(I’ve just started a new job after having a baby a few months back. I’m a single mother. I am processing my first refund-to-gift-card transaction. I’m having a little bit of trouble with it, so I ask if they would mind if I called my manager.)

Me: “I’m sorry, sir. This is my first time doing this. Would you mind if I phoned my manager to ask him how it’s done?”

Customer: “Go figure! That’s what happens when we start hiring women! They can’t do anything right, can they? You ought to be barefoot pregnant in the kitchen, not taking jobs from hardworking men.”

Me: “I’m very sorry, sir. I actually just started this job after having a baby.”

Customer: “So, you’re leaving a real man at home to look after your child while you take money for yourself?”

Me: *appalled* “If you’ll excuse me, sir, I’m just going to call my manager to ask him how the refund is done.”

Customer: “Go home to your b*****d baby! Leave the jobs to real men!”

(At this point, a tall, metal-ead-looking man with long hair, piercings, and ripped jeans approaches the counter behind the man. I recognize him as a teacher who substituted for some classes when I was in school. He speaks up.)

Substitute Teacher: “If all the jobs are for hardworking men, what the h*** are you doing here at two in the afternoon instead of working?”

(The customer turned white at the sight of him, gathered up his items, and ran off without getting his refund. I thanked the substitute with my first ever gift card transaction, and he took me out to dinner. He, my baby, and I have been a family ever since!)

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(I work in a bookstore downtown where there are a lot of homeless people and shelters. One day, a kind of scraggly customer comes up to me.)

Customer: “Hi, I was wondering if you have any cookbooks for soup?”

Me: “Certainly, sir. They’re just over here. We have some pretty good ones that are on sale right now. Over here, though, are our regular-priced ones.”

Customer: “I’m volunteering as a cook at a homeless shelter right now. They don’t have much funding, so a lot of the food they get is from donations. I figured soups are healthy and don’t require too much in the way of expensive ingredients, so that should be good for there. I’m a pretty good cook, but I need a refresher on soups.”

(After taking a look at the selection we have, he picks the largest, most expensive soup cookbook we have.)

Customer: “I think I’m going to go with this one. It has a picture for every recipe, which is nice. I like to see nice ways to present them, as well. These people haven’t been looked after, so I want to make something that tastes good and looks good, too.”

Me: “That’s really fantastic, sir. It’s nice that people are willing to take time out of their day to do things like this. Was there anything else I can help you with?”

Customer: “Actually, a book on sandwiches would be good, too.”

(I look in our system and we only have one book for sandwiches at the moment. It takes me a good twenty minutes to find it, but when I do, the customer has picked up a few other things, as well. He’s grabbed a simple Sudoku book, a Disney’s “Tangled” bookmark, and a little toy. I meet him back up at our cash desk.)

Me: “Here you go, sir. Sorry it took so long. It was hiding in our overstock. Find everything else you were looking for?”

Customer: “Yeah. A mother and her twelve-year-old daughter just showed up at the shelter I volunteer at the other day. I wanted to pick these up for her. A puzzle book for her and her mother to do and some other things to just take her mind off the situation. It’s difficult enough being homeless, but at that age, it’s horrible.”

Me: “That’s horrible. It’s amazing though that you’re grabbing these for her. I hope it makes her feel a little better.”

(As I’m ringing my customer’s items through, my coworker is ringing up another customer. She has overheard our conversation and goes to one of our displays, grabs the softest stuffed animal she can find, and buys that, as well. After she’s paid for her purchase, she hands the stuffed animal to my customer.)

Another Customer: “Sir, I overheard your story and I want you to give this to that little girl. Sometimes, young girls just need something to cuddle with. I think what you’re doing is amazing and the world could use more people like you.”

Customer: “I… Thank you so much, ma’am. This will probably mean the world to her.”

(My customer finished paying for his items and left. My coworker and I were speechless ourselves for a moment. This encounter made our week and brought tears to our eyes!)

This story is part of our Soup roundup! This is the last story in the roundup, but we have plenty of others you might enjoy!

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(I am serving at a very busy restaurant downtown with a very large patio. Outside the patio entrance, there is a big red stop sign that reads, “Please wait to be seated.” Two customers in their late twenties walk past the sign and rudely ignore the hostess’s calls to stop. They sit down at a dirty table. I walk up to the table and start stacking the empty glasses from previous guests.)

Me: “Hello—”

Customer: “REAL NICE! We came here for a nice lunch and have to sit at a dirty table?! Unbelievable!”

Me: “Sorry about that, folks. We’re really busy and the guests from this table just left less than a minute ago. Let me take care of that for—”

Customer: “Is that supposed to be some kind of excuse?! How hard is your job, really?! What a joke! You’d think you people would have some kind of system to address these things!”

Me: “Again, I’m very sorry. Normally, we clean a table before the next guest is seated by our hostess, but you seem to have seated yourself, so let me take care of that for—“

Customer: “Who?! That rude little girl that yelled at us on the way in?!”

(At this point, I’m holding a stack four or five pint glasses in one hand, a billfold from the last table in the other, and four menus under my arm, and I’m trying to keep table 44’s apps and drink order in my head.)

Me: “Ma’am, she didn’t yell at you. She plainly said, ‘Excuse me,’ to try and get your attention.”

Customer: *scoffs and YANKS the menus out from under my arm*

Me: “Ma’am, it’s not exactly polite walk past the sign, ignore the host, and be upset that YOU sat yourself at a dirty table.”

Customer: “Sign? What sign?!”

Me: “The big one at the front that says, ‘Please wait to be seated.'”

Customer: “Yeah, well, what if I told you I can’t read? Huh? Then what?!”

Me: “Well, that’s why it’s red and shaped like an octagon so you’ll associate it with ‘Stop.'”

Customer: *smugly* “Yeah?! Well, maybe I’m color blind, too!”

Me: “Well then, sweetie, it sounds like you’re gonna have a really tough time with our menu.”

(I walk away before she has a chance to respond. I eventually circle back to their table with two kiddie paper coloring menus and crayons. A few minutes later, they are gone but have scrawled a note on the back of the kiddie menu. This is exactly what it says:)

Customer’s Note: “YOUR A A**HOLL WERER NEVER COMMING BACK AGAN”

(It was also followed by a very crude scribble that a coworker and I later concluded had to be an attempt to draw male genitalia.)

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(A sweet little old lady comes up to my till with her walker. She is probably in her nineties or late eighties and looks like your stereotypical sweet old granny.)

Me: “Good afternoon, Miss! How’s it going today?”

Little Old Lady: “Quite well, thank you! And calling me ‘Miss’, ha!  You’re such a sweet girl. Made my day!”

Me: “Glad to be of service! Do you need a hand with your basket?”

Little Old Lady: “Oh, no, I try to do things for myself even if they’re harder. Keeps me young.”

(We go through the transaction, chatting away, and at the end she uses her debit card. It’s a chip card and she tries to swipe it, so I correct her.)

Me: “Oh! That’s a chip card. The stripe probably won’t work, so can you please just slide that right up there in the bottom?”

Little Old Lady: “What’s that, sorry?”

Me: “Can you just slide that right up there in the bottom?”

Little Old Lady: *deadpans* “That’s what she said.”

(It took about five seconds before I and the other guy in line burst out laughing.)

Other Customer: “A lady your age saying that? Nice move, ma’am!”

Little Old Lady: “That’s MISS!” *devilish little grin* “And I’m old, not dead. Have a nice day!”

(She slowly makes her way out of the store, slow as only the elderly can be. The other customer and I look at one another, tears still wet on my face from laughter.)

Me: “Best older customer ever.”

Other Customer: “F*** yes!”

(I live in a small town where a cruise ship visits in the summer. Mind you, this is BC, Canada, so English is the main language spoken here, rather than French Canadians in Quebec. Note that our entire conversation is in English.)

Customer: “Hi! May I ask you a question?”

Me: “Sure, no problem!”

Customer: “Do people speak French here?”

Me: “Well, some people might, but it’s more of a second language here.”

Customer: “Oh, really? Well, I think you’re speaking it very well, because I can understand you!”

Me: *dumbfounded*

(At this point, the customer’s husband steps in.)

Customer’s Husband: “She’s not speaking French, honey.”

Customer: “…Oh.” *walks away*

Related:
Lost In No Translation, Part 4
Lost In No Translation, Part 3
Lost In No Translation, Part 2
Lost In No Translation