Me: “I’m sorry, it looks like we don’t have that book in stock. I can order it for you, though.”

Customer: “Oh, no. I don’t do that ordering stuff. I don’t give my credit card information out under any circumstances.”

Me: “Well, we process the orders through a register, so it’s actually just like making a regular purchase.”

Customer: “I already told you, no! I don’t do that ordering stuff! I’ll just get it online. That’s all!”

Me: “But buying it online IS ordering. You’re giving your credit card information out.”

Customer: *pats my shoulder* “Oh, dear, it’s totally different. You have so much to learn, don’t you? Now, have a nice day!”

Me: *speechless*

(Note: I am at work, doing dishes while my dad is waiting to hear back from the doctor with some very important test results.)

Me: *to coworker* “Do you mind if I go on break? I’m very worried about my dad and I would like to call and see how he’s doing. I’ve finished all the dishes.”

Coworker: “No.”

Me: “…Pardon?”

Coworker: “You’re not done with all the dishes.”

(She then smirks and throws a big pile of dishes on the floor.)

Coworker: “Well, what are you waiting for? Clean this up!”

(I clean all the dishes up and have a chat with my boss the next day. My coworker is fired. But, before she leaves, she defecates on my car and draws a picture of male genitalia with her own feces. She’s 45… much too old to be pooing on cars!)

(My store is often used to train new managers for other stores. We are currently training a manager who tends to micro-manage everything.)

Manager-in-training: “Alright, before we begin to cut down these boxes that we’re throwing away, let me instruct you on how to use a knife.”

Me: “It’s cool; I’ve been doing this for 3 years. I know how to use a knife.”

Manager-in-training: *ignores me* “Okay, when you use a knife, always make sure to point the knife AWAY from you!” *demonstrates*

Me: “You do know that I’m an Eagle Scout, right?”

Customer: “I’ll have two pounds of mac & cheese, 3 pounds of potato wedges, 2 pounds of boneless wings, and 10 cheese sticks. I also need 4 pounds of cooked ham, sliced on a #2.”

Me: “Alright! Having a party, huh?”

Customer: “No, this is for my dog.”

Me: *taken off-guard* “Oh…” *jokingly* “…well, is he having a party then?”

Customer:  “I don’t appreciate your tone!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. I was only kidding.”

(I fill her order in silence. After weighing the potato wedges, she says…)

Customer: “Can’t you go any faster?! The Duke will surely starve!”

Me: “I’ll do the best I can, ma’am.”

Customer: “Well, see that you do! My sweet doggie is hungry!”

(Meanwhile, a man walks up and begins talking to the customer while I finish her order. This takes about 10 minutes, as I have to cook more chicken. As I turn around from the meat slicer to give her the last bag of sliced ham, I see her walking away with the man. She has left her entire order on the counter.)

Me: “Ma’am! MA’AM! Your order, ma’am!”

Customer: “Oh, nevermind, dear! He brought me some dog food from the pet aisle!”

Me: *speechless*

(She wasted at least $40 worth of food!)

(My friend and I are waiting in line at a night club. A guy in front us presents his ID, but the bouncer isn’t buying it.)

Bouncer: “You can’t use this. It’s not a valid piece of ID.”

Guy: “Why not? It has my information on it.”

Bouncer: “First of all, it’s not government-issued. It looks like an employee ID. Second, do you seriously expect me to believe that this WHITE guy is you?”

(The photo on the ID clearly doesn’t match the guy, who is of Southeast Asian descent and is darker than the person in the photo.)

Guy: “Uhh… I’m a roofer. You gotta believe me, man! That’s me in the photo.”

Bouncer: “It’s almost October and we’re in Canada. That’s one h*** of a roofer’s tan you got there!”

Guy: “****!” *leaves the club*