(We work in a shop in a top educational establishment. I sometimes wonder how these people got into University.)

Customer: “Hi, I’d like to buy a charger for my laptop please.”

Me: “Certainly, what make is it?”

Customer: “It’s a snsv—” *pronounced snus uv* “—laptop.”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “Snsv.”

Me: “I’ve never heard of that brand before.”

Customer: “It’s definitely snsv. I have it here.”

(The customer brings out her laptop and places on the desk.)

Customer: “See, SNSV.”

(I instantly realise what’s gone on and turn the laptop the right way up.)

Me: “It’s an ASUS.”

Customer: “Oh.”

(I am working at a small local pub/restaurant not far from the beach on Hilton Head Island, South Carolina. You can literally see the ocean from the tables on the porch outside our establishment. We get a lot of visitors from all over, but none were ever this geographically challenged.)

Guest: “How long has this been an island?”

Me: *joking* “About twenty years, I think. It was purchased from Belize and towed up here.”

Guest: *oddly* “So… does the water go all the way around the island?”

Me: “Only at night, sir… Y’know, during high tide.”

Guest: *nodding* “Hmmm… I thought so.”

Wife: “It can’t be an island… We crossed a bridge!”

Me: *suddenly realizing they’re NOT joking, and that they really are this stupid* “Yep, you did. Over water.”

Wife: *b****y* “So… what’s on the other side of that lake, then?” *pointing east*

Me: “Spain.”

Wife: “Oh, honey… we can get to Spain from here!”

This story is part of our Spain-themed roundup!

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Customer: *looking over our menu* “Do you have any smutties?”

Me: “I’m… I’m sorry, could you repeat that please? I didn’t quite catch that.”

Customer: “Do you have smutties?”

Me: “Do we have… smutties?”

Customer: “Yeah! Smutties!”

Me: “I’m sorry, I don’t think I’ve ever heard of that. What is it exactly?”

Customer: “Oh, really?! It’s a drink. With fruit and yoghurt and stuff.”

Me: “Oh — OH! SMOOTHIES! No, I’m sorry, we don’t have any smoothies…”

(I work at a casual restaurant. Every month our restaurant carries a specialty wine, and every table has one bottle on it for decoration, together with a sign explaining the grapes and the origin of the wine. This month’s wine is a crisp French Chardonnay, best enjoyed cold. It’s August and it’s insanely hot outside. Two ladies are sitting at a table in the corner, and at one point I notice one of the ladies grab the decorative wine bottle, refilling her and her friend’s glasses. The bottle’s empty. Then she sneakily hides the bottle behind the potted plant on the table. I decide to approach.)

Me: “Ladies?”

Woman #1: *tipsy* “Oh. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that, you know. It was out of habit!”

Me: “If you wanted another glass of wine you should have just asked. We’ll have to charge you €18 for that bottle.”

Woman #2: “Don’t you take that tone with me! You know what? I liked you right up until now. You gave us great service but this is just ridiculous!”

Me: “Excuse me? I’m being the ridiculous one here?”

Woman #2: “It’s ridiculous! And your wine is disgusting anyway. IT’S ALL WARM!”

(Yes, it was very odd that a bottle of wine that had been out for a week in sweltering hot weather was warm and undrinkable. The best part — after they had left, Woman #1 came back. She pulled another full bottle of wine out of her purse, that she had stolen from another table, and gave it back to me. She said her friend had put her up to doing it but she felt badly…)

(I am working at the customer service desk in a toy store, when a red-faced angry looking parent comes running up to me.)

Parent: “What kind of witchcraft you all got running here?!”

Me: “Uh… pardon?”

Parent: “The toys! THE TOYS! You’re selling f****** possessed toys?!”

Me: “Possessed?”

Parent: “They’re alive! They move when you’re not looking, and they talk!”

Me: “What is giving you that impression, ma’am?”

Parent: “My son was surrounded, attacked and threatened by a whole bunch of them! He went crazy and started running down the street!”

Me: “Oh, my. Well, that’s—”

Parent: “He won’t eat! He won’t go in his room! He’s a complete wreck! We put him in therapy and he blabbered on about the toys coming to life! They put him in a mental hospital! He’s been there for months and they won’t let him out! IT’S ALL YOUR FAULT!”

Me: “All our fault?”

Parent: “Yes! You sell toys! Toys put my son in the loony bin! I demand compensation!”

Me: “I’m sorry ma’am, but that isn’t possible. I’m sorry about your son, but unless you have a receipt that proves a product you purchased from us was faulty, there’s nothing we can do.”

Parent: “This is ridiculous! I’m calling corporate!”

(She storms out, screaming at all the toys to stop watching her as she goes. Before I can even begin to process what has happened, my manager pages me.)

Manager: “[My Name], please come to the back room. The Buzz Lightyears have mysteriously tried escaping again…”