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Category: Rude & Risque

For those who like their humor a bit more PG-13, this section is littered with customers who are not afraid to walk on the more brazen side, or act downright gross-out disgusting. Be warned though that toilet humor sometimes literally takes place in the toilet.

Finally Gets The Massage Message

| South Bend, IN, USA | Rude & Risque

(We’ve had a man call several times trying to engage in sexual conversation.)

Man: “Do you carry massagers? Like personal massagers? The kind for female pleasure?”

Me: “Yes.”

Man: “Could you suggest one?”

Me: “I can not.”

Man: “Oh! Are you a virgin?”

Me: “No, I’m asexual.”

Man: “A… sexual?”

Me: “Yes, it means I get no pleasure from sexual stimulation, or even from talking to perverted men on the phone.”

Man: “Oh…” *click*

(He hasn’t called back.)

Maybe They Were Cream-Filled?

| OH, USA | Food & Drink, Rude & Risque

(We are having yard sale at our house, where I am selling all kinds of things including chocolate molds for making different types of chocolate candies. A very nice and friendly elderly lady approaches me to chat about them.)

Lady: “You know, I used to have to buy chocolate by the 100 lb. bag because I made and sold so much candy.”

Me: “Wow, sounds like you were pretty busy with it!”

Lady: “Oh, yes, I had a room in my home dedicated to it. Most of my customers were my coworkers at [Local Plant].”

Me: “How nice.”

(I’m trying to be polite but I’ve got to be available for others to ask questions or make purchases.)

Lady: “I used to make chocolate penises.”

Me: “How ni— Wait, what?”

Lady: “Penises. I made a birthday cake covered with chocolate penises for a coworker. It said, ‘here’s the beef!’ Ha! Penises! Can you imagine?”

Should Have Eaten Fear For Breakfast

| Portsmouth, VA, USA | Bizarre, Food & Drink, Rude & Risque

(An older male patron has started insisting that I (a young female) offer to buy him lunch earlier in the week. Every following day he would whisper a reminder in the form of a food order as he passed the reference desk.)

Me: “Good afternoon, sir”

Patron: “Chicken salad… Chicken Salad.”

Me: *nods head, a little creeped out*

(A patron walks past a few hours later to leave.)

Patron: *intensely whispers* “Two hotdogs from Dairy Queen.”

(They say nothing else. Later, I turn to my coworker:)

Me: “Why is it always me?”

Coworker: “They smell the fear… or your lunch.”