(A man sporting a heavy metal t-shirt, torn jeans, facial piercings and green hair approaches my register. As he gets closer I notice he’s cradling a small cat in his arms.)

Man: “Hey… umm… this is probably going to sound kind of weird but I was just in the parking lot and—”

(He’s promptly cut off by a shrill scream. We both turn to see a horrified lady charging towards us like a rabid rhino.)

Lady: “What the h*** are you doing?!”

Man: “Oh, there you are! Listen—”

Lady: “Get your filthy meat hooks off my Gatsby! You monster! Let him go!”

(She violently starts trying to beat the man with her purse. Braving the blows, the man hands the cat over to her.)

Lady: “Oh, my poor Gatsby! Did the horrible man hurt you? Oh, don’t you worry, I’ll make him pay!” *glaring at me* “You! Call the police right now! And you!” *turns to the punk* “Don’t move! I’m going to see you in jail for trying to kidnap my Gatsby!”

Man: “Really? Well before you do that ma’am I should warn you that I intend to report you to the SPCA for endangering the life of your pet.”

Lady: “What?”

Man: “You left your car window rolled all the way down, and dear Gatsby there climbed out after you went in. I very nearly hit him as he ran out into the parking lot so I thought it only right that I bring him in where he wouldn’t be at risk of getting lost, run over, or kidnapped. Are you saying I should’ve just left him out there where anything could’ve happened, and you thus would most likely have had to go home minus your darling pet?”

(The lady turns red, drops her shopping, and promptly runs out of the store with her cat.)

(I am taking tech support calls for a satellite TV company.)

Me: “Thank you, sir. How can I help you today?”

Customer: “My remote isn’t working.”

Me: “I apologize for that trouble, but I am happy to help. Let’s reprogram the remote, okay?”

Customer: “Okay, how do I do that?”

Me: *I proceed to explain the steps to program the remote* “Now, use the number buttons on the remote to put in the code 02258.”

(The next thing I hear are loud tones coming from the buttons on the phone in my ear. I can hear the customer is not talking into the phone, which leads me to believe he is talking into the remote.)

Customer: “Okay, I did that.”

(He asks if I am there a few times, before realizing he isn’t talking into the phone.)

Customer: *into the phone this time* “Okay, I did that.”

Me: “Thank you, sir. That was good practice. Now let’s do that again, but this time with the remote control…”

Related:
Not Remotely Intelligent, Part 6
Not Remotely Intelligent, Part 5
Not Remotely Intelligent, Part 4
Not Remotely Intelligent, Part 3
Not Remotely Intelligent, Part 2

Customer: “Hi, I was wondering if you could help me with installing my car stereo?”

Me: “Of course! If you like I can book you a time with my installer and we can get you in! When would be a good time for you?”

Customer: “Actually, I don’t want to spend any money on it. I just want a step by step instruction guide on how to do it without paying anyone.”

Me: “Oh, well unfortunately I don’t think we have anything to that effect, but our installer would definitely be able to have a look at it if you are having issues.”

Customer: “What kind of customer service is that? I want it done for free!”

(This happens as I’m shopping in a convenience store, and I just recently had my hair dyed purple. Another customer sees my hair and shouts to her daughter, pointing at my hair.)

Customer: “Oh, my God! Look at that hair! That’s freaking amazing!”

Me: “Oh… thank you.”

Customer: *to her daughter* “You can never do that!”

Daughter: “But, I didn’t even want to-—

Customer: “No! I won’t let you look like a freak!” *turns to me* “I really love that hair!”

(I am working the till when a teenage male customer comes up to me.)

Customer: “Excuse me, do you have any albums by Vincent Van Gogh?”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “Vincent Van Gogh.”

Me: “Umm, you do know this is a music store, right?”

Customer: “Yeah. Do you have anything by Vincent Van Gogh or not?”

Me: “No. Vincent Van Gogh was a painter, not a musician.”

Customer: “What?! But didn’t he do that song, Starry Night?”

Me: “Sir, Starry Night is the name of one of Van Gogh’s paintings.”

Customer: “Are you sure?”

Me: “Yes.”

Customer: “Ah, geez. I asked my girlfriend who her favorite artist was. She must’ve misunderstood the question. Hang on, let me go talk to her.”

(He leaves. A few minutes later, he comes back.)

Customer: “Sorry about that. Do you have anything by Michael Bolton?”

Me: “Yes we do. Would you like me to show you?”

Customer:“Yes! Thank God, I thought he’d be another painter!”