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    How Gluttons Complain

    , | Oklahoma, USA |

    (I was a customer observing this in line, not the employee.)

    Woman Customer: “I’d like a hot fudge sundae.”

    (The worker makes a hot fudge sundae and presents it to customer.)

    Customer: *eats spoonful of sundae* “The ice cream is melting.” *eats another spoonful*

    Worker: “I’m sorry. It’s probably because there’s HOT fudge on top of it.”

    Customer: *spoonful* “The ice cream is too soft. *spoonful* I can’t eat this.” *spoonful*

    Worker: “I could try to remake it for you, or get you something else.”

    Customer, still chowing down: “This is just awful.”

    (The customer takes another spoonful–by this time about half the sundae is gone.)

    Customer: “How do you expect people to eat this *spoonful* when the ice cream is so soft? *spoonful* The ice cream should be hard!” *spoonful*

    Worker: “Would you like something else?”

    Customer: *spoonful spoonful spoonful* Don’t bother. Just throw it away. *spoonful*

    (The customer hands what little is left to the worker and stomps away indignantly, still complaining.)

    My wife, not very quietly: “What a b***h!

    Worker: *smiles at my wife*

    Size Does Matter

    , | San Antonio, TX, USA |

    (I used to work a fast food drive-thru window in which I met very strange and stupid people.)

    Me, through the drive-thru intercom: “Hi, welcome to ***, how may I help you?”

    Man, to one of his kids: “Pick something damn it! I don’t have all day for your sh*t.”

    Me: “Hey ease up, would you?”

    Man, speaking to me: “You little sh*t! You don’t know who you are messing with!”

    (The man speeds up to my window with an angry look on his face. I look at him: a 5’5″, overweight and balding guy. Then he looks at me: 6-foot, 300 pounds of muscle, bone, and a relatively small gut. His expression softens slightly.)

    Man: “…were you the one on the speaker?”

    Me: “Yeah, that was me.”

    Man: “How are you doing? It’s a great day today.”

    Me: *big smile* “How’s the kid doing?”

    Man: “Fine…you aren’t going to take my order, are you?”

    Me: “Nope. My manager has the other headset and he might’ve taken your order if you didn’t piss him off. Have a nice day.”

    (I worked at that place for 2 years and a month before I quit. I still have bad dreams about the place.)

    I Like My Chihuahuas Extra Hot

    , | Calgary, Alberta, Canada |

    (A well-known taco-based fast food joint sold toy chihuahuas that talked when you squeezed them.)

    Me: “Hi, welcome to Taco ***. My name is ***, may I take your order?”

    Lady: “What flavour do your chihuahuas come in?”

    Me: “…they’re toys, ma’am.”

    (And if that wasn’t enough, a few hours later another customer asked how much the talking chimichangas were.)

    Just Another Day In Stonerville

    | Chicago, IL, USA | Top

    I work at a gourmet sandwich company. We can make sandwiches for delivery, pickup, or sit-down. We often get calls from a lot of stoners that want their sandwiches delivered. Probably for “munchies.” It’s about 4pm on Saturday when I get this call.

    Me: “Welcome to Jimmy John’s, this is Molly. How can I help you?”

    Stoner 1: “Hey…yeah…”

    Me: “How can I help you today, sir?”

    Stoner 1: “What?”

    Me: “Would you like to order something?”

    Stoner 1: “Yes…”

    (After about two minutes of silence…)

    Me: “Hello? Are you still there, sir?”

    Stoner 1: “Yeah, I’m waiting for you to like, ask me what I want.”

    Me: “…Okay, what would you like?”

    Stoner 1: *tells me his order*

    Me: “Would you like anything else with that?”

    Stoner 1: “Yeah… get me a cookie.”

    (At this point, I hear a plethora of other stoners in the background.)

    Stoner 2: “Cookies!? Where?”

    Stoner 1: *laughing* “Dude, I’m on the phone with the cookie company!”

    (Now I can hear Stoner 2 grab the phone and he begins talking to me.)

    Stoner 2: “Hey, cookie company? Make that two cookies!”

    Stoner 3: “Four cookies! I want two!”

    Stoner 2: “SIX COOKIES!”

    Me *trying not to laugh* “Okay, sir, will that be all?”

    Stoner 2: “Yeahhhhhh.”

    Me: “Will that be for pickup or delivery?”

    Stoner 2: “Delivery…” *gives address*

    Stoner 1: “DUDE, WHAT IF SHE’S A NARC?”

    Stoner 2: “Sh*t! You know that address I just gave you? I lied about it!”

    (Now I decide to have a little fun with them, considering they wasted my time.)

    Me: “Okay, but as a little treat, I’m going to have it delivered anyway. My car will be the one with red and blue flashing lights that reads P-O-L-I-C-E on the side.”

    Stoner 2: “A car with lights? That’s awesome!”

    Stoner 1: “Dude, she means the police!”

    Stoner 2: “SH*T!” *click*

    (We ended up delivering to them anyway, because TECHNICALLY they never canceled their order. Our delivery guy came back with the full order, telling us that someone answered the door to tell him no one was home.)

    The Estrogen Empire Strikes Back

    , | Calgary, Alberta, Canada | Bigotry, Top

    (A customer had a complaint about his food. He refused to let the girl working the register help him.)

    Man: “I want to talk to a manager.”

    Female employee: “Yes, sir.”

    (The employee gets a Shift Manager to help her.)

    Shift Manager: “Can I help you, sir?”

    Man: “No, I want a manager!”

    Shift Manager: “I am a Shift Manager, sir.”

    Man: “I want to see the Store Manager!”

    Shift Manager: “Uhm, okay sir, I’ll be right back.”

    (I was in the office working on the crew schedules for the next week. Sara comes in and asks me to deal with the customer. She didn’t need to explain. I’d heard it all… he was very loud. I went to help deal with the situation.)

    Me: “Can I help you, sir?”

    Man: “I want to see a f**king God-da** Manager! Where’s the @#$%ing Store Manager?”

    Me: “I am the store Manager, Sir.”

    Man: “I want to speak to a male manager!”

    Me: “Sir, all of my Shift Managers are female. As, clearly, am I.”

    (Actually, every person working that day was female.)

    Man: “I demand to speak to your @#%^ @#$%$ #@$% boss!”

    Me: “I can get you a number so you can call my District Manager, sir. Will that be okay?”

    Man: “Finally! DO IT NOW!”

    Me: “Yes, sir. Just a second.”

    (I go into my office and grab one of the District Manager’s cards.)

    Me: “Here you are, sir. If you give HER a call, I’m sure SHE will be happy to help you.”

    (I thought he was going to have a heart attack after that. Purple was definitely not his color.)


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