Found The Book But Lost The Irony

| AR, USA | Right | January 13, 2016

(I work at my local library as a library assistant.)

Patron: “I accidentally turned in a book that belongs to [Other Library].”

Me: “Sure, what’s the book title?”

Patron:I Am Responsible.”

Me: *staring a patron in complete silence*

(I find the book, and the great irony is that it’s a child’s book.)

Me: “…Have a good day, ma’am.”

Patron: “Thanks. You, too.”

How Em-Bra-assing, Part 2

| PA, USA | Right | January 12, 2016

(I work at a popular chain of plus sized women’s clothing stores. A woman comes in with her son, who looks about eight or so. Our bras are in the back corner of our store. The mother instructs her son to sit on a bench, and has me size her for a bra and then help her figure out what one(s) work best.)

Me: *turns around to show the woman a rack of new bras and sees that her son is no longer on the bench* “Uh, ma’am? Did you have a kid with you?”

Customer: *whips around* “What? Oh, god! [Kid]?! Where are you?” *starts searching the whole store, including under the panty tables and in clothes racks*

Me: *quietly use my walkie to tell the manager a woman’s kid likely ran off somewhere and ask if I should call mall security*

Customer: *starts coming back, looking like she’s either ready to cry or rip my head off because some people think it’s my job to watch their kids*

(The kid suddenly crawls out from underneath a dressing room door, in our leopard corset lingerie (completely fastened, mind you) with his T shirt stuffed into the bra cups and the stocking straps clipped onto his shorts.)

Kid: *clearly very proud of himself* “MOM! I’m Catwoman!”

Me: *goes entirely silent and just stares, at a complete loss as to what to do*

(My manager steps out of back room and then abruptly turns back in, but I can hear him on my walkie earpiece.)

Manager: “I am NOT dealing with that.”

(Things ended up fine. The kid did get scolded for disappearing, but his mother really couldn’t get mad at the corset thing because it was just too funny. Normally, I hate children, but this kid was great. He’s going somewhere in life, I just know it.)


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Thought It Was One Giant Smoking Mirror

, | PA, USA | Right | January 12, 2016

(We sell cigarettes, and you can clearly see them as soon as you walk in the door.)

Customer: “Excuse me; do you guys sell cigarettes here?”

Me: *being humorous, thinking he is as well* “No, we don’t, sir.”

Customer: “Oh, okay. I’ll go somewhere else.”

(As he started to leave, another cashier motioned to the wall of hundreds of cigarettes behind the counter, and lucky us, he found humor in his mistake, as well as we did.)

Not Behaving Like A Ladies

| VA, USA | Right | January 12, 2016

(We’ve just been alerted by a customer that the ladies’ restroom is out of toilet paper, so we’ve sent one of the cashiers to replace the rolls. Another customer approaches the pickup counter.)

Customer: “Excuse me, there’s no toilet paper in the ladies’ room.”

Coworker: “I’m sorry, ma’am. [Other Coworker] is bringing it out right now and she’ll replace it in a moment.”

Coworker: *angrily* “Well, if it takes too long, she’ll have a puddle to clean up on the floor instead!”

(The cashier refilled the paper just a few seconds after that, but the customer still left our corporate office a profanity-laden voicemail about our rudeness.)

It’s A Hug(e) Fear To Get Over

USA | Right | January 12, 2016

(I work in an assisted living facility. One of our residents, a man who can’t support his own weight well and usually needs help dressing his lower half, is currently on quarantine for a highly contagious disease, and is not allowed to leave his room or be visited by other residents. Whenever I go into his room to help him with something, I must put on a protective gown and gloves. He has called me in several times to ask me in three times already to help me get dressed, but has sent me away once for not setting clothes out in the right order, and twice after getting him a drink that he wants to take time finishing first. It is not until the fourth time that he finally allows me to help him into his pants.)

Resident: “We did it.”

Me: “Yes, we did.”

Resident: “High five!”

(I’m still wearing gloves, and the proposition is cute, so I high five him.)

Resident: “Ah. I know we got off to a rough start this morning, but you and I make a good team!”

Me: “That we do. I’m happy I could help.”

Resident: “You know, come here. Let me give you a hug.”

Me: “Um…”

Resident: *joking* “I’ve had my coffee. I won’t bite now.”

(The resident has obeyed rules not to leave his room, but I’ve become increasingly aware over the course of the day that he doesn’t fully realize he’s infectious with something spread on contact. My protective gown does cover my back, but not as thoroughly as the front, and there is nothing covering my face, so I don’t feel safe with such close contact.)

Me: “Sorry. I’m not a very big fan of hugs. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Resident: “Not a fan of hugs? Oh, ma’am, you’re missing out on a wonderful thing.”

(Whenever I see him now, he pulls me aside, holds my hands real tight, and gives me a speech about how he hopes I can conquer my fears and learn to accept the beauty of physical affection. He seems really worried about me and my fabricated hug dislike.)

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