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Don’t Want ANY Kind Of Withdrawal From That Account

, , , , , | Right | December 14, 2021

Our shop has gotten new card readers for taking debit and credit card payments. Now we have more options for taking payments from customers. Because I am young and female, some customers believe technology is too complicated for my little girl brain to handle.

A customer comes in and tries to pay with his credit card by tapping it on the reader, which has been a popular feature. It declines.

Me: “Sorry, it didn’t go through. Some cards won’t work with that feature. Let me reset it and you can try again.”

The customer huffs while I reset the reader.

Me: “Okay, go ahead and insert it now.”

The customer does so, and it declines again.

Me: “Huh, okay, maybe it’s a weird bank card? Let me try and swipe it.”

The customer rolls his eyes dramatically and makes a big deal about handing over the card, all while a line of customers is beginning to form behind him. I swipe the card, and it’s declined again.

Me: “Sorry, it is still coming up as declined. Do you have another card we can try? Or cash, maybe?”

Customer: “Every time I come here, the card doesn’t work. Just type it in manually. Can you handle that?”

Me: “Sure, let me reset it and try again.”

I reset the machine and type it into the PIN pad in front of the customer so he can see I am entering the correct numbers. Sure enough, it comes up declined again.

Me: “Sir, it’s still declined. Do you have another form of payment?”

Customer: “No! Just… just… um… run it… um…”

Me: “Sir, there is no other way I can run this card through our system. We have tapped, inserted, swiped, and manually keyed it in. If you know another way to get a payment off this card, I am all ears.”

The customer stops, sighs, and reaches down the front of his pants, pulling out a wad of bills, and begins trying to separate them. I hold up my hands to stop him.

Me: “Sir, this store does not accept any bills that come out of your underwear or cleavage. I’m not touching those.”

The customer throws his hands up in the air, pulls out another credit card, and taps it. Ding, approved. I hand him his receipt and watch him slink away, the entire line glaring at him as he leaves.

Me: “Who can I help next?”

A Tall Tale, But Sadly A Likely One

, , , , , , | Right | August 25, 2021

Our comic shop sells a lot of collectable figures. Some are very large and heavy, and to keep them from being knocked over by accident or stolen, we keep them on high shelves where they can clearly be seen before being taken down and purchased.

I am a short teenage girl, so my taller coworkers use the step stool we have to reach them. In comes a customer that I have never seen before.

Me: “Welcome to [Comic Shop]. Is there anything I can help you find?”

The man just walks past me, looking around like he isn’t sure why he came into the store or where he is.

Me: “All right. If you need anything, just let me know.”

He wanders around for about ten minutes, touching a few posters and figures we have like he’s never seen anything like them before in his life. I am starting to get a little nervous and hang by one of my bigger male coworkers.

Finally, the man wanders back toward us and asks to purchase one of the figures that we keep out of reach of customers. I walk to where the figure is, as sometimes I can reach them on the step stool we have, but this one is way out of my reach.

Me: “Oh, I can’t get that one. Let me get [Coworker]; he can get that for you.”

Customer: “But I want you to get it. That’s why I asked you.”

Me: “Sir, I can’t reach that. Even with the step stool, I am too short. See?”

I stand on the stool and reach out as high as I can. My fingers fall several inches short of reaching it.

Me: “So, I’ll go get my coworker, and he’ll get that down for you.”

I turn to leave, and I feel hands gripping my hips before I am lifted a few inches off the ground and turned back towards the shelf. The customer had grabbed me and turned me back around like a child!

Customer: “You’re not trying hard enough! Get up there and get it!”

I start screaming, alerting my coworker, who comes running. His nickname at work is Lurch, because of how tall he is. The customer sees him lumbering over and drops me, screaming about “lazy, short people” before trying to run out of the store. Unfortunately, the doors open in, so he slams into them at full speed and ends up sprawled out in front of them, unconscious.

Me: “Did… What… Oh, my God, is he dead?”

My coworker walks over and checks for a pulse and breathing.

Coworker: “No. Unconscious. Calling the police.”

He walked back to the counter and called for an ambulance and police. I ended up having pictures of my sides taken where he bruised me from gripping me, and the copy of the security camera footage was handed over as he was taken out on a stretcher. The paramedics knew him as a frequent drug user, which explained a lot.

I bought Lurch a dozen of his favorite muffins for coming to my rescue!

When They Realize They Need You More Than You Need Them

, , , | Right | July 23, 2021

The comic book store I work at does trade-ins for cash and makes a lot of money reselling vintage and hard-to-find comics. If it is a trade-in under $500, we are allowed to do it without the owner’s permission. A middle-aged man comes into the store with a long box full of comics, announcing he wants to make a trade-in.

Customer: “I have a lot of older Marvel and DC issues in here, gonna make a killing off of this. Probably be able to pay off my car with what is in here!”

Me: “That would be great, wouldn’t it? All right, if you want to leave this here, I can appraise everything and get you an offer in a few hours.”

The customer agrees and leaves. I let my coworker take over and start looking at what he brought in. His “older” comics are all X-Men, Spider-Man, and Superman issues… from the 1990s. These are virtually worthless. There are over 200 issues, and after pricing them all between a dime and a dollar each, his total comes up to maybe $50. When he comes back in, I have the printout of the value of the comics waiting for him.

Customer: “Well, little lady, how much am I going to be walking out with today?”

Me: “Well… not a lot, unfortunately. Here’s the breakdown of the current value of your comics.”

I hand him the list. His face gets red, and for a moment, I think he is going to either have a heart attack or come over the counter at me.

Customer: “These are mint condition. Mint! You priced these wrong!”

Me: “Sir, that is the value of the comics in mint condition. They’re not worth a lot. Most late 1980s to early 2000s comics are massively devalued.”

Customer: “But these are complete sets!”

Me: “Again, that doesn’t make them worth any more. The issues themselves just aren’t worth anything. I can show you if you want?”

He silently nods, and I turn my monitor around and pull up a few titles so he can see they truly are only worth a dime.

Customer: “Refresh it. That has to be old information.”

Me: “I can do that, but I don’t expect it to change.”

I refresh the page and nothing changes — still the same price.

Me: “Sir, I’m sorry. That is the price we can offer you for the whole box. I can pay you out in cash or a store gift certificate if you want.”

Customer: “I need at least two hundred more. Fifty won’t cut it.”

Me: “Sir, I can’t do that. Unless you have more comics to trade in that aren’t from the nineties?”

Customer: “Little lady, you don’t understand how good customer service works. It’s 250 or nothing.”

Me: “Then nothing it is. I can’t give you five times what these are worth and expect to keep my job. Have a good day.”

I passed the long box back to him, while he sputtered and tried to find a way to recover from his failed attempt at haggling. Giving up, he took his worthless comics and left.

If There’s A Tournament He’s The Jester

, , , , , , | Right | July 22, 2021

Our comic shop is located in a busy section of downtown. During the weekends, people will try and park in our small lot to go to other stores or just walk around. We have a sign stating that we will tow off non-customer cars. I am working on a busy Saturday when I see a man park and begin walking in the opposite direction of the store. I walk out and flag him down before he gets far.

Me: “SIR! You can’t park here if you’re not a customer! You’ll have to either move to another lot or use the city parking garage down the street.”

Older Man: “Miss, I am not going to be long. I’ll be back in a few hours. I’m sure your store will survive my car being there.”

We have a tournament starting soon and our lot WILL fill up very quickly.

Me: “We actually need that spot. We have a tournament starting soon and—”

Older Man: “That’s nice. I really don’t care.”

He walks off. I go back into the store fuming.

Me: “Hey, [Owner], that guy is going to be taking that spot up for hours. What do you want to do?”

Owner: “You know the number. Call the tow truck.”

I smile evilly and call the towing company. They arrive in half an hour and tow off the vehicle. We have their business card for when this happens. The tournament starts soon after his vehicle is removed and is in full swing a few hours later when we see the old man come back, looking around where his car used to be. He comes stomping inside, face red.

Older Man: “You! You f****** b****! Where is my car?!”

Me: “Towed, about three hours ago. Here’s the card for the company.”

I handed over the card for the towing company, and he simply took it with one shaking hand and walked out. Right as he got outside, he let out this roar of rage, grabbed the plastic trash can we keep out front, and threw it at the window. Since the window is plexiglass, the can just bounced off the window and rolled back to the man’s feet. The entire store was quiet for a moment, and then someone started to giggle. Soon, we were all laughing, fake roaring, and pointing at how stupid he looked. He flipped us off and stormed off, never to be seen again.

This story is part of our Best Of July 2021 roundup!

Read the next Best Of July 2021 roundup story!

Read the Best Of July 2021 roundup!

Magic: The Boobening

, , , , | Right | June 16, 2021

I am the youngest and only female staff member in the comic shop where I work. I am also described as being a short, really busty Tinkerbell. This has caused some problems in the past with customers, but this is by far one of the weirdest experiences I’ve ever had.

We’re running a “Magic: The Gathering” tournament, and due to there not being enough people, I agree to jump in and play, too. When I get to the second round, I am put against a man a few years older than me who always comes in with his mom.

Me: “Hey, [Customer], so I know you’ve been playing this game for years. I started, like, three months ago. So, try not to crush me, all right?”

He smiles and nods, and the game goes on. I’m doing surprisingly well and manage to beat him in two out of three games, sending me to the next bracket. After we shake hands and he congratulates me, his mother comes to the table while we are getting our decks back together.

Mother: “You know, you really don’t have to resort to… those tactics to win. Is that what [Store Owner] told you to do today?”

Me: “Uh… what?”

Mother: “You know! Obviously, these boys can’t play well if they’re distracted!”

Me: “Distracted by…?”

Mother:Those! How much tissue paper did you stuff that shirt with, anyways?! You look like Dolly Parton!”

She’s waving her hands towards my chest, which has now gotten the attention of other players around us. Both her son and I are now blushing from the attention being focused on us.

Me: “Ma’am, they’re real. There isn’t anything stuffed down my shirt. And I can’t do anything about their size or whether or not people stare at them. I won because I got lucky, that’s it.”

Mother: “Well, he should still be allowed your spot, because you distracted him!”

Me: “Hey, [Customer], did I distract you with my feminine charms?”

Customer: “Your what?”

Me: “My boobs. My huge tracts of land. Were you too distracted to play?”

Customer: “Um… no? No, you’re a minor. I swear I wasn’t checking you out!”

Me: “I know you wouldn’t, but seriously, tell your mom that. Okay, off to the next player!”

The son looked a little embarrassed, but at least his mom shut up and let us all finish the tournament, standing in a corner to pout like a child. He still ended up doing really well, and we joke about me cheating whenever he loses to me in a game.