A Rash Of Odd Questions

, , , , | Right | November 6, 2017

(I work in a deli. It is basically closing time, and I am pretty tired.)

Customer: “Excuse me?”

Me: “Oh, hey! Didn’t see you there. Can I help you?”

Customer: “Yeah, I have this weird rash. What do I do?”

Me: “Uh…”

(Basically, I spent ten minutes helping a guy with a rash. In a deli. With no medical experience. But lots of salami.)

You Can’t Rebrand Stupid

, , , , , | Right | November 5, 2017

(I work in a bulk grocery store that caters mostly to the foodservice and restaurant industry. Our company has recently undergone a “rebranding” and, as such, a lot of our product packaging has been changed. The following happens after a customer inquires about one of those items.)

Customer: “Excuse me, sir? Do you all still carry the already-made mashed potatoes in the six-pound tubs?”

Me: “Sure do! They’re right over here.”

(I escort her to the product and explain to her that it’s now packaged differently.)

Customer: “Oh, that’s not what I’m looking for. Do you have the ones in the tubs?”

Me: “No, ma’am. They’ve changed to a new packaging, so they’re now in these five-pound pouches instead of the tubs. It’s still the same product, though.”

Customer: *after looking the product over* “Hmm… Well, do you have any tubs left over in the back?”

Me: “I’m afraid not. The changeover happened about six months ago, so the tubs are long gone. The pouches are all we have anymore.”

Customer: *looks the product over even more before handing it back to me* “Well, thanks, but no. I’ll come back some other time and see if you have more tubs.”

Me: *face-palm*

That Note Is Half-Baked

, , , , | Right | November 5, 2017

(I work in a bakery, and customers often call in to put bread on hold, since we make mostly pastries. One night, my manager picks up the phone, and when he hangs up he’s laughing.)

Manager: “[My Name]! One sesame miche! Thin-sliced! For [Customer]! Also, write his name on the bag, not the bread.”

Me: “Did he specify that?”

Manager: *still laughing* “Yes.”

(I assume the guy is joking, and when he comes in later to pick up the bread I’m prepared to joke with him. However, this customer is very serious, and his eyes are darting back and forth.)

Customer: “It’s edible, right?”

Me: “Yes, sir. I assure you that I did not write on the bread.”

Customer: “You’re sure?”

Me: “Yes, sir. I sliced it myself, wrapped it myself, and wrote the note myself. It’s fine.”

(The customer paid for the bread and left, still looking suspicious. I really want to know if someone has written on his bread before.)

My Reuben In Ruin

, , , , , | Right | November 4, 2017

(It’s the lunch rush in a cafe where I work as a cashier. One of the other cashiers on staff is still a trainee, and this is her first day with her own drawer and register. She’s very nervous, as she never wanted to be moved from the back of the restaurant. About halfway through lunch, I get a tap on my shoulder. It’s my trainee, looking close to tears. She asks me to come help with a customer. Said customer is an old-ish woman who looks very angry.)

Me: “What can I help you with, ma’am?”

Customer: “You need better workers. This little girl doesn’t know the menu.”

(The trainee is 4’10” and has a soft face, so she looks about 12, though she’s actually 20.)

Me: “My apologies, ma’am; it’s her first day with her own register. What can I help you with?”

Customer: “All I want is to order the Reuben, and this stupid little girl says you don’t have it!”

(I’m angry at her for calling my trainee names, but I bite my tongue and plaster on my fake smile.)

Me: “Ma’am, we actually don’t have a sandwich called a Reuben. Could you be thinking of the asiago steak–“

Customer: “No, it’s a Reuben. I’ve ordered it here a hundred times.”

Me: “Ma’am, I’ve been working here six months. I know the current menu like the back of my hand. I assure you: there is no Reuben. There may have been seven months ago–“

Customer: “I was here last week, and I want a Reuben! Why don’t you know your own menu? You’re as stupid as this little girl!”

(My trainee moves to the back to cry while I deal with the woman. I’m pretty angry now, but I shove it back. Both managers are busy right now.)

Me: “Ma’am. There is no Reuben. There was no reuben last week or last month, and probably no Reuben last year. You are either thinking of the wrong name, or you are at the wrong store. I would be happy to get you something else.”

Customer: “But I know–“

Me: “Ma’am, you can read through the entire menu. If you like, you can come back here and look at my register. I assure you, there is no Reuben. There has never been a Reuben. There is no possible way to get a Reuben at this restaurant. I’m pretty sure we don’t even carry the ingredients to make a Reuben.”

(Flustered, the woman finally got something else. I offered to customize a sandwich for her. She got chicken noodle soup. My trainee was fine the rest of the day.)

The Kind Of Guy Who Puts Their Mug Shot On A Mug

, , , , , | Right | November 3, 2017

(I’ve been a cashier at a grocery store chain for about six months. I’m one of the few cashiers who isn’t a minor and works nights on the weekends. It’s Saturday at around 10:30 pm when two young men walk up, reeking of weed. I greet them and ring up their order, and I scan some sort of cough syrup, which is an age-restricted item. Policy says we have to ID anyone who is under 40.)

Me: “Can I please see your ID?”

Customer #2: “What the h*** do you need his ID for?”

Me: “Oh.” *holds up cough syrup* “You have to be 18 to buy this.”

Customer #1: “Chill, man. She’s just doing her job.”

(He then searches his pockets and pulls out his phone.)

Customer #1: “I don’t got my ID on me, but I got my mugshot.”

(The customer shows me his phone, where the county sheriff’s department page and, indeed, his mugshot, are on screen.)

Me: “Um, sir, that’s not a valid state-issued ID.”

Customer #1: “It’s not?”

Me: “No, it’s… it’s just a mug-shot. Do you maybe have a license or a military ID?”

Customer #1: “No.”

(Legally, I couldn’t let them purchase the item. While they were mostly polite, the story was just too good to not share.)

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