Just A Teensy Bit Dramatic

, , | Right | December 22, 2007

Customer: “I’m on my way to the kennels and my cat here needs an injection to get in.”

Me: “Well, you need an appointment for that. We’re fully booked until tomorrow afternoon.”

Customer: “If you’re going to be so difficult, I’ll take my cat elsewhere and get it put down!”

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Ironically, She’s Applying For A Customer Service Position

, | Right | October 3, 2008

(I work in an employment office where we help people with their resumes. We often send and receive resumes as needed.)

Caller: “Hi, my name is [Caller]. Can you get my resume faxed for me?”

Me: “Where would you like it faxed?”

Caller: “It’s in Drayton Valley, Alberta.”

Me: “Okay, so where in Drayton Valley would you like it sent?”

Caller: “No, no, I need it sent to me HERE. It’s IN Drayton Valley. Someone there has it.”

Me: “Who has it there?”

Caller: “I dunno! Pam… something! She wrote it for me, and I need it! Phone Drayton Valley and get it for me!”

Me: “Miss, Drayton Valley is a TOWN in Alberta. I need the name and number of whatever business or person in that town that has your resume, before I can have it sent here for you.”

Caller: “I know that! Just phone around there! It’s a small town; someone will have it!”

Me: “I can’t exactly go phoning random companies in a town asking if they have your resume.”

Caller: “Well, it’s a small town like here! Someone will have it! Call someone named Pam… something.”

Me: “Okay, look. I either need a company or persons name and their phone number to contact them to ask for it, or I can’t get your resume.”

Caller: “Ugh! But I left my papers at home! Can’t you just phone around?”

Me: “No, sorry.”

Caller: “FINE. I’ll have to FIND my papers MYSELF with the number. You’re supposed to be able to get my resume FOR me.”

Me: “Only if I know who to talk to…”

Caller: “Whatever!” *click*

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The Rage Of Chivalry

| Working | June 6, 2013

(I’m a male having lunch with my best female friend on my birthday. Our waitress comes over to give us the check. Before I can reach for my wallet, my friend has her card in her hand.)

My Friend: “Here you go.”

(My friend tries to give her card to the waitress, but she glares at me instead.)

Waitress: “Seriously dude, you’re gonna make your girlfriend pay for the meal? What kind of man are you?”

Me: “She’s not my girlfriend.”

Waitress: “Not if you make her pay she won’t be.”

My Friend: “Look: it’s his birthday, and it’s my treat. Now if you can run that, we will be on our way.”

Waitress: “I’m not gonna let you pay sweetheart.” *glares at me again* “Where’s your wallet at?”

Me: “I believe my friend made a very clear explanation of the situation. Now if you would just—”

Waitress: “I don’t wanna hear any more excuses! You are the man; you pay for the meal!”

My Friend: “Where’s a manager?”

Waitress: “He’s busy right now!”

(From behind her, a gentleman approaches.)

Gentleman: “Is everything alright?”

Waitress: “Back off! This isn’t your issue.”

Gentleman: “Well, I own this restaurant, so, yes, it is my issue. What’s going on? I heard screaming.”

(I explain the situation to the owner, and he fires the waitress on the spot. As she’s leaving the restaurant, she’s still screaming that I’m not a real man. Our meal was complimentary.)

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The Mother Of All Descriptions

| Related | July 29, 2013

(I am at the water park with my two young boys, aged seven and five. I get separated for several minutes, and start to panic, until I see them talking to a Park Safety Officer.)

Me: “There you are!”

Officer: “You’re the mom?” *starts laughing* “Your sons adore you. They wrote your name, address, phone number, and so much more.”

(On the officer’s notepad, I read what my seven-year-old wrote.)

Son’s Note: “Lost mom is a woman, 26 years old, tall, has boobs, sexy in red blue stripe swimsuit, not really skinny but beautiful, has hair, smells like Victoria’s secret.”

Me: “If your search has to go by that list, these kids will go home with a different mommy.”

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Seeing Red

| Right | November 1, 2012

(Two customers approach the concession stand.)

Customer: “I’d like a small red slushie.”

Me: “All right, I’ll be right back with that!”

(I go around the corner and try to get him his drink. The machine is working poorly, and I can’t get anything to come out. I pull the lever as hard as I can, with no success.)

Me: *to my manager* “I think we have a problem.”

(As soon as I say it, the slushie explodes out of the machine, covering me from head to toe and spreading over about a third of the concession stand. I stand there dumbfounded for a moment, then grab a paper towel, wipe off the cup, and bring it back around to the customer, who is obviously trying not to laugh.)

Me: *to his friend* “And can I get you anything?”

Customer’s Friend: *grinning* “Yes. A small red slushie, please!”

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