We’re Not Clownin’ Around

| Fremont, CA, USA | Working | May 29, 2013

(This happens while I am working for a bookstore on Halloween; as a result, several coworkers are dressed up. Two cops enter the store as if searching for something and come up to my counter.)

Cop #1: “Hello, Miss, we were called here with a report about an altercation, and that a witness with details was working here?”

(Note: 10 minutes before the cops came, my coworker had told me to direct any cops to her.)

Me: “Oh yes, sir! You’ll just need to talk to the clown down there.”

(I point down the line of registers.)

Cop #2: “Look, Miss, you may not like your coworker, but there is no need to call them names.”

Me: “I think [coworker] is a very nice person sir, but seriously, if you want your answers, you really will have to talk to the clown down there.

(Again, I point down the line of registers.)

Cop #1: “Look, Miss, your attitude towards your co—”

(At this point, the cops are interrupted but a series of loud squeaky honks. They turn to look the way I’ve been pointing all this time and see my coworker (who is dressed up as an old fashioned, rainbow colored, poofy wigged, and squeaky nosed clown) waving her arms frantically and honking her nose to get their attention.)

Me: “As I’ve been saying gentlemen, if you want to talk to the witness, you’re really going to have to talk to the clown down there.”

(Cop #1 sees my coworker and is struggling to keep his laughter contained. Cop #2 gets a resigned look on his face.)

Cop #2: “I really hate Halloween.”

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Stared To Death

| Tolna, Hungary | Right | May 29, 2013

(I’m a regular at a small bookstore that a kindly old lady opened some years ago. We’ve been friends for as long as I’ve known her, and chat when there are no customers around. I walk up to the counter and see her talking to a woman in her late fifties. I’m an Emo, though uncharacteristically cheerful at the moment. I wear black, causal clothes most of the time.)

Me: “Good day, how’s it going?”

(She notices me, smiles, but motions me to move. Realizing I butted into their conversation, I sheepishly back away so they can continue. The customer is staring at me with her mouth wide open.)

Me: “Umm…”

(My friend and I exchange looks. I don’t believe she understands what’s going on either.)

Me: “I’m sorry; is something wrong?”

(The customer doesn’t answer or react in any way, and just keeps staring for what feels like minutes.)

Me: “…is there something on me?”

Customer: “…”

Me: “Lady?”

Customer: “…”

(My friend seems worried as she observes our rather one-sided conversation. I’m starting to get annoyed, and a little scared.)

Me: “It’s impolite to stare at others, you know.”

Customer: “…”

(At this point it occurs to me she could have issues with my hairstyle. I pull my bang aside, but nothing changes.)

Me: “Okay, what?”

Customer: “…”

Me: “What is it?!”

My Friend: “Ah, I know! It’s because you’re wearing black! She thinks you’re attending a funeral, and since you were so happy—”

(The customer immediately snaps out of it and confirms this. She actually thinks I am happy because someone died. After five years, we still talk about the woman whom my fashion statement sent into catatonia, and my friend, the store owner, who’s apparently psychic.)

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Out of Sight, Out of Store

| Fremont, CA, USA | Working | May 27, 2013

(For a few days I have noticed a two customers come into our bookstore with empty bags and crumpled receipts, match the books on the shelf with the receipts, then returning the “bought” books for cash. I make a phone call to my Store Manager, who never comes out of his office. This is after the third theft where we had two other eyewitnesses to the crime.)

Me: “[Store Manager], those two customers are back trying to return books that they pulled off the shelf again.”

Manager: “Just go ahead and give them the money.”

Me: “Sir, I personally watched them pull the books off the shelf and place them in the bag.”

Manager: “No one else saw them, right? We can’t take the word of one employee.”

Me: “Sir, after you said that the last TWO times I reported this, I had other employees watch them and they witnessed it as well.”

Manager: “Well, a few dollars isn’t much and I don’t want to deal with it.”

Me: “Sir, with today’s ‘return,’ the total would be over $300.”

Manager: “Just give it to them. I have more important things to worry about.” *hangs up*

(I hand the money to the customers but give them this parting shot as they leave…)

Me: *to the thieves* “Have a nice day, gentlemen, but if you come into this store again, I will personally hand over the security tapes with you on them to the police.”

(Three days later, my store manager comes up to me grinning.)

Manager: “See? They knew they were going to be caught soon so they finally stopped. Nothing to worry about!”

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In Search Of Degrees Of Freedom

, | FL, USA | Learning | May 22, 2013

Man: “See, honey? If you don’t do well in school, you’ll end up working like this girl.”

Me: “Actually, sir, I’m a student here, too. I just work for the extra cash.”

Girl: “That’s great! It’s my first year here. What’s your major?”

Me: “English.”

Man: “English? Why would you get a major in English?”

Me: *jokingly* “I’m in it for the money, sir.”

Man: “But you have an accent! You’re not even from America!”

Me: “Sir, that’s an Appalachian accent you’re hearing.”

Man: “Yeah, well, you’ll get your degree and still not be able to get a job! No one’s going to hire someone who doesn’t even speak proper English!”

Me: “My concentration is literature, sir. I doubt anyone cares about my accent.”

(The man turns away, grumbling under his breath.)

Girl: *nervously* “This is why I decided to move away for school.”

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A Comic Book Romance, Part 2

| Germany | Romantic | May 7, 2013

(I am a regular in my favorite store for comics, books and board-games. The owner is a big fan of one of the big labels, while I prefer the other. We’re talking about new comics, when a young woman enters the store. She starts talking to the owner.)

Young Woman: “Hey, I would like to start with [my preferred label] comics; could you help me?”

Owner: “Sure, no problem.”

(The owner turns to me.)

Owner: “Hey, you know [label] comics better. Would you help?”

(The three of us begin to talk about the comics. An overdressed girl enters, and overhears me talking about my favorite series.)

Overdressed Girl: “Are you f****** stupid? Those stories are s***, and they’re for little children. Read [other label of comics which is written mainly for children]; they are for cool people.”

Owner: “Stop talking like this, or I’ll kick you out.”

Young Woman: “I… I don’t know what I should read.”

Overdressed Girl: “A girl? Girls don’t read comics. Not even if they are as fat and ugly as you are.”

(The girl is not fat; she seems to be fighting her tears.)

Owner: “Shut up and leave. NOW!”

Overdressed Girl: “I’m the hottest person in here! You can’t make me leave! I’m the hottest in here, and all boys want me!”

(I turn to the young woman who is by now almost crying.)

Me: “Hey, you know she’s wrong. You’re much prettier then her! Uhm… do you… want to go out sometime?”

(The overdressed girl storms out. The young woman looks at me like I’m crazy. The owner is laughing hard.)

Owner: “Nice one!”

Young Woman: “T… thanks.”

Me: “Yeah… so, what about that date?”

(We started dating soon after, and are now engaged!)

A Comic Book Romance

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