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    Mission: Impossible, Part 2

    | Richmond, KY, USA |

    (An elderly man comes into the store and buys two cigars, I place them in a bag and try to hand him his receipt.)

    Elderly Man: “I don’t want that.”

    Me: “Oh, okay. I’ll just throw it away for you.”

    Elderly Man: “Don’t do that I need it!”

    Me: “Here you are then.” *trying to hand it back*

    Elderly Man: “What am I suppose to do with it?!”

    Me: “You said that you needed it.”

    Elderly Man: “I do! But where in the hell am I suppose to put it!”

    Me: “Your wallet or your pocket, maybe?”

    Elderly Man: “It will get mixed up with everything else and I’ll have to dig it out and throw it away when I get home! I don’t want it!”

    Me: “So you want me to throw it away for you?”

    Elderly Man: “No, I need it to show my wife!”

    Me: *confused* “Do you want it in your bag?”

    Elderly Man: “Well that’s what it’s for, isn’t it–to carry things? What’s wrong with you trying to hand someone a receipt? Where the hell would they put it?!”

    (I placed his receipt in his bag and he left muttering about me. He became a regular after that, and never again did I hand him a receipt.)

    Mission: Impossible

    Oooh, A Different Top

    , | Corbin, KY, USA |

    (The company was running a coupon special for 20% off one item ONE COUPON PER PERSON. This one heavily made-up woman caused problems at every coupon sale I ever worked there and this time was no different. She made one purchase and then this happened.)

    Woman: “How many of these can I use?”

    Me: “It’s one per person, so no more today, but there is another coupon for tomorrow so you can come back and use one then.”

    Woman: “What if I send my husband in? Can he use one?”

    Me: “Yes ma’am. He is a different person so that’s fine.”

    Woman: “Well, how many can he use?”

    Me: “One. It’s one per person.”

    Woman: “What if I buy something else?”

    Me: “Well you can buy whatever you want, but you can’t use another coupon. It’s one person for the whole day, not one per transaction.”

    Woman: “What if I leave and come back in?”

    Me: “You’re still the same person.”

    Woman: “What do you mean? I’ll have left and come back.”

    Me: “Well our doors are not equipped to change your genetic make-up upon entry, so you would still be the same person.”

    (The woman stormed off, then returned 20 minutes later wearing a different top. For some reason she decided to come through my lane again. I refused to let her use it, so she screamed at me and my manager. Eventually she just wadded up the coupon, hit my manager in face with it, and ran off cursing…only to return the next morning and repeat the scenario.)

    A Bad Day To Be A Pair Of Jeans

    , | Corbin, KY, USA | Health & Body, Top, Wild & Unruly

    (It was about 5 minutes to closing on a Saturday night and we had maybe 5-6 employees working all female. A new bar had just opened next door, and a drunk man wandered in.)

    Drunk Man: “I need to buy some matches.”

    Me: “I’m sorry sir. We don’t sell matches–only clothes.”

    Drunk Man: “Well, then sell me a lighter. I need a cigarette.”

    Me: “I’m sorry, sir. We don’t sell lighters or matches, just clothes.”

    Drunk Man: “D*mn it, just give me one.”

    Me: “I don’t have one, sir, or trust me I would.”

    Drunk Man: “You lying b**ch! Give me a f**king match you b**ch!”

    Me: “Sir, you need to leave or I’m calling the police. We don’t have lighters or matches. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”

    Drunk Man: “I’ll get it myself!”

    (He storms off toward the men’s department. I call my co-worker in that department, then call the manager to give them a heads up. A few minutes later the man goes running out (empty handed) and my co-worker is racing after him. She grabs my phone and starts screaming over the intercom for our manager. I asked her what happened.)

    Coworker: “He pissed all over the Levis!”

    He Wants The Internets

    , | Calgary, Alberta, Canada |

    Me: “Hey, my name is ***, what can I do for you?”

    Old Man: “My great-grandson was telling me about this really neat thing on his computer. I would like to buy it.”

    Me: “So your nephew has this ‘thing’…what does it do?”

    Old Man: “Well, he was showing me videos and we played a few puzzles. I was also able to check my lottery numbers.”

    Me: “Oh, the internet…you’re just looking to hook up the internet in your house?”

    Old Man: “Yes, I would like to buy the internet.”

    Me: “Um, well you don’t purchase the actual internet. It’s kinda like paying your phone bill. You pay them and they give you phone services.”

    Old Man: “I know how a telephone works! Would you like to make some commission on this internet sale or should I take my business elsewhere?”

    Me: “Sir, I don’t think you understand. You need to call Shaw, Telus, or Rogers and they will come hook up your internet. It’s not a physical thing.”

    Old Man: “I am writing to the Better Business Bureau and reporting this incident to your manager. I know what the internet is, WalMart has it! I’m going to take my purchase to them!”

    He Wants The Google
    She Uses The Google

    Da, Is Union of Soviet Socialist Retirees

    | Panama City Beach, FL, USA | Bigotry, Geography, Wild & Unruly

    (I work every summer in a beach shop in Florida. One morning a man had come in and bought a beach chair, and returned after a few hours with his family.)

    Customer: “I would like to return this chair.”

    Me: “Of course. Do you have a receipt?”

    Customer: “No, I just went to the beach. Why would I keep the receipt?”

    Me: “Is there a reason why you are returning the chair?”

    Customer: “It’s broken.”

    (The chair was soaked with water, coated with sand, and has a hole in the seat from what looks like a footprint on the cushion.)

    Me: “I am sorry sir, but we cannot accept used, broken items for return.”

    Customer: “What! I didn’t break it!”

    Me: “I am sorry sir, but without a receipt it still cannot be returned.”

    Customer: “Son of a b*tch! You hear that kids? This Russian b*tch is going to f*ck up our vacation!”

    Me: “…Russian? I live here.”

    Customer: “Don’t lie to me! I hear that accent.”

    Me: “…What accent?”

    Customer: “THERE! You just did it. No one talks like that in the Northeast.”

    Me: “…I’m a Southerner. You’re in the South.”

    Customer: “Whatever, you piece of racist sh*t!”

    (The man left only after he threw the chair at a clothes rack. Quite the job experience for a 15 year old.)

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