Cute As The Dickens, Dumb As A Box Of Rocks

I ordered a copy of “Bleak House” by Charles Dickens from a local bookstore because I wanted a certain edition. When it arrived, I went by to pick it up and had this conversation with the cashier.

Cashier: “Oh, I saw this book on the hold shelf. It’s big.”

Me: “Yeah, I needed this edition.”

Cashier: “Charles Dickens is the guy who wrote Moby Dick, right?”

Me: *Pauses* “No.”

Cashier: “Oh, I guess I’ve never heard of him.”

Me: “Everyone’s heard of Charles Dickens. Even if you’ve never read him, you’ve heard of some of his stuff.”

Cashier: “Really?”

Me: “Yeah, he wrote A Christmas Carol, Oliver Twist, A Tale of Two Cities…”

Cashier: “Ohhhhh… Did he also write The Count Of Monte Cristo?”

Me: “What?”

Cashier: “Well, that one’s big, too.”

Me: “Please stop. One, you’re embarrassing yourself, and two, you work in a bookstore; you need to educate yourself.”