Rated I For Immature

| Poughkeepsie, NY, USA | Uncategorized

(I’m working the Black Friday shift from 11:30 PM to 8:15 AM. A customer hands me Call of Duty Modern Warfare 3. It has an M rating, so I ask to see her ID.)

Customer: “What, I don’t look 17?”

Me: “It’s not that, ma’am. I can’t continue ringing you out until I have a valid ID to scan. It’s the law.”

Customer: “Oh my God! Can’t you just say I have the ID?”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I need to scan it. I can’t get past this screen until I do.”

Customer: “Well, figure it out! My ID is in my wallet, which is out in the car. I’m not going back out to get it!”

(I try a few other methods, but it still won’t let me get past the screen. I explain this to the customer. She’s made such a ruckus that other customers are starting to take notice.)

Customer: “Then take it off! I don’t want to buy it! This is f***ing ridiculous. I want to talk to your manager!”

(I call my manager over.)

Manager: “She’s following what she was trained for, ma’am. I can overwrite the screen, but please don’t harass our employees for doing their job. It makes HER look like the mature adult here. And, next time, remember your wallet and ID, so you don’t look like the dumb one at the register!”

Customer: *huffs, pays for her things, and walks out*

A-tip-ical Aging

| Mountain View, CA, USA | Awesome Customers, Food & Drink, Top

(I’m a woman and manager at a sausage/beer stand. I card everyone that orders beer, regardless of how old they look. Some customers get insulted, while others don’t mind. Note: I look at least 10 years younger than my actual age.)

Me: “Hi, how can I help you?”

Customer: “I’d like two beers, polish, and a coke.”

Me: “May I see some ID, please?”

Customer: “I’m waaay older than you. How old do I look?”

(He looks in his mid-30s, so I guess much earlier in age.)

Me: “Uh, 24?”

Customer: “Haha! NO!”

(He shows me his ID, and his birth date makes him over 35.)

Me: “Wow, you don’t look it.”

Customer: “How old are you?”

Me: “I’m 47.”

Customer: *skeptically* “Sure… you can’t be any older than 30. Okay, show me YOUR ID.”

Me: “Okay…”

(I pull out my ID. Much to his surprise, he sees I’m older than he is.)

Customer: “HOLY S***! WOW! You look great! Good genes, huh?”

Me: *smiling* “Yeah, something like that…”

(He pays for his order, but also puts an additional $10 bill on the counter.)

Customer: “This tip is for putting up with me!”

(Made my night!)

Contraception Misperceptions

| Oslo, Norway | Extra Stupid, Health & Body

(I am a pharmacist working at 24-hour pharmacy. This takes place on a late Sunday evening.)

Female Caller: “Hello, um… I… um… you know the morning after pill?”

Me: “Yes, certainly. What would you like to know about it?”

Female Caller: “Is there an anti-morning after pill?”

Me: “Sorry? An anti-morning after pill?”

Female Caller: “Yes. You see, this guy, he came around today, and he brought some flowers and everything, so now I’m kind of regretting taking that pill. So is there an anti-morning after pill I could take?”

Me: “No, I’m sorry, there isn’t such a thing.”

Female Caller: “Oh, that is a shame. Do you think they will make one?”

Me: “No, I’m sorry, but I really don’t think they will.”

Female Caller: “Really? Oh, that is a bummer.” *hangs up*

Parlez-vous Down Under

| California, USA | Geography, Language & Words

(I’ve just finished ringing up a customer. Note that I have a very noticeable Australian accent, as I am from Australia.)

Me: “Have a nice day!”

Customer: “You too! By the way, I’m surprised, your English is really good!”

Me: “Er… thanks?”

Customer: “No, really! I mean it! If it weren’t for your accent, I’d have no idea you were French!”

Me: “Um… actually, I’m from Australia.”

Customer: “Oh, nonsense! I know a French accent when I hear one! Come on, say something in French!”

(To humor her, I make up some random sounds that vaguely sound like French, as I do not actually speak French.)

Customer: “See! I knew you were French! So what does that mean?”

Me: “It means, ‘I don’t speak any French because I’m not from France.'”

Customer: “Oh, you! You French have such great senses of humor!”

The Proof Is In The Toppings

| Georgia, USA | Food & Drink, Top

(I’m working at a popular sandwich chain during a busy dinner rush. Two men, one of which is much older than the other, approach the counter. The younger man orders two footlongs while the older one hangs back, so I figure they are for the both of them. After I finish, I attempt to move on to the next customer.)

Older Customer: “EXCUSE ME, are you just gonna f***in’ skip me?”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought your order was finished. What can I get for you?”

Older Customer: “I want two footlong clubs on white bread, double meat.”

(I get the bread out, cut it, and realize that the kind of sandwich he requested has slipped my mind.)

Me: “Sir, can you remind me what kind of sandwiches you wanted?”

Older Customer: “I JUST f***in’ told you.”

Me: “I’m sorry, it’s just been a very long day, sir. It slipped my mind. I remember you wanted double meat, though.”

Older Customer: “I ain’t holdin’ your hand, little girl. You better remember f***in’ quick.”

(Luckily for me, the younger man steps in, looking apologetic, and tells me.)

Older Customer: “What’re you doin’? These monkeys need to learn better!”

(I remain quiet and begin making the sandwiches. Note: a regular club sandwich is made with four slices turkey folded, fourslices roast beef folded, and two slices of ham laid flat. To save time, I usually take two slices of meat together and add them like that, as is the case here.)

Older Customer: “That’s not double meat.”

Me: “Yes it is, sir…”

(I explain the sandwich formula to him and show the amount of meat on the bread.)

Older Customer: “It doesn’t look like double meat to me.”

Me: “I’ve already shown you that it is, sir.”

Older Customer: “Double meat means double meat!”

Me: “I gave you double meat. I’ve already explained that.”

Older Customer: “DOUBLE MEAT MEANS DOUBLE GODD*** MEAT!”

(Suddenly, my coworker running the register jumps in, pulls our sandwich-making reference sheet off the sneeze-guard, and shoves it in the older customer’s face.)

Coworker: “As you can see, sir, this is the proper formula for a club. Why don’t we just make sure your sandwich has exactly double of that?”

(My coworker grabs a piece of deli paper and, piece by piece, disassembles the sandwich while loudly counting the slices and then places them on the paper. The older customer looks very embarrassed, while everyone in line who isn’t pissed off is snickering wildly—even his young companion.)

Older Customer: “OKAY! OKAY! I BELIEVE YOU! JUST MOVE ON!”

Coworker: “Are you sure? I could count it again if you aren’t.”

Older Customer: *mumbles* “D*** b****es!”

(On the plus side, he kept completely silent for the rest of the transaction with his head down.)

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