Don’t Let The Door Hit You On The Way Out

, , | Right | August 15, 2008

(I’m a liquor store owner. A teenager grabs a couple of beer bottles and proceeds to the counter to purchase the beer.)

Me: “May I see your ID?”

Customer: “What?”

Me: “I don’t sell alcohol to people without IDs.”

Customer: “But I’m 18! I’m allowed to buy beer!”

Me: “Sorry, but its the law. No ID, no beer.”

Customer: “F*** you! F*** this government! Can’t a man just buy and enjoy their beer anymore?”

Me: “Look, all you have to do is flash your ID and you can buy all the beer you want. Now, can I see your d*** ID?”

Customer: “No, you listen to me! I didn’t drive all the way here to be treated like this. Back then, trust was enough to keep things rolling, but now everyone thinks everyone is a liar! This country is a f****** dump! Do I look 12 to you? I’m telling you, I’m 18 and I’m allowed to buy beer, and…” *rants on and on*

Me: “Get out of my store.”

Customer: “Excuse me?!”

Me: “Oh I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Get the f*** out of my store!”

Customer: “I’m never coming here again!”

Me: “Now you’re getting the idea!”

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Either That, Or Like Eeyore

, , , | Right | August 15, 2008

(I’m recording a group of 15 year-old rappers.)

Me: “Do you like the way that sounds?”

Rapper: “Yo, can you make me sound like, um… like a maaaaan?”

Me: “Um… I’m not really sure I know what you mean.”

Rapper: “Like, I wanna sound like a big man, ya know?”

Me: “Hrm. Okay, let’s try this…” *I lower the pitch of his vocals a bit* …”like that?”

Rapper: “Yeah! Perfect! Now I sound all strong!”

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Confessions Of A Teenage Bagger

, | Right | August 14, 2008

(I’m a 17-year-old bag boy at a local grocer. I’m finishing up an order when the customer, a middle-aged woman, walks uncomfortably close to me and stares at my curly hair.)

Me: “How are you doing this evening, ma’am?”

Customer: “I love your hair.”

Me: “Uh… thanks. I kind of hate it, to be honest.”

Customer: “I just want to go barefooted and romp around in it like I was in a meadow.”

Me: “…have a good day, ma’am.”

Customer: “Bye!”

(She winked. I shuddered.)

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Customer Service, God Speaking

, , | Right | August 14, 2008

(I’m working at the library; it’s cloudy and raining outside.)

Patron: “Can you do something about all that noise?”

Me: “Is the AC too loud? Maintenance isn’t here today, but I can give you some ear plugs.”

Patron: “NOT THAT!  The construction! Tell them I’m trying to work!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but there’s no construction.”

Patron: “That rumbling!”

Me: “You mean the thunder?”

Patron: “Whatever. Tell them to stop.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I really have no control over nature.”

Patron: “Ugh, you people! You can’t do ANYTHING!”

(Sadly, this man is a doctor.)

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Dr. Jekyll And Mrs. Hyde

, , , | Right | August 14, 2008

Me: “Thank you for calling. This is [My Name]. How may I help you today?”

Customer: *cheerful* “I need you to check my account.”

Me: “Certainly, I’d be happy to do that for you. May I have your identification number so I can look you up in our system, please?”

Customer: “My what? Why would you want that? Don’t you know who I am?”

Me: “Unfortunately not, ma’am. We have no real way of knowing who is on the other end of the line unless you give us either that number or your social security number.”

Customer: *suddenly demonic* “HOW DARE YOU! YOU’RE ONE OF THOSE TERRORISTS, AREN’T YOU?!”

Me: “Um… excuse me?”

Customer: “YOU want my social so you can steal my identity, don’t you? That’s why you called me, to steal my credit score, you little punk!”

Me: “Ma’am, you called me. This is your insurance company. Just read me the number on the front of your card so I can look up your account information.”

Customer: *suddenly cheerful again* “Oh, is that all? Why didn’t you just say so? My number is [number].”

Me: “Ma’am, it seems your account is handled by a different department than mine. Would you like me to give you their direct number before I transfer you?”

Customer: *back to demonic* “YOU TRICKED ME! You tricked me out of my information! I’m calling the FBI on you, you little c***!”

Me: *transfers call*

(I have never been so happy to transfer a caller. I logged the call, and later that day received an internal office email from some rep in another part of the state. All it said was “WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?”)

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