I work in a small-town post office, and when I say small, I mean tiny. I’m working the counter during the afternoon lull when an older gentleman walks in holding a large, battered shoebox sealed with an alarming amount of duct tape.

Customer: “Need to send this to my grandson in Texas.”

He places it down. I look at the address, which is written in pencil and partially smudged.

Me: “Do you have a clearer copy of the address?”

Customer: “[Grandson’s Name], Dallas.”

Me: “…Dallas is a little bigger than that.”

Customer: “He’ll find it.”

Me: “I’ll need a street address and zip code.”

Customer: “He’s got a phone. They’ll call him when it gets there.”

Me: “Who will?”

Customer: “You know. The post people. Y’all track it, right?”

Me: “Dallas is a big place, it’s not like here. If a package comes for you, well, I know you, I can call you. Dallas is a city of over a million people, it doesn’t work that way there.”

Customer: “There ain’t more than a million people! That’s some bull-s***!”

Me: “Perhaps you could call your grandson for his address?”

Customer: “Just send it and call him when it gets there.”

Me: “Even if we could do that, you haven’t put a phone number on the package, either.”

Customer: “Won’t they know him when they see the name?”

Me: “Sir? Have you ever been to Dallas?”

Customer: “Woman, I ain’t ever been outside of Arkansas!”

Me: “Have you ever been to Little Rock?” *The largest city in Arkansas, population about 200,000.*

Customer: “Yeah, but I didn’t like it. Too many people.”

Me: “Dallas is several times bigger than Little Rock.”

Customer: “The h*** are you talkin’ about! No place gets that big!”

Me: “Dallas has. Anyway, I still think you should call your grandson and ask for a full address.”

Customer: “I ain’t got no phone.”

Me: “Would you like to use ours?”

Customer: “I’ll send him a letter and ask him for his address.”

Me: “Letter? As in… writing him a letter?”

Customer: “Yeah! What else would I mean?”

Me: “And do you know the address you use for those letters?”

Customer: “Yeah, it’s 123 Name Street, Dallas, 75226.”

Me: “…”

Customer: “What?”

Me: “Nothing, sir. I think we have everything we need to send the package.”

Customer: “Finally! Y’all a little slow today, ain’t ya?”

Related:
In A State Of Confusion, Part 12
In A State Of Confusion, Part 11
In A State Of Confusion, Part 10
In A State Of Confusion, Part 9
In A State Of Confusion, Part 8

I work in a large home goods superstore that has a large bath and toiletries section.

Customer: “I need to return these!”

He is holding an open pack of “bath bombs”.

Me: “What’s the issue with them.”

Customer: “Well, my wife likes to use them in the bath when she bathes our baby boy, but… well you can see the problem.”

He is holding out the open bag to me, showing the spherical bath bombs inside.

Me: “I’m sorry, I don’t see. What is the problem? Do they not… uh… explode when they’re in the bath?”

Customer: “No! They’re pink! They’re full of hormones that will make my son gay! Sell me the blue ones that have testosterone in them!”

My first job was working in a fast food restaurant with a good friend of mine. Over time, both of us ended up getting promoted to shift managers. We were pretty good at these roles, and this was due in part to the fact that we had a great crew. They were responsible, hard-working, generous young people who were genuinely terrific to work with and made an otherwise crummy service job fun and engaging. That doesn’t mean there weren’t a few interesting coworkers that came and went.

This little story is about a kid we’ll call Terry. Terry was a good kid. I say “kid”, but my manager friend and I weren’t much older than he was. Terry was a bit quiet but got along with the rest of the guys in the kitchen. He was nerdy like the rest of us and warmed up quickly once we started discussing our similar interests. Over time, Terry started to grow more comfortable in the work environment — a little too comfortable.

I was the closing manager most days, and this happened right around closing time one night. One of the other guys on shift came up to my desk while I was doing the end-of-day tasks.

Coworker: “Dude, you gotta go have a talk with Terry. He took off his pants, climbed onto the prep table, and jumped off!”

My coworker was not trying to get poor Terry in trouble; it was more like he was just flabbergasted at what he’d seen in a “Dude, that guy’s crazy!” kind of way. Either way, I did have to have a word with Terry. I hadn’t seen this happen with my own eyes, so I came on softly just in case this was a dumb joke.

Me: “Hey, Terry, [Coworker] tells me you… took off your pants and climbed onto the prep table?”

Terry gave me this kind of “Teehee, maybe” sort of smile.

Terry: “Yeah…” 

Me: “Yeah, don’t do that. I’m telling you for your own sake. We have cameras all over the ceiling, and you’ll definitely be fired if someone catches you doing that kind of stuff.”

Terry seemed to understand, and I left it at that. Terry reminded me a lot of myself. I had a tendency in middle school to get overly excited amongst friends and do stupid things. I was willing to let Terry off with a warning on good faith that he wouldn’t do it again. I figured this kid deserved a chance to make a dumb mistake and not pay for it with his very first job. It didn’t work out that way, unfortunately.

The general manager had caught wind of Terry’s trouserless trouble, somehow. Over the next day or two, people were being asked about what exactly had happened. I was also questioned about this, and I relayed pretty much what you’ve just read. I didn’t see it happen, it was just relayed to me by another coworker who claimed to have seen it, and I talked with Terry.

Thanks to the cameras, his act was also caught on video. Little Terry was promptly fired.

Not long after, my manager friend was working the night shift and got a phone call.

Friend: “[Restaurant], this is [Friend]. How can I help you?”

Mom: “Hi, I’m Terry’s mother. Would somebody please explain to me why he was fired from his very first job? I’ve been asking him for the past few days, and he won’t tell me!”

Friend: “Well, ma’am, I wasn’t there for the incident in question. As I understand it, as it was told to me, your son removed his pants and climbed up onto a prep table. This is a place of business that serves food, and I assume that our general manager felt this was in poor conduct, not to mention unsanitary.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

Mom: “Oh… I see.”

Friend: “Yeah…”

Mom: “Okay. Thank you for telling me.”

She then hung up. I can only hope Terry learned a lesson that day. It’s just too bad he had to learn it the hard way.

I’m retired, and I cashier at a fast food restaurant for extra money. I picked up a very early shift yesterday, and my husband drove me so he could use the car. Neither of us was completely awake as we got ready.

When we arrived, I got him breakfast as a thank-you. I got out my wallet and realized that my phone and tablet weren’t in my purse.

Me: “Ugh, I didn’t grab my tablet and phone!”

Husband: *Patting his pockets* “I don’t have my phone, either.”

Me: “What will I do on break?”

Husband: “Party like it’s 1999.”

I ended up writing notes for a roleplaying game I am running — on scrap paper.

Yesterday, a coworker tried all day to meet with our manager to hand in her resignation. This morning, during our team meeting, she saw her opportunity with the manager right there and submitted her notice. Our manager, taken aback, exclaimed:

Manager: “I don’t accept this!”

Coworker: *Calmly* “That’s understandable; acceptance is the last stage of grief, and you haven’t had time to get there yet.”