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Should Have Vetted The Owners First

| Newport Beach, CA, USA | Right | December 27, 2013

(I’ve just graduated and I can’t find a job. My older brother is a veterinarian, and gets me a temp job at the animal clinic where he works. On my sixth day, when my brother has the day off, a client walks in with her dog. She cuts about eight people to the front.)

Client: “My dog is sick! I need to see the doctor!”

Me: “Okay. Do you have an appointment?”

Client: “H***, no! I thought walk-ins were welcomed.”

Me: “Yes. They are. Is this your first time here, or is your dog already in our system?”

Client: “Of course I’ve been here! You must be stupid because this is, like, my 100th time here. My name is [Client] and my dog is Puddles.”

Me: “And what seems to be the problem with Puddles?”

Client: “I just told you! Don’t you f****** listen? He is f****** sick!”

(By now everyone in the waiting room is looking at us. Feeling a bit embarrassed at being cussed at, I don’t ask her anymore questions. I hand her a form.)

Me: “All right. Just fill out this form and a doctor will be with you in about 20 to 30 minutes.”

Client: “What! Why can’t I see the doctor now?! My dog sick and he is going to die!”

(I look at the dog. He is wagging his tail and eating the free doggy treats we have out.)

Me: “I’m sorry. Since you don’t have an appointment, you’ll have to wait. We have about eight other walk-ins still waiting with their pets.”

Client: “Is Dr. [Brother] here? He’s the guy I always see. Just tell him I’m here.”

Me: “Uh, no. That particular doctor has the day off. You’ll have to wait for Dr. [Name]. She’s the only doctor in today.”

Client: “What?! I’m not going to wait in this f****** line! My dog is going to die and if he does I’m going to sue you for everything you got.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to wait like everyone else.”

Client: “Don’t you know who I am?”

Me: “Yes. You are [Client] and that is Puddles.”

Client: “You little b****! I am Dr. [Brother]’s girlfriend, which makes me like family. I get to see the doctor first, before any of these people.”

(I kind of giggle inside, because my brother is gay. He took the day off for his sixth year anniversary with his boyfriend.)

Me: “Oh. Are you a girl that is his friend or his romantic girlfriend?”

Client: “I’m his romantic girlfriend.”

Me: “Oh… But you’re still going to have to wait.”

Client: “Are you deaf or something? I told you I’m Dr. [Brother]’s girlfriend. You have to do what I say or I can have him fire you! You’re just jealous that I’m dating him and you’re too ugly for him to look at.”

Me: “Okay. First, Dr. [Brother] is my brother, so I don’t find him attractive in that sense at all. Second, my brother is GAY! He came out in college. So if you don’t have a wiener dog down there, I don’t think my brother would be very interested in you!”

Client: “You little c***! I’m his girlfriend and I’m going to tell him to fire you!”

Me: “If you’re his girlfriend, when is his birthday?”

Client: “I don’t have to tell you! You’re probably in love with him, you w****!”

(By now everyone is listening in on our conversation. There is a man in the walk-in line with a German Shepard. He comes up to the woman and tells her to back off and wait in line like everyone else.)

Client: “Who the h*** are you? You can’t tell me what to do? Who the f*** do you think you are?”

Man: “I am a sheriff’s deputy, ma’am. You’ve been harassing this woman for the past 10 minutes. She can file harassment charges on you and I will be her witness.”

Client: “F*** you all. I’m never coming back here ever again!”

(She came back the next day. My brother told her he will not be Puddles’ doctor anymore, and that, in fact, he is gay and not her boyfriend.)

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Only Slipping On The Truth

| New York, NY, USA | Right | December 27, 2013

(It is about 11 pm in a grocery store. I am the supervisor on duty. It is just me, cleaning the customer service counter, and one cashier working a register. An elderly customer ambles up to the checkout lane.)

Cashier: “Hey, ma’am. How are you tonight?”

Customer: “Oh, I’m just- AHHHHHHHH!” *waves her arms dramatically and hops backwards.* “Oh, my gosh, honey. There’s a HUGE puddle of water there! Oh, I slipped. I think I hurt something! Oh, my hip!”

Cashier: “Really? Are you okay?”

Customer: “Oww, my hip! Oh, I think I strained something! Get me your manager right now!”

(The cashier pages the manager to the register.)

Manager: “Oh, my goodness, ma’am. What happened?!”

Customer: “There was a huge puddle of water! I slipped and I hurt my back! Oh, gosh. It hurts!”

Manager: *to cashier, who is wiping the floor with paper towels that are remaining suspiciously dry* “Ring up her groceries for me, please.” *to the customer* “Here, ma’am. Have a seat. Please, tell me exactly what happened.”

Customer: “Oh, there was all this water, and I slipped like this.”

(The customer makes exaggerated lunges, trying to demonstrate how she fell.)

Customer: “Oh, it was awful. My hip hurts! Oh, I threw out my back! Oh, it hurts!”

(The customer makes more movements an injured person would be quite incapable of making.)

Customer: “I’ll be contacting my lawyer!”

Manager: “I see. Here’s my store and my personal information. Please give me yours as well, and we’ll be in touch. I’m terribly sorry about this. I hope you make it home alright.”

(The customer ambles out to her car, shouting ‘oh, my back!’ the entire way.)

Manager: “I need written statements from both of you. Good thing we have this on camera.”

Cashier: “Do you think she’ll sue?”

Manager: “I hope so. I’m putting her a** in jail if she does.”

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Post Credit Marvels

| Rochester, NY, USA | Right | December 27, 2013

(The credits are rolling after “Thor: The Dark World.” One post-credits scene has already played, but there has been word that there is another. Half of the theater seems to be unaware and begins filing out. The patron in front of me begins to shout.)

Patron: “There’s one more!”

(People continue filing out.)

Patron’s Friend: “That was my ear!”

Patron: “Well, get your ear out of the way! Really, there’s one more!”

(Those who have decided to leave continue to do so.)

Patron: “Seriously, I’m not Loki! There’s ONE MORE!”

(People are still leaving.)

Patron: “ENJOY IT ON YOUTUBE!”

(Sure enough, there is one more cut scene after the credits. Sir, thank you for your valiant efforts to warn the masses!)

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Should Take A Brake From Driving

| Kennewick, WA, USA | Right | December 27, 2013

(Whenever we have a child that seems to be too short to ride the go-karts, we tell the parents we need to size them on one of the karts. Doing so with her mother watching over my shoulder, this little girl is barely too short to press the brake pedal hard enough.)

Me: “I’m sorry. She’s not quite tall enough. She can reach the gas, but can’t press the brakes hard enough.”

Mother: “So…?”

Me: “I can’t let her ride.”

Mother: “But she can press the pedals. Yes?”

Me: “Yes, but she can’t press the brake pedal hard enough to engage it. It takes a bit of pressure.”

Mother: “So why can’t she go? If she can press the pedals, then she can make the kart go.”

Me: “Yes… but she couldn’t get the brakes to work.”

Mother: “But she can go! So what if she doesn’t press the brakes enough?”

Me: “…she won’t be able to slow or stop without them.”

Mother: “Oh! That’s what that does?”

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Extra Small Minded

| Calgary, AB, Canada | Right | December 27, 2013

(I work for a very well-known clothing store that caters to plus sized women. The smallest size is 14W. A very skinny woman walks into the store.)

Me: “Hi, there! How can I help you today? Are you shopping for a gift?”

Customer: “No. I am shopping for myself today.”

Me: “Alright. Just so you know, we are a size 14+ store. We do have some nice accessories. May I help you find anything?”

Customer: “No. I just want to look around.”

(The customer wanders off. I start puttering around, cleaning some things, as we are slow. A few minutes later I notice her holding a top and wandering around looking a bit confused.)

Me: “Hey. Is there anything I can help you find?”

Customer: “Where are your smaller sizes?”

Me: “I’m sorry. As I mentioned earlier the smallest size we carry is 14 wide, or extra large.”

Customer: “But where are the SMALLER sizes?”

Me: “Again, I’m sorry. We do not carry small sizes.”

Customer: “Yes, yes. But where do you keep the smaller sizes?”

Me: “Miss, I’m sorry. I don’t know how else to explain this to you. [Store] is plus-sized retail chain. We make clothes for women who look like me.”

(I gesture to my size 24 figure. All of a sudden a look of realization comes into the woman’s eyes. She looks around as if seeing the other employees, customers, and myself for the first time.)

Customer: “Wait. This is a store for FATTIES?”

(The customer drops the shirt she’d been holding as if it’s going to burn her and storms out. I just stand there, totally stunned. A few customers shoot the skinny woman dirty looks.)

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