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Category: Family & Kids

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That’s Stone-Cold Awesome

| Selma, NC, USA | At The Checkout, Awesome Customers, Family & Kids

(I’m ringing up a customer and he’s buying ten toy snakes, each at $1.)

Me: “I’m guessing you have a kid that really likes snakes?”

Customer: “No, my daughter has a school project and wants to make a Medusa wig.”

Me: “That’s the most amazing thing I have ever heard.”

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Safety Rules Don’t Go Down Swimmingly

| UK | Family & Kids

(We have a strict policy when it comes to the swimming pool: no under-eights without an adult. I work on reception and it is summer.)

Grandfather: “Could I have three juniors to swim, please?”

Me: “Of course. And how old are they?”

Grandfather: “Twelve, eight, and six.”

Me: “Then I am sorry. I cannot let the six-year-old swim without someone over 16.”

Grandfather: “But she can swim.”

Me: “Sorry, but that is our policy.”

Grandfather: *yells at me* “…call yourself a holiday resort!”

(As he walked off, I hear him tell his granddaughter that ‘the lady won’t let her in.’ Of course it had nothing to do with safety and the fact the grandfather was willing to let all his grandchildren swim with no supervision. It was all my fault.)

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Gotta Steal ‘Em All

| Canada | Criminal & Illegal, Family & Kids, Non-Dialogue, Pokemon

A coworker and I are working the evening shift along the back wall in a local big box store, which means we’re just cleaning up after a day’s worth of customers have gone through.

The seasonal department is right next to the toy aisles, and while straightening up a row of patio furniture displays, we find a pile of Pokémon cards and three foil wrappers. There should be 30 cards from those wrappers, and we usually find all of the cards, or none. Typically none. This pile has 28 cards. Someone found what they were looking for, apparently.

Fast forward 10-15 minutes, and we’re cleaning up toys. We happen to be standing across from the collector cards wall, and a little boy (six-ish?) comes around the corner. He pulls two Pokémon cards out of his pocket and starts gushing at us about his super cool Pikachu and his super cool Jolteon.

My coworker and I just stood there speechless. The kid’s mother came around the corner and told the kid to stop bothering “the workers.” Kid covertly slipped the cards back in his pocket. The mother had no idea.

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Three Thinking

| Long Island, NY, USA | Family & Kids, Liars & Scammers

(The aquarium that I work at offers daily passes as well as yearly passes. You have the option to upgrade from a daily pass to a yearly pass at the end of your visit with a copy of your receipt. Also, we do not charge for children that are two and under.)

Customer: “I would like to upgrade to the yearly pass.”

Me: “Sure, we have a couple of options. Here is a form with the types of memberships we offer.”

(I go over the various types we have and we find a plan that suits her family.)

Me: “Okay, I just need you to fill out the bottom half with your name as well as the children’s names and their dates of births.”

Customer: “Uh… why do you need their birthdays? That’s not important.”

Me: *confused* “Well, we need it to make sure we don’t charge you for an extra child because I see on your receipt here that you have a child that is under three.”

Customer: “To be honest, I lied about that. He’s three, but I didn’t want to pay for him.”

Me: “…”

Coworker: “…”

Customer: “I’m sure people do this all the time…”

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Sadly She’s Not As Bright As The Puke

| Victoria, BC, Canada | Family & Kids, Health & Body, Non-Dialogue

I’m pushing my broom around and find a giant splat of brilliant orange vomit in children’s apparel. I don’t begrudge the customer for leaving without asking for a clean-up. If I had a sick child, my first priority would be his or her care, too. I’m simply impressed at how bright the vomit’s orange is. Picture a diet of nothing but cheesy-poofs and orange pop spilled onto a floor as white as a blank webpage.

Well, admiration never fixed anything. I stick a ‘wet floor’ sign on either side on the cosmic impact, blocking as short a section of aisle as I can, and off I go to get the mop.

It turns out it’s way over in Photography. (This is in the dark ages before everyone had a digital camera or camera-phone. Yes, even before fail compilations, back when the chief after-school amusement was throwing rocks at sabretooth cats. We lost a lot of good friends that way… turns out the cats don’t like having rocks thrown at them.) So, a bit delayed, I hurry back with a mop and bucket.

A woman has moved my wet floor signs and pushed her cart straight through the large splatter of cartoonishly bright vomit.

She’s moseyed right through the lumpy middle of it, taking little slow steps to maximize the number of disgusting footprints she is now leaving behind. All four of her cart’s wheels are leaving matching snail trails, too.

Big problems first: I tackle the chief splatter, with step one being to put the ‘wet floor’ signs back where I left them. Barf Lady gives me a stink-eye every now and again while I work. (Perhaps I’m supposed to apologize for failing to nail the signs in place?)

Eventually, I reach the last step: mopping up Barf Lady’s trail. She’s moving slowly enough that I catch up and start swiping up the prints as soon as she and her shopping cart wheels leave them. We make eye contact once, so I smile sheepishly and apologize, as if her inability to avoid tracking puke around is somehow my fault.

She says nothing, does nothing, except to sneer a little harder and turn wordlessly back to the tiny, adorable outfits hanging up — none of which she takes and most of which were still accessible before she moved the signs. Indeed, I plunk the signs as close to the vomit as I can precisely to avoid tempting customers into the splash zone.

Things are pretty awkward, but if I go do the stuff I’m supposed to be doing, Barf Lady’s pumpkin-coloured tracks will get stepped in and tracked all over. Instead, I keep mopping up her mess as she makes it, getting stink-eyes until her shoes and cart wheels mercifully run out. Then I rush off to resume the set list.

Boss was not pleased that I dropped my list to clean up the nuclear mess, but at least she didn’t mention a complaint from a customer. Perhaps Barf Lady was too stupid to lodge one, as well as too stupid to avoid stepping in a giant blast of technicolour puke?

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