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  • Clothes By Any Other Name

    , | Tacoma, WA, USA |

    (I’m folding shirts at the front of the store when an older man approaches me looking flustered.)

    Me: “Hello. How can I help—”

    Customer: “Where do you keep your Levi’s?”

    Me: “Excuse me? This is a [brand name store].”

    Customer: “Yes. Of course it is. I’m not an idiot. I just want to know where your Levi jeans are!”

    Me: “Sir, I’m sorry, but we only carry our [store name] jeans because we are a [brand name store]. We don’t carry Levi’s.”

    Customer: *looking confused and a little angry* “That’s nonsense! Where can I get some then?”

    Me: “Well, large chain stores sometimes carry them. You can try Fred Meyer, Target, or Costco.”

    Customer: “Outrageous! I came here to this store specifically to get Levi’s!” *storms off*

    The Elephant In The Room

    | Fergus, ON, Canada | Bizarre

    (An older customer brings up washer fluid.)

    Me: “Hi, sir, will this be all?”

    Customer: “Yes.” *whispers* “It’s good for keeping the elephants away.”

    Me: “Oh…well, have a nice day!”

    Now Accepting Immigrants From Femmerica

    | Marion, IA, USA | Bigotry, Top

    (I’m sweeping when an older gentleman comes up. Note that I’m female.)

    Customer: “It’s good to see you doing that.”

    Me: “Oh…um…thank you.”

    Customer: “So many of you young ladies these days are d*** fem’nists.”

    Me: “Actually, sir, I am a feminist. It’s just a little dirty, so I need to clean up.”

    Customer: “You d*** fem’nists! Taking jobs from real ‘Mericans who need jobs.”

    Me: “Sir, I was born in this country. I’m a third-generation American. Being a feminist makes me no less American than you. I just support women’s rights.”

    Customer: “That ain’t ‘Merican! Women ain’t ‘Merican!”

    Me: *speechless*

    Weeding Out The Dumb Ones

    | South Dakota, USA | Criminal/Illegal, Top

    (We are a fair trade store and, as such, sell items such as incense and incense burners. We are sometimes mistaken for a “head shop”. We also rent kayaks in the summer.)

    Customer: *looking over his shoulder a few times* “Where is your ‘special merchandise?’”

    Me: “Sir?”

    Customer: “You know…” *winks* “…your ‘back room stuff.’”

    Me: “Sir, we don’t have anything in a back room. All of our stock is out on the floor.”

    Customer: *pointing to the kayak storage room* “Then, what’s in there?”

    Me: “That’s our kayak room.”

    Customer: *knowing look* “Oh…your ‘kayak room’. Can I see your ‘kayak room?’”

    Me: “Sure!”

    (He walks back, opens the door, walks in. I can hear him moving things around for a few minutes before he returns with a confused look on his face.)

    Customer: “There’s kayaks in there!”

    Me: “Yep.”

    Customer: “Where’s the weed?”

    Me: “Bye, now!”

    Something Smells Fishy, Part 2

    | Canton, MI, USA | Pets & Animals

    (I’m working in the pet department, cleaning out the dead fish in the tanks. A small girl, probably about 5 or 6, approaches me.)

    Girl: “Are you taking care of the fish?”

    Me: “Yes, I am.”

    Girl: *noticing the dead fish* “There’s a dead fish in there!”

    Me: “Yeah, I’m taking care of the dead fish.”

    Girl: “What are you doing with the dead fish?!”

    Me: “No, I’m—”

    Girl: “STOP KILLING ALL THE FISHES!”

    (Thankfully, the mother comes and grabs her, apologizes profusely, and quickly walks away.)

    Related:
    Something Smells Fishy

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