Excuse Their French, Part 2

, , | Right | September 22, 2020

I work in a bookshop in a small-enough town in the west of Ireland. I am serving behind the till when two twenty-something French couples walk in. The men are in high spirits and having a laugh, and they look at me, a fairly typical-looking Irish girl.

French Man: *In French* “My friend’s a right a**hole, isn’t he? And they both start laughing at how they’ve stupefied this little Irish cailin.”

Me: *In fluent French* “I’m sorry, I really can’t comment as I don’t know him well enough.”

Both wives burst out laughing and both men turned bright red and swiftly headed to the end of the shop!

Excuse Their French

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Happens All The Time When People See The Prices Of The Textbooks

, , , , , , , , | Working | September 15, 2020

I am waiting in line at the university bookshop. I just gave blood an hour ago and, despite never having had any previous problems donating blood, and having had ample to eat and drink today, I start to feel a little woozy.

And then, I wake up on the floor.

The other customer who was in line is standing over me, while the staff member behind the desk calls out, “Are you okay?”

As I wake up a bit more, I can explain that I gave blood earlier.

The staff member finishes serving the customer, who leaves. Then, the staff member calls out to me, “You can go and sit on the stairs outside if you want to rest a bit.”

The staff member then turns away and continues their work at the desk. I am still lying on the floor, but, having never fainted in public before, and seeing that neither the staff member or the other customer seem remotely concerned, I just feel embarrassed and silly lying on the floor in a public place. As quickly as physically able, I get up, pick up my bag, leave the purchase I was going to make on a shelf, and go and sit on the stairs outside for about thirty minutes until my head stops spinning and my legs will hold me up, before I — slowly, with several stops — head home.

Once at home, I call the blood bank — they tell you to contact them if you have any adverse reactions — and the nurse on the end goes berko.

Oh, my God! Did you bang anything when you landed? How are you feeling now? I need you to see a doctor in the next twenty-four hours for a review. Don’t do any strenuous activity for the rest of the day. Drink something. Eat something. Have you got a family member or friend with you?” And so on.

I am only a young, inexperienced, not very world-wise person when this all happens, and I really don’t know what the correct reaction is when someone loses consciousness in the middle of a store, but I know that it is not to just ignore them and go about your work.

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Not Getting The Focal Point, Part 2

, , , | Right | September 12, 2020

During college, I work as a cashier at a bookstore. A normal, run-of-the-mill lady in her mid-thirties comes up to my register to purchase a pair of reading glasses. I ring her up.

Me: “Your total is $16.34.”

She does a double-take.

Customer: “But it says $1.50 right here!”

She points to a sticker on the lens. Confused, I look at where she’s pointing. Then, I have to stifle a giggle as I summon every ounce of politeness and tact I possess to deliver the following sentence without embarrassing her or sounding like a smarta**.

Me: “Ma’am… That’s the prescription strength.”

She did not purchase the glasses.

Not Getting The Focal Point

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What A Hálfviti

, , , , | Right | September 8, 2020

I’m a customer in line in front of another customer. I’ve just come from Iceland to visit my American family. One of my books is a travel guide to Iceland for my cousin. I pay and am about to pick up my books and leave when the person behind me speaks up.

Customer: “Oh, are you going to Iceland?”

Me: “Actually, I am Icelandic. This is for my cousin.”

Customer: “Oh, cool! You’re Icelandic? Your English is amazing!”

Me: “Uh… thanks.”

Customer: “So, what language do you speak in Iceland?”

Me: “Um. Icelandic.”

Customer: “Not Nordish?”

Me: “What?”

Customer: “Nordish. You don’t speak Nordish?”

Me: “I… I don’t think that’s even a language.”

Customer: “Don’t be ridiculous! Oh, maybe you don’t call it Nordish in Nordish language. Sorry, honey. I know English can be really hard sometimes.”

To this day, I still have no idea where I should have even begun in correcting her.

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Who Doesn’t Love A Good Book Burning?

, , , , , | Learning | September 7, 2020

I am behind the tills at a bookstore. A few schoolchildren from a high school come in and look around dizzily. I realise they’re with a teacher and have come from a trip.

Me: “Welcome to [Bookstore]; can I help you?”

Girl #1: “Yeah, where is Fifty Shades of Grey?”

Teacher: “[Girl #1]! You are not old enough for that!”

Me: “It’s okay.” *To the girl* “I’m sorry, but you have to be over eighteen to buy it.”

They leave. Then, [Girl #2] and [Girl #3] come up.

Girl #3: “Has the Hunger Games number two, like, got any sex in it?”

Me: *Bewildered* “No.”

Girl #3: “Can we have it, then?”

Girl #2: “I thought all books had sex in them now. Why are we buying it?”

[Girl #3] shushes her as they take the book from a pile on the side, pay for it, and go.

They giggle as they go. A few minutes later, the fire alarm goes off. After the children and the other customers and employees are evacuated, and a small fire is put out by firemen, one finds that a book in the garbage bin started it. It was coated in nail polish, shoved in with newspapers, and set alight. I recognise it as the book the girls brought.

Me: “Those girls set it on fire!”

Teacher: *To the girls* “IS THIS TRUE?”

Girl #3: “Well, it was a dumb book! And there’s no sex in it!”

Fireman: “What?!”

Girl #3: “And anyway, it’s a stupid book. Who cares? Everyone who actually isn’t a dork uses Kindle!”

Fireman: “Even if that is true, young lady, you began a fire in a public area, with people inside! You are so lucky the fire didn’t get more serious. You’re under grounds for prosecution!”

The girls are sent away in a police car. The next day, one of the other students from the school comes in. I prepare myself for more trouble, but she asks…

Girl #4: “Can I get a copy of TimeRiders?”

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