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Coming Soon: Public Troughs

, | Right | March 20, 2008

(A customer comes up to the counter to drop off laundry. Without warning, she sticks her hand into my cereal bowl, grabs a handful, and starts crunching. A confused look crosses her face.)

Customer: “What on earth is this?”

Me: “That’s my breakfast.”

Customer: “Oh, excuse me; I thought it was a snack.”

Why Some Folks Have Children

, , , | Right | March 17, 2008

(A man comes in with about 4 children running about behind him. He comes up to the counter.)

Me: “Can I help you?”

Customer: “Yeah…I’m looking for some *whispers*…p*rn.”

Me: “You mean adult movies?”

Customer: “Yeah, I guess.”

Me: “Sorry, we don’t stock those here.”

Customer: “What?!”

Me: “There are some stores in the town centre. Perhaps you can try there?”

Customer: “I want some p*rn now! What kind of store is this?”

Me: “I apologise, but we don’t stock adult movies.”

Customer: “This is ridiculous, I only want to watch some p*rn with my wife.”

Me: “Sorry, this is a family store.”

Customer: “MAYBE IT’S FOR THE KIDS TOO! ”

(Customer storms out with all 4 children jumping around behind him as I stand there dumbfounded.)

A Bad Day To Be A Pair Of Jeans

, , , | Right | March 14, 2008

(It is about five minutes to closing on a Saturday night and we have maybe five or six employees working, all female. A new bar has just opened next door, and a drunk man wanders in.)

Drunk Man: “I need to buy some matches.”

Me: “I’m sorry sir. We don’t sell matches, only clothes.”

Drunk Man: “Well, then sell me a lighter. I need a cigarette.”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir. We don’t sell lighters or matches, just clothes.”

Drunk Man: “D*** it, just give me one.”

Me: “I don’t have one, sir, or trust me, I would.”

Drunk Man: “You lying b****! Give me a f****** match you b****!”

Me: “Sir, you need to leave, or I’m calling the police. We don’t have lighters or matches. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”

Drunk Man: “I’ll get it myself!”

(He storms off toward the men’s department. I call my coworker in that department, then call the manager to give them a heads up. A few minutes later, the man goes running out, empty-handed, and my coworker is racing after him. She grabs my phone and starts screaming over the intercom for our manager. I asked her what happened.)

Coworker: “He pissed all over the Levis!”

Da, Is Union of Soviet Socialist Retirees

, , , , | Right | March 12, 2008

(I work every summer in a beach shop in Florida. One morning, a man comes in and buys a beach chair, and returns after a few hours with his family.)

Customer: “I would like to return this chair.”

Me: “Of course. Do you have a receipt?”

Customer: “No, I just went to the beach. Why would I keep the receipt?”

Me: “Is there a reason why you are returning the chair?”

Customer: “It’s broken.”

(The chair is soaked with water, coated with sand, and has a hole in the seat from what looks like a footprint on the cushion.)

Me: “I am sorry, sir, but we cannot accept used, broken items for return.”

Customer: “What?! I didn’t break it!”

Me: “I am sorry sir, but without a receipt, it still cannot be returned.”

Customer: “Son of a b****! You hear that kids? This Russian b**** is going to f*** up our vacation!”

Me: “…Russian? I live here.”

Customer: “Don’t lie to me! I hear that accent.”

Me: “…What accent?”

Customer: “THERE! You just did it. No one talks like that in the Northeast.”

Me: “…I’m a Southerner. You’re in the South.”

Customer: “Whatever, you piece of racist s***”

(The man left only after he threw the chair at a clothes rack. Quite the job experience for a fifteen-year-old.)

Hissy Fits As Profit Centers

, , | Right | March 10, 2008

(I am working the morning shift at a local sandwich shop and accidentally give the wrong order to the wrong patron. I run outside to trade the first customer and come back in and approach the second.)

Me: “Sorry, sir, I gave your order to the wrong man. Would you like me to remake this for you?”

Customer: “You put s*** in my sandwich! I don’t want it back!”

Me: “Oh, no, sir. I’m sorry. See, I gave this to the wrong man and ran out to trade him. As I said, I can remake this for you; it will just take a minute.”

Customer: “NO. You put s*** in my sandwich. I don’t want you to make me another.”

Me: “Well, okay, sir. If you meet me at my register, I will be more than happy to refund your money.”

Customer: “Listen here, you little b****, you put s*** in my f****** sandwich! I can’t believe your manager doesn’t fire you!”

(This whole time my manager stands there laughing, doing nothing to help.)

Me: “What can I do to make this experience better for you? I can make a new sandwich or give you your money back.”

Customer: “F*** YOU!”

(He then storms away and leaves sandwich/money free. As he’s leaving, I yell…)

Me: “Thanks for breakfast!”


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