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Picky Python

, , , | Right | February 2, 2009

(A lady comes in with an eight-foot boa constrictor draped over her shoulders.)

Customer: “Where is your cookie aisle?”

Me: “No! No! No! You cannot bring that in here. You have to leave.”

Customer: “Why? He won’t hurt you.”

Me: “I’m terrified of snakes for one, and also, it’s a health code violation.”

Customer: *walking closer to me, as I slowly back away* “That’s crazy! I’m not leaving and you can’t make me. Plus, he’s not on the floor or touching anything in the store, so how can it be a health code violation? Now, where are the cookies?”

Me: “It’s a health code violation because no animals are allowed in a store where food is served unless they’re service animals, and that’s not a service animal.”

Customer: “You’re crazy!”

Me: *calling to a manager* “Can you please come out here, NOW?!”

Manager: *walking over* I’m sorry, ma’am, you’re going to have to take the snake outside. You can come back in only if you get rid of it.”

Customer: “I’m not leaving the snake outside; I’m going to get the cookies.”

Manager: “Ma’am, you’re terrifying my employees and customers, and it’s a huge health code violation. If you would like, you can tell me what kind of cookies you’d like and hand me your money, and I’ll go get them for you.

Customer: “I’m afraid that’s not going to work, either. My snake here likes to pick out his own cookies.”

Me: “…”

Manager: “Then I’m afraid we can’t help you and you must leave.”

Customer: “I’m going across the street and telling the police station you won’t let me shop with the snake. This is an outrage, and this isn’t the last you’ve heard of me!”

(We never saw her again.)

This story is part of our Snakes roundup!

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Salvation Vs. Business Savvy

, , , , | Right | January 29, 2009

Me: “Hi, how can I help you?”

Customer: “I’m looking for a metal business card case.”

Me: “Well, we really only carry leather here – would you like me to show them to you?”

Customer: “No, it needs to be metal. Where can I get one?”

Me: “Well, I know of a place in the mall, but they market them as cigarette cases. If you just ask the man at the counter for one, he can–”

Customer: *interrupting* “I ain’t buying no cigarette case, I ain’t no smoker.”

Me: “Ma’am, I can assure you they’re not used or anything, it’s just that the original concept came from cigarette cases, and people adapted them into wallets.”

Customer: “Well, I ain’t buyin no cigarette case, so you best tell me where I can get a business card case.”

Me: “Ma’am, that’s the only place I know of. They’re the exact same product: a metal case with two prongs on the inside for–”

Customer: “I ain’t no heathen woman, and I ain’t gonna carry around no wicked cigarette box while I’m at church! Do you expect me to?!”

Me: “No ma’am, I just don’t think you’ll find one at that store if you’re asking for a business card case.”

Customer: “No, you WON’T!” *storms out*

Me: “…what?”

Culinary Confusion

, , , , | Right | January 28, 2009

(I was working at the concessions stand taking someone’s order, when a man walks up and cuts in line.)

Customer: “Hey, why does this theater look so run down?”

Me: “Uh… well, it is kind of old, but as you can see from the sign we are renovating.”

Customer: “Oh. Can I get a popcorn then? Is it fresh?”

Me: “Sir, you just cut in line. I’m sorry, but you’ll have to get back in line if you want service.”

Customer: “Oh. Okay.”

(He pauses, but doesn’t move from his place beside me at the counter. I finish my transaction and clear up the line, and he’s still standing there.)

Customer: “So… what’s up with those corn dogs?”

Me: “What?”

Customer: “Those corn dogs. What’s wrong with them?”

Me: *looking around, utterly confused* “Uh… the hot dogs? I don’t see anything wrong with them.”

Customer: “No, the corn dogs! They look awfully… green, don’t they?”

Me: *following his eyes* “Sir… I think you’re talking about the pickles.”

Customer: “Oh… that’s what they are? Could have fooled me.”

Me: “…”

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Frequent Diers Club

, , , | Right | January 27, 2009

Me: “Hi there.”

Customer: *smiles* “I got out o’ rehab yesterday. I was in fer 16 weeks! I was in fer the drink.”

Me: “Oh, right…”

Customer: “I went fer a drink to celebrate last night, just 1 or 2, ya know. I got carried away and woke up in a hospital the’ mornin, tubes in ma nose and s***. They brought me back nine times.”

Me: “Nine times… they resuscitated you?!”

Customer: “Yeah, I’ve died a few times now. Been hit by twelve cars, been through four windscreens… in all, been brought back over thirty times a think.”

Me: “…”

Customer: “What’s that thing with lotsa lives?”

Me: “A cat?”

Customer: No, more than a cat… Oh wait, yeah! They call me the cat! But I have more than a cat… they call me Supercat!”

Me: “Don’t you think you should cut back on the drinking?”

Customer: “Och, I just gotta stick to ma limits and no drink three litres. One litre is ma limit!”

Better Safe Than Sorry

, , , , , | Right | January 20, 2009

(I am just finishing up a sale with an older gentleman for show tickets.)

Me: “Okay, just to let you know, there are no refunds or exchanges for these tickets, and the show does contain shooting, swearing, and smoking.”

Customer: “I hope not in my row!”

Me: *confused* “Well, it’s a show… You can see everything from every seat… so–”

Customer: “I’m talking about the shooting!”

Me: “Oh! Well, no… they shoot each other on-stage…”

Customer: “Not the audience?”

Me: “Not the audience. What kind of theater do you think we’re running here?!”

Customer: “I don’t know… I just don’t want to get shot.”