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Almost Makes You Want To Re-Tire

, , , | Right | January 27, 2010

Customer: “They charged me $110 for working on my car?!”

Me: “What did you have done?”

Customer: “I just came because the car said service was needed on the car.”

Me: “Yes, you got an oil change and tire rotation, state inspection, and a car wash.”

Customer: “Tire rotation? Aren’t they always, like, rotating as I drive?”

Me: “Yes, but the tires are removed and swapped; the tires on the rear are moved to the front, and the fronts to the rear. It’s to help the tires wear out evenly.”

Customer: “They wear out?”

Me: “Eventually, yes. They do.”

Customer: “Why?”

(I try to describe traction, friction, and the breakdown of soft compounds like tire tread over concrete.)

Customer: *blank stare* “Isn’t my car pretty?”

(As the customer leaves, they pull on the door about three times before they see the push sign.)


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Car Parked, Brain In Neutral

, , , | Right | January 1, 2010

Customer: “Hi, um, my car was stolen.”

Me: “Well, okay, let’s go out and see where you’re parked.”

(We walk into the parking lot.)

Me: “Okay, where did you park?”

Customer: “Right there, where the Prius is parked! God d*** tree-hugging Democrat piece of s***!”

Me: “Okay, well, let’s go inside and call the police.”

(While we wait for the police to come she makes some phone calls and then comes back into the office.)

Customer: “Sorry, never mind. Turns out I drove the Prius today and not the Honda.”


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Random Acts Of Wetness

, , , | Right | December 1, 2009

(I work at a convenience store with an automatic car wash that’s located in a seedy part of town. One day, a man walks in wearing a pure white t-shirt and jeans, both liberally smeared with his own feces.)

Man: “Help! Help! Man, you gotta come help!”

Me: “Are you okay? Do you need me to call an ambulance for you or something?”

Man: “No! You gotta get out here?”

Me: “What’s wrong? Do I need to call the cops?”

Man: “No! In the car wash! You gotta help!”

(I go outside to the car wash when a little old lady — completely soaking wet — bumps into me and shoves her car keys in my hand.)

Little Old Lady: “You go! You wash car!”

(As I walk into the car wash, I see that she missed the wheel guides when she drove in.)

Me: “What–”

Little Old Lady: “You wash d*** car now, please!”

(I take her keys and get her car in the wash correctly. About halfway through the five-minute cycle, I realize that I just left the store unattended and begin thinking the worst. Finally, the wash is done and I drive around to the front of the store. I’m surprised to see the soaking wet lady standing in front of the entrance with her arms spread wide, blocking anyone from entering. There’s a line of about a dozen customers in front of her that stretches down the sidewalk. I get out and give her back her keys.)

Little Old Lady: “Thank you! You nice young man!”

First Customer In Line After The Lady: “What the h*** just happened?!”

(As for the man covered in feces, I later found out that there was nothing wrong with him besides the fact that he routinely got so drunk that he crapped himself.)

Fast, Furious, And Fined

, , , , , | Legal Right | November 25, 2009

(I’m a police officer and have just pulled over a driver for speeding.)

Me: “Ma’am, do you know why I pulled you over?”

Driver: “Yes… I was speeding.”

Me: “Ah, so you know you were speeding.”

Driver: “Yes, but I’ve got a movie due back in eight minutes!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but that’s not a real reason to be speeding–”

Driver: “Well, fine! You pay the one dollar late fee!”


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Driving Miss Ditzy

, , , , | Right | November 25, 2009

Me: “Hello, ma’am. Would you like me to take your groceries to your car?”

Customer: “…into MY car?”

Me: “Yes, I can do that for you.”

Customer: “You want a lift in my car!”

Me: “No, ma’am. I can take your groceries to your car for you and return the trolley.”

Customer: “But I still have groceries in my trolley! You can’t take my trolley yet! I’m not done!”

Me: “Ma’am, if you want to do it yourself, that’s fine.”

Customer: “Wait! I need help!”

Me: “All right, where did you park your car?”

Customer: “Hold on! Why the h*** do you need to know where my car is?”

Me: “So I can put your things in there.”

Customer: “No, this doesn’t sound right. I’m onto you!”

(The customer shuffles away with her trolley, periodically turning around to look at me suspiciously.)


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