher Deli)

    Always Right, Especially When It’s Mom

    , | Buffalo, NY, USA |

    Coworker: “Guys! There’s a car pulled in backwards in the drive-thru. They’re backwards!”

    Backwards customer: “Hi, I just want a fish sandwich and a chocolate milk shake.”

    Coworker: “I’m sorry. We don’t have those items. Is there something else I can get you?”

    Backwards customer: “No, I just want a fish sandwich and a chocolate milk shake!”

    Coworker: “Ma’am, do you realize you’re at [Mexican fast food restaurant]? Would you like a taco?”

    Backwards customer: “Okay, okay, we’re kidding! Alice, this is your mom and Aunt Marie!”

    (I happen to be Alice. Family are the worst customers!)

    A Number 666 With A Side Of Brimstone

    , | Newfoundland, Canada |

    (After serving them their fast food, a woman with a family of six runs up to the counter, furious.)

    Customer: “You! You stacked our food wrong! Now my kids are crying!”

    Me: “Pardon?”

    Customer: “Come look!”

    (She brings me down to their table, where their three pre-teens are crying their eyes out and her husband looks incredibly frustrated.)

    Customer: “Look!”

    Me: “Ma’am, I don’t see anything wrong with your food–”

    Customer: “[Child #1] is supposed to eat first, but his food is on the bottom! We won’t be able to get it without moving the other things!”

    Me: “I don’t think I understand.”

    Customer: “He’s the first person on the left! He has to eat first, or Satan will claim his soul!”

    Me: “Uh…”

    (I decide to ask counter-clockwise around the table what everyone ordered, and hand them their food out off the pile.)

    Customer:, “Oh, thank you! You will serve as a warrior of God someday!”

    Me: “…right.”

    (That family still shows up once a month or so, and suffice to say, I always run out to see what order they’re sitting in before I serve their food.)


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