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Lower Your Guard, Not Your Price

, , , , | Right | July 20, 2018

(I manage a distribution center, but I am filling in for the manager of another facility for the week. One of the duties of the branch manager is to fill all walk-in orders.)

Customer: “What are your prices?”

Me: *indicating clearly-marked price board* “The prices are [amount] and [volume discount price].”

Customer: “Well, I always pay [lower price]. I buy from the other branch all the time and they give me a discount!”

Me: “You mean the facility in [City]?”

Customer: “Yes, I purchase from them all the time! You should give me the same price.”

Me: “That’s odd; I don’t recall ever seeing you before.”

Customer: “Why would you have seen me before?!”

Me: “I am the manager of the branch in [City], and I handle all accounts for that location.”

Customer: “Um, I’ll just take [product] at regular price.”

Me: “Thank you. Have a nice day, sir.”

Not ALL Roads Lead To Rome

, , , , , , | Learning | July 8, 2018

(I am working as a long-term sub for a teacher on maternity leave. It is an English class and we are reading Julius Caesar. While the kids are working on a different assignment, I mention something I just heard on the news.)

Me: “Hey, something you guys might find interesting: archaeologists just announced they found where Caesar landed with his army during their invasion of England.”

Student: “But… they didn’t have planes back then.”

Me: *bewildered* “Uh, no, but they did have ships.”

Student: “But why didn’t they just drive?”

Me: “You didn’t do well in geography, did you?”

Dad Needs The Medicine Of Truth

, , , , , | Related | June 26, 2018

(My mother recently broke her ankle and is couch-bound. This is hard for both my dad and me, as I have to take care of her and the house, while my dad has to do this — albeit to a lesser degree — while I’m at work. He’s used to telling my mom to get everything for him during the day while he’s working. He thinks he has pink-eye and can’t get in touch with his eye doctor, so I drive down there. I set up an appointment and call him.)

Me: “Okay, I’ve got you an appointment tomorrow at 11:00 am.”

Dad: “I don’t have time for that.”

Me: “I’ll try and set up a different time.”

Dad: “No, I’ve sent you a picture of my eye. Tell them to look at it and give me a prescription.”

Me: “…”

Dad: “You there?”

Me: “I don’t think it works like that.”

Dad: “Just ask them.”

(I go to the desk and look at the receptionist.)

Me: “I’m sorry. I already know the answer, but can you look at this picture and write my dad a script?”

Receptionist: *looks at me like I have two heads* “It doesn’t work like that. The doctor needs to see him, and I’m not a doctor.”

Me: “I know. I’m so sorry.”

(I call my dad back and tell him that they need to see him in person, not a picture.)

Dad: “I don’t have time! Why can’t they just give me the medicine?”

Me: “Because it’s illegal.”

(I still don’t think he gets that. This was by far the dumbest errand I’ve ever had to run. What’s worse, when I told my mom, she said this isn’t the first time he’s done this.)

Say Bye Bi To This Coworker

, , , , , , | Working | May 25, 2018

(I am a male. I work in a smallish admin team for a large engineering company. I am also bi, and while I don’t make an issue of it, I don’t hide it when referring to the gender of the person I am seeing. None of my colleagues have ever had an issue with this. until one day when I happen to mention that I am going on a date with a female friend of mine.)

Coworker: “I thought you were gay?”

Me: “No, bi.”

Coworker: “But you used to date [Male Ex]; you brought him to the Christmas party.”

Me: “Yeah, I did, but I am bi, not gay. [Male Ex] and I broke up a few months back, and I thought it was time to get back to dating again.”

Coworker: *confused stare* “So, you are still gay, but you are dating a girl, as well; is she one of those [slur]s?”

Me: *really?!* “No, she isn’t transgender; she is a woman.” *not going to attempt to explain trans/cisgender at this point* “I am bi; I date men and women. I find them both attractive.”

Coworker: *seems to be mulling this over* “Are your parents pressuring you? I think it’s wrong that some people are homophobic. Is that why you are ‘dating’ this girl?”

Me: “No… I am dating her because I find her attractive and I’ve known her for years.”

Coworker: “And she doesn’t mind that you are gay?”

Me: “Some people are gay, some people are straight, and other people are bi. I am bi. I like men and women. Oh, look! My lunch time is over.” *dashes from staff room*

(Apparently the idea is too much to understand, as she continues to refer to me as gay.)

Coworker: “Do you watch that Ru Paul’s Drag Race?”

Me: “No, I don’t really like drag.”

Coworker: ” I thought all gays liked drag?”


Coworker: “Gays have such good style. [My Name], will you take me shopping?”


Coworker: “Are you on that Grinderer thing? Someone said all the gays use it.”

Me: “Again, I am not gay, and I don’t think my girlfriend would like me using it.”

(At my last work’s night out, I had to explain to my girlfriend why one of my coworkers might try and check her for a penis.)

You Can Bite Me!

, , , , , , | Friendly | May 22, 2018

(I’ve been feeling a bit ill, and my friend suggests I get some food since I haven’t eaten all day. The nearest fast food place has recently gotten self-service kiosks, which I really like using. After paying for my food, I go to the pick up area, and there are several other customers waiting. Three young boys, probably 12 to 15 years old, are stood flush against the counter, leaning over it and trying to claim every order the servers bring forward, loudly proclaiming that it is their food. The servers aren’t stupid, and do their best to work around them. One of the boys already has a bag of food; I don’t know if it is his or not. My order has some special food items in it, so it is taking a little while longer than most of the other orders. I’ve seen these jacka**es try and pull this stunt with about twenty people’s food by the time I see a server put my order together and bring it forward. One of the boys leans forward, grasping for bag.)

Child #1: “That’s mine. Give it here.”

Server: *doing their best to ignore him and keep food out of his reach* “Number 875?”

Child #1: “Come on, d**k. Give me my food.”

Me: *stepping forward, holding my numbered ticket aloft* “Me, thanks.”

Child #2: *reaching to grab food as it’s handed over* “Give it, b****!”

Me: *snatching it, drawing back, and giving these punk kids my best death glare* “If you try to take my food, I will f****** bite you!”

(I’m in my mid-twenties but I often get mistaken for being much younger.)

Child #3: “What did she say?”

Child #2: “She said if we take her food she’ll bite us.”

Child #1: “Please, you’re like twelve!”

(I take a step forward to challenge them, but they all take a huge step away, clearly wary I’ll follow through on my threat. I leave with my food and message my friend to tell him what just happened.)

Me: “You won’t believe what just happened.”

(I tell him.)

Friend: “See? I told you food would get you back to normal.”