He Lowered The Bar

, , , | Right | November 13, 2019

(At the restaurant where I am a hostess, all customers can sit at the bar whenever they want, but have to check in at the front hostess stand in order to be seated at a table. This man who has a priority seating arrangement refuses to understand this.)

Me: “How are you tonight?”

Customer: *points to his name on the priority seating list* “That’s me. I want to go to my table now.”

Me: “Okay, I will check you in.”

Customer: “No, I want to go now. I’ve been at the bar!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but you did not check in. I have no way of knowing you are here if you haven’t told me. I can seat you in a few minutes.”

Customer: “But I’ve been waiting at the bar! Why didn’t you come get me?”

Me: “As I said, we did not know you were here as you did not check in.”

(This continued for a while until he left, apparently angry that I didn’t have telepathic powers to tell me when he decided to grace us with his presence.)   

His Excuse Of “She Was Wearing Makeup” Doesn’t Dance With Us

, , , , , | Romantic | November 12, 2019

(In my teens, I used to dance competitively. If you’ve ever been to a dance competition, you know that even the young kids have to wear a LOT of stage makeup. This happens right after a competition day. My family has taken me to a restaurant for dinner to celebrate my new medals. I’m tired and sweaty, not all of my makeup would come off, and the waiting area is standing-room-only, so with my parents’ permission, I step out to a bench directly outside the waiting area. It’s a cool night, so I sprawl out on the bench and am soaking in the cool breeze when I hear voices nearby. I sit up and see some guys around eighteen or nineteen pointing at me and nudging each other. Before I can really ascertain what they are doing, one of them comes over to sit next to me.)

Guy: “Hey there. What are you doing here all alone?”

Me: *immediately flashing back to school warnings of strangers in white vans offering candy* “U-um… my parents are right in there!”

Guy: “Ugh, parents, right?”

Me: *visible confusion* “Um… yeah?”

Guy: “So, are you from around here?”

(The conversation continues for a few minutes with me giving vague, confused answers while the guy’s buddies stand around snickering at their friend apparently getting nowhere. I still haven’t figured out what’s going on, but then…)

Guy: “You’re kind of young, aren’t you? How old are you?”

Me: *honestly* “Th-thirteen…”

Guy: *jumping off the bench like it is white-hot* “WHOA! Okay! You have a great night, hon! Uh… call me in like… five years!”

(He bolted, his friends following after howling with laughter. I uneasily returned inside. My mom nearly had a heart attack when I recounted the exchange to her. Somehow she managed to miss the whole thing, even though I was within line-of-sight!)

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I Am, Like The Flyer, Going Through Some Weird Changes

, , , | Right | November 2, 2019

(I’m working a late shift at the cash register on a pretty nondescript evening. A customer comes up, and I start checking him out.)

Customer: *mumbles* “Flyer changed.” *mumbles*

Me: “Excuse me?”

Customer: *mumbles* “Flyer changed.” *mumbles*

(I always feel awkward about asking people to speak up more than once, so I try to worm my way out of the conversation with a canned answer.)

Me: “Yeah, that’s, uh, weird.”

Customer: *suddenly at full volume* “What do you mean ‘weird’?”

(I’ve never been caught in a canned answer before, so I start stuttering.)

Me: “That’s… I… Uh—”

Customer: “What do you mean ‘weird’?”

(Desperate for a bail-out, I employ one of my secret weapons: I jokingly give myself a light smack upside the head.)

Me: “Sorry, sir, I don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s been a long—”

Customer: *cuts me off* “Oh, you’re special needs, huh?”

(I stare at him for a second.)

Me: “No. I’m not.”

Customer: “The flyer changed since the last time I was here.”

Me: *not even pretending to be friendly anymore* “Yeah. It does that.”

Customer: “Why are you hitting yourself? That’s scary.”

(I heave a sigh and finish his order in complete silence. I hand him his receipt and give a half-hearted “have a good one,” and as he’s walking away, he says this:)

Customer: “Hey, don’t do drugs, okay?”

(Yeah, sure, pal. Clearly the only reason I’d do something like is that I’m special needs or on drugs. Not because you’re a frigging low-talker who apparently doesn’t know how grocery store flyers work.)

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The Classic Signatures Of A Crazy Customer

, , , , | Right | October 29, 2019

(Our credit card PIN pad, like most, asks the customer for their signature, either with the little stylus or with their finger. I’m ringing out a customer.)

Customer: “This is illegal, you know.”

Me: “What? What is?”

(Everything has been normal until now, so I am very confused.)

Customer: “This isn’t my signature since it’s not on paper. It’s electronic, so it’s not my signature. That’s illegal.”

Me: “I… don’t think so?”

Customer: “IT’S ILLEGAL!”

(She signs anyway and I give her the receipt, which she snatches. As she storms off:)

Customer: “I’m going to call the Better Business Bureau!” 

(When I mentioned it to my manager later he said I could have printed a paper one for her to sign, but I didn’t know that. I hope she did call the BBB so they could laugh at her.)

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Unfiltered Story #172106

, , | Unfiltered | October 21, 2019

(Two teenage girls are checking out at my register.)

Customer #1: My dad’s finally going to let me take a ride with him in the convertible he’s been restoring.

Customer #2: That’s pretty cool. What kind of car is it?

Customer #1: It’s a Ford. One of those Jewish ones.

Customer #2: What’s it called?

Customer #1: It’s … um, lemme think … oh, right. A Ford Funderberg.

Me: (*stifling laughter*) Do you mean a Ford Thunderbird?

Customer #1: Uh, no! What kind of stupid name for a car is that?