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Moms: Gotta Love ‘Em

, , , , , | Right | October 19, 2008

(My mother told me this story, which happened to her as a cashier when she was in college.)

Mom: “Are you going to pay for that other soda?”

Male Customer: “What soda?”

Mom: “The one in your pants?”

Male Customer: “That’s not a soda; that’s my penis!”

Mom: “If that’s your penis, I am going home with you right now!”

Male Customer: *slams soda on the counter and walks out*

He’s Gonna Need A Huge Courtroom

, , , , , , | Right | October 16, 2008

(I’m calling to renew magazine subscriptions.)

Me: “Hello, may I speak with [Customer]?”

Customer: “This is him, and you know… I’ve gotten five calls from Boise, Idaho, today!”

Me: “So sorry, but I assure you it wasn’t us. Our system only calls once per day.”

Customer: “Do you work for them! Do you work for Boise, Idaho?”

Me: “Yeah, I guess. But there are a number of call centers here in Boise. Maybe one of them called you?”

Customer: “No! It was Boise, Idaho! You know what? This is what’s going to happen… Let me have your name!”

Me: *gives name*

Customer: “Well, son, you are now involved in a lawsuit! I am suing Boise, Idaho, and everyone who works for Boise, Idaho!”

Me: “…are you serious?”

Customer: “Yes! I get calls all the time from Boise, Idaho, and I’m sick of it! I’m on a ‘do not call’ list!”

Me: “Well, you subscribed to this magazine, so the list doesn’t apply. However, I can put you on our system’s ‘do not call’ list and we will never bother you again.”

Customer: “This is so illegal. I’m taking your job and suing Boise, Idaho!”

Me: “I wish you the best of luck in suing Boise, Idaho, sir. I really do.” *click*

Blue Haired Drug Pushers

, , , , , , | Right | October 5, 2008

(One evening, an elderly Irish woman, complete with white hair, a cane, and a heavy accent, comes up to the photo counter to pick up some pictures she dropped off earlier.)

Customer: “I would like to have a discount on these photos I just printed. Can you give me five of the 20 for free?”

Me: “I’m sorry, we really can’t do that.”

Customer: “I’ll give you some perks.”

Me: “Perks?”

Customer: “Percs. You know… percs.”

(Customer reaches out to shake my hand and places three pills in it.)

Customer: “Those are good percs, I know you’ll like them!”

Shoplift And Drag And Haul Away

, , , , , | Right | September 17, 2008

(Furniture stores typically require the sales staff to discretely follow customers in order to be on hand if there are any questions.)

Me: “Welcome to [Furniture Store]. Do you see anything you like?”

Customer: “What’s that supposed to mean? What, you think I’m gonna take something? I got money. I don’t need to steal anything from your store.”

Me: “No, ma’am. I was just checking to see if you needed any help. I didn’t think you were trying to take anything.”

Customer: “I’m no shoplifter. I said I got money. What, you think I’m gonna try to take something outta here?”

Me: “It’s a furniture store, ma’am. If you can fit a loveseat in your pocket, you’re welcome to it.”


This story is part of the Customers-Are-To-Blame roundup!

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Read the Customers-Are-To-Blame roundup!

I’m Sorry… That You And Your Son Are Idiots

, , , , | Right | September 17, 2008

(The night before, I called the police because of a hit and run in the parking lot of my hotel. The cops put some kid in handcuffs because of a tip I gave them. The next night, the kid’s mother found me.)

Mom: “Hey! You’re the girl, [My Name], that was working last night!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, I am.”

Mom: “You know that the cops put handcuffs on my 16-year-old son?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, I was here for that.”

Mom: “The police told me a girl named [My Name] told them my son wrecked that car last night. I want to know why you told them that.”

Me: “Well, ma’am, your son was down here talking about the car accident he was involved in last night.”

Mom: “But the cops put him in handcuffs!”

Me: “…”

Mom: “My son is only 16 years old, and they put him in handcuffs and didn’t even tell me!”

Me: “Well, what would you like me to do about that?”

Mom: “I want you to apologize.”

Me: “For what?”

Mom: “For calling to police and getting my son handcuffed!”

Me: “You want me to apologize for reporting a crime?”

Mom: “Yes!”

Me: “Well, I’m not sorry.”

Mom: “But the police put him in handcuffs!”

Me: “Sounds like you have a problem with the police.”

Mom: “Listen here, b****, I’m not leaving until you say you’re sorry!”

Me: “You might be a while, ma’am, because I’m not sorry!”