Unborn Children Of The Corn

| San Antonio, TX, USA | Working | May 1, 2017

(My coworker is about nine weeks pregnant. We wear aprons over our uniforms so you can’t tell yet.)

Coworker #1: *rubbing her belly* “Look, I have a belly now!”

Me: “Aww, yay, baby belly!”

(Coworker #2 passes by and pauses right where we are to let someone go past him.)

Coworker #2: *sticking out his belly as far as it will go* “I think I’m about seven months by now.”

Me: “Is it a boy or a girl?”

Coworker #2: “Burrito!”

Even The Most Supportive Cakes Need Time To Bake

| UK | Right | April 27, 2017

(I am presenting a custom order cake to a mother for her son’s birthday.)

Mother: “Could I have it in pink?”

Me: “Did you order it in pink?”

Mother: “No, but it needs to be pink now.”

Me: “It would have to be remade, and you would still be charged for this one, as it has been completed to your specification.”

Mother: “Oh, but you don’t understand! My son just came out as a woman!”

Me: “That still doesn’t change the fact that you ordered this cake and have now changed your mind after it has been made.”

Mother: “Oh, but, couldn’t you show me some kindness? I’m trying to be supportive.

Me: “Okay, I’ll give you a large discount on this one, but you will still need to pay full price for the pink cake.”

Mother: “Oh, thank you.”

Me: “What time will you need the cake for?”

Mother: “Oh, literally now! I’m just heading over.

Me: “…”

(I eventually convinced her to get a generic “It’s A Girl” cake after wising her up to the fact that I can’t just magically pull a fully made cake out of my a**. Her daughter came into the bakery a week later to thank me. She found the cake hilarious.)

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Disorder From The Order

, | Austin, TX, USA | Working | April 23, 2017

(I’m in a cafe where I tend to banter with the cashiers there, so they at least know me. I’m at the counter ordering my food. She is high-school or college-aged, possibly a student at the local big-shot university.)

Me: “And I’d like a… Boy, are you giggly today!”

Cashier: *giggles*

Me: “I don’t know why you’re so giggly, but look at that smile! Hey, look at how giggly she is!”

Cashier: *giggles some more*

(At this point I’m actually kind of mystified as to what’s so funny, but she takes my order and hands me a number, and I walk away. I walk over to a bench to sit down while they make my order. I look down at my number card, and suddenly all becomes clear. It is the number 69.)

Me: *holding the card up* “I figured it out!”

Cashier: *studiously avoiding looking at me*

(One of her coworkers came around to give me the food and he started snickering, too. It’s been over a week now and she still won’t look at me, which I find utterly hilarious.)

Keeps Putting Her Finger On The Problem

| England, UK | Right | April 20, 2017

(A woman comes into my bakery and wanders around. I ask her if she would like any help, but she politely refuses. I turn to take something out of the oven when I hear rustling. I turn my head briefly and catch her opening a seal pack of assorted muffins. She sticks her fingers in each one before putting them back and moving onto another.)

Me: “Excuse me. Could you please not do that? I do have to sell those.”

Customer: “How else will I know if I like them?”

Me: “You could ask for a sample.”

(She rolls her eyes as though it is a ridiculous suggestion and continues with her “tasting.” I run around the counter and grab them, along with those she put back.)

Me: “That will be [amount], please.”

Customer: “But, I don’t want them. I don’t like them.”

Me: “That doesn’t matter. How am I meant to sell these after your fingers and spit have been all over them?”

Customer: *offended* “Are you saying I look like I have a disease?!”

Me: “Would you buy a muffin knowing someone else has picked at it?”

Customer: “Well, no. That’s disgusting!”

Me: “Well there you are. [Amount], please.”

(She huffed and stormed out without paying.)

Sounds Like They’re Already Baked

| TX, USA | Friendly | April 7, 2017

(My BFF and I run a small bakery. We are very sarcastic with each other and our employees.)

BFF: *texting* “Not coming in today.”

Me: “Really? You are only four hours late. I didn’t even miss you.”

BFF: “Slow?”

Me: “Turtle, slug, slime creeping. What is slower?”

BFF: “What are you doing?”

Me: “Watching Deadwood, cleaning office, surfing porn (not really).”

BFF: “Go home. The girls can handle the front.”

Me: “NO! Then I would have to watch TMNT, clean the kitchen, and surf Pinterest; work is way better!”

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