Unfiltered Story #144745

, , , | Unfiltered | March 24, 2019

I am a cashier at a local grocery store.
Me: *answers phone* Hello, this is [grocery store], how may I help you?
Customer: *sounding very not sober* Takee ouuut
Me: I-I’m sorry?
Customer: I wanna order take-ooout.
Me: Sorry this is a grocery store… We don’t do take-out…
Customer: Ok. Byyyeeee.
Me: Bye now…

Radio Killed The Grocery Store

, , , | Right | March 8, 2019

(In my day job, I’m a radio personality. Sadly, sitting on my butt talking doesn’t pay a lot, so in my night job, I work at the local grocery store. I’m stocking shelves one night when a customer comes up to me.)

Customer: “So, when are you coming over to my place?”

Me: “Excuse me, sir?”

Customer: “Well, I know you’re the guy from the radio. You’re doing like those TV shows, right? You’re going undercover at a dirty job so you can talk about it on the radio? Well, I want in on this. I want you to come work a few shifts at my business for this bit.”

Me: “Um… No. I actually do work here, sir.”

Customer: “Wait, what? But why?”

Me: “Because money’s tight and I’ve got bills to pay.”

Customer: “No. NO! This will not do. You’re, like, the best guy on the radio. Tomorrow, I’m going to call the station, talk to your boss, and get you a raise so you don’t have to do this anymore!”

(I don’t think he ever talked to my boss, because I never did get that raise. However, the new contract I recently signed does ban me from getting a second job.)

You Don’t Need A Six-Pack To Smile

, , , , , , | Working | March 4, 2019

(I am in a liquor store purchasing some items for me and my fiancée. We have been on a hard iced tea kick lately, and the store has a “make your own six pack” special going. I build a six pack and also grab two boxes of packaged drinks. The cashier looks to be a man in his late forties or early fifties. The economy has been terrible in my province lately, and I speculate to myself that he’s been laid off from a previous job and has taken this to make ends meet.)

Cashier: “Hi there. How are you today?”

Me: “Fine, thanks. How are you?”

Cashier: “Oh, not too bad. This is everything for you?”

Me: “Yes, thanks.”

(He picks up one of the sealed packaged boxes, scans it, sets it to the side, and then notices my pick-your-own set. He immediately looks nervous.)

Cashier: “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m not totally sure why, but we’re supposed to scan those ones first; I think it’s so you get the discount. I’ll need a supervisor to start the transaction again.”

Me: “No problem.”

(The cashier tries to flag down the supervisor on duty, who is chatting with other customers, assumedly family or friends as she is holding their baby and they are all laughing. She is totally oblivious that the cashier needs her.)

Cashier: “I’m so sorry. I’m new and I don’t have the authority to override.”

Me: “It’s no problem, really.”

(He keeps waving and calling her. Still no response. He turns to me looking nervous.)

Me: “I have nowhere else to be. Honestly, it’s okay.”

(Finally, the supervisor notices the line not moving. She comes over and voids the transaction so he can start again.)

Cashier: “Thanks for your patience. Some of these systems just… They’re a bit difficult.”

Me: “New jobs are always tough. You’re doing great. Thank you for making sure I got my discount. I hope to see you again!”

Cashier: “Thank you so much. Have a great day.”

(The poor guy. I wonder if other customers had been hard on him or if he was just nervous that he would do a poor job. A job is a job these days; I commend anyone who has to take a less paying job to make ends meet after being laid off. I hope he’s had a better experience since that day!)

In The Great State Of Confusion

, , , , , | Right | March 2, 2019

Me: “Can I help you with anything tonight?”

Customer: “Yeah, are your prices here in dollars or Canadian dollars?”

(Cue several seconds of stunned silence as I try to contemplate what could lead someone to ask this question when the closest border crossing is a three-and-a-half-hour drive away.)

Me: “Well, we are in Canada, so…”

Customer: “Well, I don’t know! I’m passing through from the States!”

I Tire Of This Call Almost Immediately

, , , , | Right | February 25, 2019

(I work in the parts department of a car dealership. As such, we sell our fair share of tires. I know not everyone knows their tire size off the top of their head, but most people know enough about their vehicle for us to be able to easily to figure the size out — things like year, model, and trim level, if need be. Not this caller.)

Me: “[Dealer] parts; how can I help you?”

Caller: “I need to get a quote on a set of winter tires for my [Our Dealer Brand].”

Me: “Okay, do you happen to know your tire size?”

Caller: “Uh… No, I don’t, sorry.”

Me: “Not a problem. What model of [Brand] do you drive?”

Caller: “It’s a 2012. or ’11. I’m not sure.”

(We get this a lot: people answering a different qualifying question than the one we asked. Things are still pretty normal it this point, but then this happens:)

Me: “Okay, but which model is it?” *lists off two or three of our most common models*

Caller: “Oh!” *short silence* “I don’t know.”

(I don’t quite know what to say. I’ve never had a customer that was completely unsure of what they drive. So after a short pause, I ask:)

Me: “Is it a car, truck, or SUV?”

Caller: “I don’t know.”

Me: *head-desking already* “Well, is it a—“ *lists off every model we currently sell, or have sold in the last ten years or so*

Caller: “No, it’s none of those.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but it has to be one of those. Are you near the vehicle? Or do you have a copy of your insurance or registration handy?”

Caller: “It’s in the garage. How can I find out what it is by looking at it?”

Me: “There should be a name badge on the trunk or rear hatch.”

Caller: “Okay.” *short pause* “It’s a—“ *garbles the model badly*

(I’m blown away. The name of the model I decipher it to be is six letters long, and pronounced exactly as it is spelled.)

Me: “You mean an [Automobile]?”

Caller: “No, that doesn’t sound right.”

Me: *head on desk* “Okay, hold on a moment.”

(I throw together a quote for some tires that may or may not fit the car, but at this point, in a matter of thirty seconds, the caller has made me lose any motivation to try and sell them some tires. I give the price and tell them that without knowing what kind of car it is, I can’t guarantee the price will be right. The caller agrees, and hangs up.)

Manager: *hearing my side of the conversation* “Fun one?”

(We never heard from them again.)

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