How Spiders Say Hallow

| Milwaukee, WI, USA | Right | September 25, 2015

(I am mildly arachnophobic, but have always been excited to see scary decorations every Halloween. I’ve never gotten to decorate my house before, so upon receiving a free set of fake spider web decorations, I decide I’m courageous enough to put them up and get a fake spider to go along with them. I go to a Halloween store to purchase a spider. I carefully stay away from the many moving spider props, and pick out a traditional furry spider with wire legs. When I go to purchase my spider at the cashier’s station, a large spider drops down from the ceiling into my face.)

Me: *gasps loudly and jumps a foot back* “Jesus Christ!”

Employee: *laughs* “Well, we know the props are doing their job!” *points up to the spider*

(The spider is on a string, and is a prop that I had noticed in the aisle, advertised to drop down from where it’s hung.)

Me: *sheepishly* “I’m arachnophobic.”

Employee: “Oh, gosh, sorry about that!”

(I was able to laugh it off along with the employee, but I still don’t know what I expected upon going into a Halloween store!)

I’m Sorry?

| Right | September 25, 2015

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His Manliness Is The Cream Of The Crop

| MD, USA | Right | September 25, 2015

(I am a customer waiting in line at a coffee shop:)

Server: “Good morning, sir. What can I get you?”

Guy Ahead of Me: *very gruffly* “I don’t know. I hate all these choices. Just gimme a plain, brewed coffee. Black. And don’t put any of that sissy stuff in it. I don’t want flavors or whipped cream or any of that crap.”

Server: *a little taken aback, but polite* “Okay, sir.”

Me: “I’d like a double, tall, non-fat latte and, because I’m secure in my masculinity, add some whipped cream.”

(She gave me a discount.)

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Don’t Count Your Chickens Before They’ve Burned

| Fort Worth, TX, USA | Right | September 24, 2015

(I work in a well-known retail store, where the bakery and deli are in the same area. This is important for this story. I work in the bakery side and sometimes help slice meat for the deli; therefore, I have no idea how to help a customer order a deli platter. This particular night deli is shorthanded because one of their workers broke her kneecap a few weeks ago.)

Customer: “Hi, can you help me with something in deli?”

Me: “I can certainly try to, ma’am.”

Customer: “I was wondering: do you have any of your deli platter menus?”

Me: “Let me check for you… Okay, here you go, ma’am.”

Customer: “This doesn’t look like the menu my mother has at her house.”

Me: “They differ store to store, ma’am.”

Customer: “Is there anyone who can help me right now who knows the deli?”

Me: “No, ma’am, not at this moment in time. They have to pull out the rotisserie chickens so they do not burn…

Customer: “Well, I’m the customer right now. I should be more important than future customers!”

Me: “As I said before, ma’am, they are more than happy to help you once they have the chickens out of the oven. The chickens are more important than you right now.”

(At this moment my bread oven started to go off, so I walk away, thinking she will just wait there for a deli associate to finish up their chickens and come help her. A few minutes later…)

Deli Associate: “Hey, where’s that customer who was standing at the counter waiting for help?”

Me: “I guess she didn’t want to wait for you to finish your chickens…”

Deli Associate: “Oh well. I’m still a little backed up. Can you stay by the slicers and help out?”

Me: “Of course, not a problem!”

(A few more minutes go by, and the customer still hasn’t shown back up. A manager is coming towards me so I think he encountered the customer and she said something to him, but…)

Manager: “Everything okay over here, [My Name]?”

Me: “Yeah, all good.”

Manager: “Okay, because I got a call earlier about a customer needing help and not getting it.”

Me: “Well, sir, I explained to her that this was not my area and she would have to wait a few minutes for a more experienced deli associate to finish their rotisseries.”

Manager: “Ok, that’s fine. Thank you, [My Name].”

(At this point, I’m thinking it’s all fine and dandy. A few minutes pass, and I see the customer with a CSS.)

Customer: “Her! She’s the one who wouldn’t help me!”

CSS: “Ma’am, is the deli your area?”

Me: “No. As I have already explained to her, she had to wait for a deli associate to finish taking out the chickens. That’s our policy. We can’t sell a dry, burned chicken. Sorry, ma’am.”

(She leaves the store in a huff. Later that night I see the CSS as I’m leaving for the night.)

Me: “Sorry for the trouble earlier.”

CSS: “Oh, no problem. [Manager] explained the policies to me. Besides, that woman was a little crazy. She just started yelling at me as soon as I came out of the cash office!”

Me: “Wow. Well, good night. Have a good rest of your evening.”

CSS: “Ha, yeah, right. I’m a front end manager…”

Me: “Oh, right…”

Fourth Time Lucky

| BC, Canada | Right | September 24, 2015

(I work in a call centre for a movie rental company; this is not one specific interaction with a customer, but an exchange that happens at least once a day:)

Me: “In order to pull up your transaction, I need the last four digits of the card used.”

Customer: “My credit card?”

Me: “Yes, whatever card you use with us.”

Customer: “You need the last four digits?”

Me: “Yes.”

Customer: “Of my credit card?”

Me: “Yes.”

Customer: “The last four?”

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