I was working in the drive-thru when I had a customer come through.
Customer: “Can I get a filet?”
Me: “The filet-o-fish?”
Customer: “No, I want a filet.”
Me: “So just the fish on its own?”
Customer: “No, I want a filet, just the filet.”
Me: “Sorry, I’m not sure what you mean.”
The manager who was working during that time spent nearly five minutes trying to figure out what she meant. Turned out she was talking about the filet-o-fish, but she didn’t know the name.
I recently picked up some consulting work to help a company get a couple of small projects over the line.
Client: “This is the standard contract we have all our consultants sign. Let me know if there’s anything you’d like to negotiate.”
The contract is pretty stock standard; nothing weird hidden in the fine print. Then I see the hourly rate: it’s 50% higher than what I normally charge. From the looks of it, this is a rush job, and I doubt they’ve ever worked with a consultant before.
Me: “Looks good.” *Signs contract.*
Client: “F***. That hourly rate was too high, wasn’t it? Dad said I’d never make it in this industry. I thought I was lowballing you.”
It’s now the highest-paying gig of my career… and hopefully my new benchmark going forward.
I used to live in a rural area of Australia. We got a new young doctor in the local medical centre who was from Sydney.
Me: *Hobbling into the centre.* “Any chance I could get a quick looksie at my foot? Broke my little toe.”
Doctor: “How do you know you broke it?”
Me: “I’ve broken it before. I know what it feels like.”
Doctor: *Excitedly.* “Maybe it was a spider bite? Or gout?”
Me: *In pain and low on patience.* “Because I was in my f****** body at the time and not astral plane-ing or some s***.”
Doctor: *Disappointed.* “Fine.”
Later, during the examination:
Doctor: “Yeah, I suppose it might be broken.”
Me: “You sure it’s not gout symptoms spontaneously occurring only on my little toe right as I dropped something on it?”
I got my painkiller, and my mood improved considerably. I came by a week later to apologise and even brought the doctor and nurses some chocolates. The nurse told me it was fine, and he finally got to treat an “exotic spider bite” a few days earlier, which made him very happy.
A guy, maybe in his early fifties, comes over to me and asks how he can buy a countertop like the one that’s in a kitchen display.
Me: “Our kitchen stuff is ordered differently from the rest of our furniture, but if you’d like to follow me to the kitchen department, you can take a look at the countertop options, and I’ll get one of the guys there to help you out.”
Customer: “Okay.”
I start walking. He just stands there.
Me: “If you want to follow me, I’ll bring you over to have a chat with the kitchen guys; they’ll be able to give you an idea of what your options are.”
He follows.
As we’re walking, there’s an announcement saying our food court is closing in fifteen minutes.
Customer: “Oh, are you closing in fifteen minutes?”
Me: “No, the food court is. We close in forty-five minutes.”
Already, I know I’m in for it.
The two kitchen staff are finishing up a meeting, so I bring him over and show him the little display cuttings of the kitchen countertop and pick up the one he was looking at in that display room.
Me: “This is the top that was in that room, if you want to take a look at it. If you’ve got any questions, the kitchen staff should be free in a minute.”
He picks up a completely different counter chip and starts looking at it.
Customer: “Why does the top look so much nicer than it did in the display room?”
While I hold the one I just told him is the one from the room:
Me: “It’s because that’s not the one from the display room. The one I’m holding is. But I’ll leave you to take a look; the kitchen guys will be with you shortly.”
Customer: “Why does the wood on this one look oiled when the one in the room seems like it’s plastic-coated wood?”
Me: “That’s a different one. Ask the kitchen guys, I’ve got to get back to my department.”
He glazes over and starts talking about how the one he’s holding has actual wood veneer, whereas the one I picked up is just plastic laminate, blah blah blah…
I give him the blankest stare I can manage and cut the dumb-a** off.
Me: “You’ll need to ask the kitchen guys any more questions you have.”
Finally, I walk off.
From his Australian accent and his being a white guy, I would hazard a guess that his first language was definitely English. F****** boggles the mind: I know a lot of adults don’t have good reading comprehension, but f***… no listening comprehension either?
My family owned a coffee shop/general store where we sold all kinds of random stuff, from office supplies and toilet paper to lattes and smoothies. It was random, but it filled a need in the neighborhood.
At one point, we decided to pour candles. They were popular, so we started selling wholesale and at events. I was selling one day at a farmers’ market when a woman came to the booth. She recognises the candles, but doesn’t look at the rest of my booth.
Customer: “Oh, these candles are great! I usually buy them at this little s*** shop downtown.”
So, there I am, with my logo for the ‘s*** shop’ on my candles and a big banner for the same shop behind me. She hasn’t clocked on that the candles are handmade in my shop.
Me: *Pointing to the banner.* “Is it that s*** shop?”
Customer: *Eyes widen.* “Oh… uh… no, it must be another shop!”
Me: “Could you tell me which one? I make these candles myself, so if someone is selling low-quality copies of them, I need to know.”
Customer: *Backing away.* “Oh, I forgot. It was… uh… downtown.” *Trips over some items as she’s backing away.* “S***! F*** it.” *Runs away.*
