(A customer hands me the tickets to the horror/torture movie, ‘Hostel 2.’)
Employee: “I’m sorry sir, but this movie is R-rated and I’m afraid I can’t let your child in.”
Customer: *agitated* “Can’t you just let us in?”
Employee: “I’m sorry sir, but I’d lose my job if I did that. I CAN help you find another movie.”
(The customer then throws his $6 tub of popcorn in my face and all over the podium and walks off with his family. There’s good family values…)
This story is part of our “Bad Parents & R-Rated Movies” roundup!
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Kid: “Mommy! Mommy! I want those shoes!”
Mom: “Why do you want those shoes?”
Kid: “Because everyone else is wearing them.”
Mom: “Wouldn’t you want to get something different and be more original?”
Kid: “No… then I wouldn’t be original like everyone else!”
Bored Teen: “Yeah. I’m looking for this book, When I Drop Dead?”
Me: “I can’t seem to find it in the system. Do you know who the author is?”
Bored Teen: “I dunno. Flooker or Flocker or something.”
(A light goes on in my head.)
Me: “Do you mean AS I LAY DYING, by WILLIAM FAULKNER?”
Bored Teen: *explosive sigh* “Yeah. Whatever. That.”
Caller: “Hello, I’d like to report a ticket.”
Me: “I beg your pardon?”
Caller: “I want to report a speeding ticket.”
Me: “I don’t really have the ability to write tickets over the phone.”
Caller: “He’s speeding down the road; he must be doing 90 mph!”
Me: “Generally, at this time of day we have patrols on every major street.”
Caller: “I caught up to him and he is doing about 102. His license plate is [Plate Info].
(I pretend to write it down so I can end this phone call.)
Me: “Thank you, I’ll get right on mailing this–”
Caller: “Did it come up?”
Me: “Yes, it did.”
Caller: “What did it say?”
Me: “It says the car is stolen.” (It didn’t.)
Caller: “Oh, my god!”
Me: “And what is your driver’s license number?”
Caller: “Why do you need that?”
Me: “You are aware it is illegal to drive and talk on your cellphone, right?”
Caller: *click*
(I go to a table of four, a mom and dad and two kids who are ready to order.)
Husband: “How big are your pizzas?”
Me: “They are ten-inch pizzas, sir.”
Husband: “Well how big is ten inches?”
(And before I can answer, the wife chimes in.)
Wife: “You wouldn’t know anything about ten inches, dear.”
(I stood there for a moment with my mouth open, before I ran to the wait station and started laughing hysterically.)
This story is part of our Bickering Couple roundup!
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