Strongly Massaging Their Need To Use The Restroom

, , , , | Right | October 8, 2018

(I work at a locally-owned massage business as a receptionist. A fairly skinny woman comes in:)

Customer: “Hi, I want to make an appointment, but can I use your bathroom really quick? I’m pregnant and have to pee all the time.”

(I notice she’s not visibly pregnant, but brush it off.)

Me: “Okay, it’s upstairs, the first room on the right.”

Customer: “Thanks.”

(She looks around and says, fairly loudly:)

Customer: “WOW! THIS PLACE IS GORGEOUS!” *runs upstairs*

(She’s upstairs for a long time, when finally I hear the bathroom door shut. She doesn’t come down for a while. I hear her thumping around upstairs, and then finally she comes down, in a rush.)

Customer: “I JUST REMEMBERED; I HAVE TO MEET MY SISTER! I’LL BE BACK. BYE!” *rushes out the door*

(I knew she took something, but we don’t keep anything valuable upstairs. She took a metal bowl and a desk clock, but the weirdest part was that she crumpled up a newly-folded blanket and threw it in the corner. She never came back.)

Has Twenty-Twenty Vision

, , , , , | Right | October 7, 2018

(I am working the express lane for those who have twenty items or less. I really hate being on it because I often get customers with a lot more due to the fact that the sign is hard to see. I try to have them leave by letting them know ASAP so I’m not wasting their time, but sometimes I don’t notice them in time and let them through, which clearly frustrates the customers with only a few things. I am ringing up a customer with only a few items and there is no one else in my line. A woman with a full cart comes in.)

Me: “Uh, ma’am, this line is only for twenty items or less.”

(She stares at me, and I quickly revert my attention back to the customer I was helping, assuming that she is going to leave. However, she doesn’t and starts to put her stuff on the belt.)

Customer: “Oh! This is for twenty items or less.”

(She then proceeds to SEPARATE ALL HER ITEMS BY TWENTY. As she is doing this, the store progressively starts getting busy as a stream of customers with only a few items in their hands make their way to my register.)

Me: *whispers* “Kill me now, please.”

Feeding The Flames Of Bad Parenting

, , , , , | Related | October 6, 2018

(I am seven. A couple of months after the carnival, I become very ill. I’m so ill that I’m taken to the hospital and stay there overnight with medicine and IVs. This is, understandably, upsetting and frightening. My mother is the one who takes me there, but as soon as the staff are done asking questions, she leaves. I ask the nurse to call my dad, and he visits me. Shortly after he arrives, I suffer a grand mal seizure and get taken for an emergency surgery, since I’ve injured myself. I wake up hours later.)

Me: “Dad, what happened? Why does it hurt?”

Dad: *doing his best to keep me calm and explain how a child could understand* “It’s okay now. You got too hot from being sick, so your body panicked. And when your body panicked, you got hurt. The doctor fixed it. But hey, since you’ve been so good, I called your mom and she said she’s on her way with chicken nuggets.”

Me: *satisfied by the answer, but a little grumpy* “Okay, I guess. Can you stay while I read?”

Dad: *smiles* “Okay, let me know if you find a hard word.”

(Two hours pass. We are both hungry.)

Me: “Did Mom drive to another city?”

Dad: “She shouldn’t have. I’ll page her.”

(My father uses a payphone to page my mother. She arrives twenty minutes later, dressed like a jazz singer, in a flashy dress with a slit up to the hip, with makeup, jewelry, and perfume on. This is strange because she never wears perfume or dresses formally without reason. A man in a button-up shirt is with her but waits outside the room.)

Mom: *maximum sass and attitude* “What? I was on my way. Why couldn’t you just wait?”

Dad: “It’s eight pm; you know we usually have her fed by seven pm. She was worried. I called you hours ago. Where were you?”

Mom: *sighs indignantly* “I had a job interview!

Dad: “Since when do you go to job interviews with perfume and a dress that’s cut up to the hip?”

Mom: *shouts* “Since I said! Now shut up and eat.”

(She throws the bag of food across my legs. Being hungry, I grab what is obviously meant for me and take a bite.)

Me: *sad* “It’s cold.”

(I put my food back in the bag, grossed out.)

Mom: “Well, if you waste it, I’ll make you wish you’ll have to stay here longer! So eat!”

Dad: *takes the bags off of my legs* “No. If she doesn’t want to eat food that’s been sitting out long enough to get cold, she doesn’t have to. Kids have instincts about stuff like this. What if she is this sick because you forced her to eat bad food already?”

Mom: *smirks, then turns to face the hall and shouts* “HOW DARE YOU ACCUSE ME OF CHILD ABUSE! YOU’RE THE ONE WHO DIDN’T GET HER ANY FOOD!”

Man In Button-Up Shirt: *impatient, speaking to my mother* “Come on. Let’s just go. We are going to miss the movie!”

(Yes, my dad did get investigated. However, it was determined that it wasn’t unreasonable of him to trust that my own mother would bring edible food after agreeing to get dinner! And the man in the button-up shirt who waited for her? He became my stepfather within a year.)

Having A Light-Bowb Moment

, , , , | Right | October 4, 2018

(The hardware store where I work is in a large Asian immigrant community, and while the younger generations often speak fluent English, the older generations often don’t. Sometimes this can cause problems, but usually we find a way to work through it. Sadly, though, we only have two or three bilingual associates who can translate. I’m working in the lighting department, organizing light bulbs, when a little, old, Asian guy walks up to me and shouts in a thick accent:)

Customer: “BOWB!”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “BOWB!”

Me: *assuming he means “lightbulb”* “Okay, what kind of bulb?”

Customer: “BOWB!”

Me: “Okay, sir, what kind of bulb?”

Customer: *frustratedly* “BOWB!”

Me: “Um… Do you have an old bulb?”

(I’m frantically looking for someone who can translate and coming up blank.)

Customer: *frustratedly* “BOWB!”

Me: “Sir, I—”

Customer: *now livid* “BOWB!”

Me: “I under—”

Customer: *practically trembling with frustration and anger* “BOOOOWB!”

(At this point, he finally grabs something from his pocket and shakes it under my face. Turns out it’s the old bulb, all right. Unfortunately, his grip on the thing is weak, and it goes sailing past me to shatter on the ground. I stare at it for a second, and then back at him, because that wasn’t exactly expected.)

Customer: *in a tone like someone just kicked his puppy* “Bowb…”

(The poor guy looks just so crestfallen that I pick through the shards, pull out the metal base with a wattage rating, and manage to line it up with a replacement. And of course, as he leaves, in a cheerful tone now…)

Customer: “BOWB!”

(To this day, my coworkers tease me about it by saying, “BOWB!”)

The Magical Kingdom Isn’t The Free Magical Kingdom

, , , , , | Right | October 4, 2018

Me: “Hi, welcome to Disneyland! How may I help you?”

Guest: “Hi! I’d like to go to California Adventure.”

Me: “Okay. Is it just yourself?”

Guest: “Yes, just me.”

Me: “So, one for California Adventure for one adult will be $119.”

Guest: “Oh… I don’t have any money.”

Me: “What?”

Guest: “I don’t have any money; I just want to go in.”

Me: “Well, you need a ticket to get in.”

Guest: “Oh… the lady at the front said that I need a ticket.”

Me: “Because you do.”

Guest: “Well, how do you suggest I get in?”

Me: “Buy a ticket?”

Guest: “But I have no money.”

Me: “Then how did you expect to get in?”

Guest: “I thought maybe you would just hook it up.”

Me: “Ha! Are you serious?”

Guest: “Yes, I’m serious.”

Me: “Well, buying a ticket is the only way to get in.”

Guest: “Oh… Okay.” *reads name tag*

Me: “Yes?”

Guest: “That’s a beautiful name. I like it.”

Me: “Thanks… Me, too.”

(Awkward silence.)

Guest: “Okay, bye.”

Page 4/130First...23456...Last