Her Solid Reason Is Only Temporary

, , , | | Right | July 3, 2019

(At our store, we have a small trash can behind the counter, but we aren’t allowed to throw away food or drink in it by store policy. There’s another trash can just outside our door on the sidewalk that we use for that. A woman comes up to the register with a drink cup in hand.)

Woman: “Hey, can you throw this away for me?”

Me: “Is it empty?”

Woman: “Well, yeah. I drank it. All that’s in it is ice.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but we can’t put liquids in this trash can. But there’s another one just outside that you can use.”

Woman: *glaring* “It’s just ice! Ice isn’t a liquid!” *stalks away*

The Gift Of Closing

, , , , | Right | August 3, 2018

(I am the sole worker in a small antique and gift store. We close at 6:30 and it is now 6:35. I am at the register counting the till, with a clear view of the door. Most of the lights are out. I hear the door violently rattle. I look up and a man is staring in the door at me, yanking on the handle. I blink a few times, then go back to my counting. The phone rings. I think it might be my boss checking in, so I answer.)

Man: “Let me in.”

Me: “Excuse me? Who is this?!”

Man: “Let me in; I need to get a gift.”

(Disbelieving, I look at the door again. The man is staring in and talking on his cell phone.)

Me: *locking eyes with the man* “I’m sorry, but we closed at 6:30. You can come back tomorrow; we open at 10:00 am.”

Man: “No, I need a gift now. You can open up; you’ve only been closed for five minutes!”

Me: “I’m very sorry, but we are now closed. I have to continue my closing duties. Have a nice night.” *click*

(He called three more times and left a message the last time. I left a note for the next day’s person. Hopefully they’ll get a kick out of it.)

Well, This Situation Has Gone To Pot

, , , , , , | Right | January 30, 2018

(My first job is at a tourist-trap antique store selling overpriced nostalgic items. I am manning the register. Today, I woke up late, so my hair is a mess and I am wearing the first thing I could find to wear: a band t-shirt with a button-up flannel. An elderly woman from out of town comes up to the counter with her small items.)

Me: “Hi, how are you today?”

Customer: “Oh, just dandy. Enjoying the weather.”

(I write down her items, ring her up, and give her her total, when I realize she’s looking me over pretty good.)

Customer: “Do you know where I could get some pot?”

(I can’t help but give her a blank stare and question whether I heard her right the first time.)

Me: “I’m sorry… What?”

Customer: “Pot? Marijuana? That kind of pot? You seem like you would know.”

(Dumbfounded, I remember how I might appear to someone who doesn’t know me or see me regularly. I always dress better for work, and I most certainly do not smoke pot. But I know I must look like it from a first impression. Our town even set up a ban on dispensaries a while back; the nearest one is the next town over. I still can not believe that this sweet old woman buying little trinkets needs some dope.)

Me: “Um… No, we don’t have any dispensaries nearby, miss.”

Customer: “Do you have a dealer that you could maybe call?”

Me: “No, miss. This is not my everyday look; I don’t smoke pot.”

Customer: “Oh, darn. Well, you have a nice day, dear!”

(I had to take my lunch break after that.)

The Card Reader Is Antique

, , , , | Working | September 21, 2017

(I’m visiting my sister in Idaho, and she takes me to what’s essentially an antiques flea market – a long building crammed with rows and rows of assorted antiques, separated into booths. It looks like a very established place [and I know my sister has been going there for years], but when I go up to the checkout with a $3 trinket, this happens:)

Me: “Just this, please.”

Cashier: “Okay. And how will you be paying?”

Me: “Debit.” *I get out my debit card, and the cashier’s eyes go wide*

Cashier: “Oh, please don’t. You don’t have cash? Or a check?” *she hesitantly pulls out a tiny, outdated-looking card-reader, not quite bringing it out, like she’s praying I’ll change my mind*

Me: “Uh… I have a $50 that I haven’t been able to break yet. I don’t want to clear out your register.”

Cashier: *lighting up and throwing the card-reader back under the counter* “Cash is great! Please just break your $50. That’ll be best.”

Me: “Okay. That’s fine with me.”

Cashier: *counts out my change* “Would you like a receipt?”

Me: “No, that’s all right.”

Cashier: “Oh, it’s already printing. Here you go!”

(She hands me the receipt, which is a full 8.5 x 11 sheet of printer paper, with my tiny $3 purchase filling one line at the very top.)

Making A Display Of Himself

| DC, USA | Right | May 4, 2017

(We sell high end antiques, specializing in furniture. A woman comes in and is very interested in a table we have. However she wants her husband’s approval prior to making such a large purchase. Later that afternoon, the husband comes in.)

Husband: “My wife wants me to look at a table.”

Me: “Ah, yes, right over here. Let me tell you about this piece…”

(I tell him what I know about the history of the piece while he walks around it, then he nods. It seems like an easy sale.)

Husband: “If it’s what she wants, we will take it. Is there any way we can have it delivered tomorrow?”

Me: “Of course. Let me get some information from you for the delivery.”

(While I’m ringing him up and getting his delivery information, the backroom employees start padding the table to be moved. The husband notices this and gets angry.)

Husband: “Oh, don’t tell me you’re going to try to give me the display.”

Me: “The… display?”

Husband: “The table that you have out! You’re trying to pass off the one that’s been out on the floor.”

Me: “Sir, it’s a custom made item that 150 years old. It’s the only one of its kind in the world.”

Husband: “What? I don’t want something used! You know what? Cancel the sale!”

(He huffs out while I’m still standing confused. An hour later, I get a phone call from his wife.)

Wife: “I’d like to arrange buying that table and apologize for my husband. Sometimes, he is a profound idiot.”

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