It Doesn’t Take Ein-Stein To Figure Out Why

, , , | Right | September 12, 2017

(Most of the bars at German beer fests actually rent their beer mugs, simply because it’s cheaper to rent 1000 steins for three days than to rent storage for 1000 steins for the whole year… at least as long as fewer than five to ten percent of them are broken or stolen at the beer fest. I’m a cashier at such a bar.)

Customer: “How much does a beer mug cost?”

Me: “I’m sorry, but we rent them, so I cannot sell them to you.”

Customer: “So, they are not yours?”

Me: “No, sorry.”

Customer: “Cool. That means that they are free!”

Me: “Wait, what!? No, that means—”

Customer: *interrupting* “—you already said they’re not yours. I’m taking it.”

(Before I could react, the customer vanished into the crowd. This incident, alongside the fact that we lost almost 200 of the mugs that year, was the reason we’ve been charging a deposit for the mugs since the following year. Many customers accused us of trying to steal money that way from them – they did not see the irony – but, what do you know, we only lost 16 steins this year. I wonder why.)

ISIS = Insipid Sucrose Insurgent Sect

, , , , | Right | September 11, 2017

(I am one of many baristas working for a major name coffee brand that’s known throughout the world. Being located in the state where said brand was founded, we expect to see a lot of interesting things when folk come for their much needed java. That said, I don’t think we expected for two police officers to come in one day and ask for my manager to come to the counter. I’m manning the register next to him as the following takes place.)

Officer #1: “Yeah, um… okay, we’re still not sure how to take this, but we got a 911 call from someone at this location stating that the store was a terrorist cell working to murder its patrons.”

Manager: “Really?… wow… that’s… I don’t know what to say about that. I mean, you know us [Officer #1]. You come by pretty regularly on your patrol to get coffee from us.”

Officer #1: “I know; that’s why I’m letting you know, just in case this gets escalated further. We’re pretty sure it’s a prank but… well… I mean, it’s safe to say that this was the last thing we expected dispatch to ask us to check out.”

Officer #2: “Don’t worry, we’ll report that we’ve checked you out and all seems as it should be.”

(The two officers make to leave.)

Random Customer: “Wait! Where are you going?”

(We all turn to see a tiny old lady [who I served a little while ago] staring at us with a mix of fear and anger.)

Officer #1: “Uh, I’m sorry, ma’am, can we help you with something?”

Lady: “I called you in here to stop these d*** terrorists from killing these poor, God-fearing Americans! Aren’t you going to do something?!”

Officer #1: “I’m sorry, ma’am, are you saying you’re the one who placed the call to 911?”

(The lady storms up and grabs the container of artificial sweetener on our condiments bar.)

Lady: “Look at this! Do you know what’s in these? Aspartame! Sucralose! Neotame! Chemical death in every packet! These people are terrorists, aiming to kill everyone who comes in here!”

(There is a pause as the sudden screaming causes the other customers to stop talking and see what’s going on. The lady starts pointing at random people.)

Lady: “You! You! YOU! You all put this in your coffee! You’ve let these heathens poison you! Every single one of these is death in a packet! You’re all going to die before the day is gone! This isn’t a coffee shop! It’s a d*** morgue!”

Officer #1: “Okay… well… now that we better understand what’s going on, perhaps you’d like to accompany us to our squad car, ma’am? We can put you in touch with the people who can help you further.”

Lady: “Yes! Get me the FBI! Get me the NSA! Every single one of these d*** coffee bars has these! Poisoning and killing Americans everywhere! They’re turning our country into a giant graveyard!”

Officer #1: “Yes, well, again, can you please accompany us outside?”

(The lady clings to our container of sweeteners.)

Lady: “I need this! Evidence of terrorism! Murder!”

(The officers look to us.)

Manager: “Uh… sure. Go ahead.”

Lady: “Yeah, I know who you are! You and your whole terrorist sect are finished! This will not go unanswered! All these packets! How many have you killed already?!”

(The officers finally get the lady out of the shop [with our sweeteners] and into the squad car. Officer #1 comes back in.)

Officer #1: “Okay, I am so sorry about that. We had no idea that was a serious call. We’ll make sure she doesn’t come back here again.”

Manager: “That’s fine just… wow…”

Me: “Yeah… well… it gets better.”

Officer #1: “What do you mean?”

Me: “I served her. She put four of those packets of death in her coffee!”

Your Annoyance Level Is Up To The High Teens

, , , , , , , | Right | September 10, 2017

(I work the overnight shift alone from 10 pm to 6 am. I usually get the local cops in at the beginning of my shift, since they are starting their shift as well, and they also come by a few times a night, just to check in and say hi. Around 3 am one Sunday morning, another regular, who is shy and has a social disability, comes in to get his coffee and wait for his ride. As I’m finishing with him. two teenage boys come in.)

Me: *to regular* “Thanks for shopping at [Gas Station] and I’ll see you tomorrow.” *to teenagers* “Can I help you two with anything?”

Teenager #1: “Yeah, I’d like some cigarettes. [Brand].”

Me: “Certainly. I’ll just need to see some ID.”

Teenager #1: “I left it at the house. Can you let it slide this once? Besides, I only live right down the street.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I can’t sell to anyone that looks under 30 without an ID. Besides, if you live right down the street, then it should be no problem to get your ID.”

Teenager #1: “C’mon, man, just let it slide this once. I can tell you my birthday. It’s [date].”

Me: “Well, sir, if that is your birthday, then you are only 16. I can’t sell the cigarettes to you, but feel free to get anything else.”

Teenager #2: “Here, I’ll get them then. I just turned 18 and I have my ID.”

Me: “Sorry, sir, but I can’t sell them to you, since I know you are buying them for your friend, who I know is underage.”

Teenager #2: “But I’m 18!”

Teenager #1: “Don’t be a d***. Nobody will notice at this time of night.”

Me: “Sorry, but it’s not worth my job.”

(The two teenagers leave, and I see them go up to my regular, who is still waiting in the parking lot, and talk to him for a minute. My regular walks back in.)

Regular: “Can I get a pack of [Cigarette Brand Teenager Asked For]?”

Me: “I actually can’t. I know you don’t smoke, and I know those boys just asked you to get them cigarettes. Tell them I’m not selling them cigarettes, and they can’t get anyone else to buy them for them.”

(My regular leaves and talks to the teens. He gets picked up around five minutes later, but the teens are still loitering. I ignore them, as there isn’t anyone else in the store or parking lot, and start to mop while the store is slow. About 20 minutes later, the teens come in and get some nachos, making a mess in the process. As they come to check out, I notice the reek of alcohol.)

Teenager #2: “I’d like these nachos.”

Me: “Certainly, sir. Can I get you anything else?”

Teenager #2: “Yeah, I’d like a pack of [Same Cigarette Brand].”

Me: “I told you 20 minutes ago that I wouldn’t sell you cigarettes. Now, you need to pay for the nachos and leave.”

(They end up grumbling, but pay for their food and leave. However, they don’t leave the parking lot, and instead hang around eating their food. I ignore them again and start making coffee. About ten minutes later, one of my older regulars shows up. He stops to talk to the boys on the way in, and then comes into the store.)

Me: “Hey, [Older Regular].”

(All the coffee is fresh, and once I finish with the trash, I can take a break and come outside and chat.)

Older Regular: “You know those boys are asking for people to buy them cigarettes, don’t you? I told them I wouldn’t, and that you knew I didn’t smoke anyway.”

Me: “Okay, well, I’ve had about enough of this.” *I go outside and talk to the teenagers.* “You guys need to leave now. You can’t loiter here, and you can’t keep harassing my customers to illegally buy you tobacco.”

Teenager #1: “Well, why don’t you make us? We ain’t doing nothing!”

Teenager #2: “Yeah, and this wouldn’t have happened if you’d been f***ing cool about it.”

(Fed up with this, I call dispatch, and explain to them about the two drunk teens. Two minutes later, I have three cop cars pull in and corner these two kids. One tries to run and is caught almost instantly. My regular and I go outside to watch.)

Cop: *also a regular* “Hey, [My Name]. These two the only ones who were bothering you?”

Me: “Yeah. So, what are you going to do to them?”

Cop: “We’ll take them down to the station and throw them in the drunk tank. We’ll call their parents once they sober up. Usually putting the fear of God in them is enough. Call us if they ever show up on your shift again!”

(My regular and I walked away laughing. It certainly made the rest of my shift more enjoyable, and the teens had a great story to tell at school Monday!)

When Threat Makes You Fret

, , | Right | September 10, 2017

(I work on the homeless team for the local council dealing with temporary accommodation. These are very basic properties that we place homeless families in if they meet certain criteria, and I am then responsible for keeping an eye on them and helping them find permanent accommodation. This customer is placed in one of our units, and then causes us nothing but trouble for over six months, including threatening to stab one of my colleagues and to shoot me. As a result, I can only visit if the police come with me. I have to go and change the locks at the property, after a report that the door is wide open and no one is there. Four days later, after a report that the customer has now broken a window to get into the property, I receive a phone call…)

Client: “WHERE ARE MY KEYS?!”

Me: “They are at the area office. I did put a note through the door and on the window to tell you.”

Client: “That’s too far!” *It’s literally a five minute walk, if that.* “Can’t you deliver them?”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I can only visit if the police come with me, so you will need to go to the office.”

Client: “Yeah, why do you always have to bring them with you? I don’t like police.”

Me: “I have to bring them with me because you threatened to shoot me when I visited before.”

Client: “Yeah, I know, I know I did, but I threatened to shoot the police, too!”

(I struggled to see the logic to that one! He then went on to complain I hadn’t fixed his broken window… the one he had broken and was using as a front door…)

This Sale Kicked The Bucket

, , , , | Right | September 8, 2017

(I am taking a customer’s order.)

Me: “That will be [amount], please.”

(She suddenly kicks the front of the counter.)

Me: “Madam?”

(She kicks again more violently, then moves to a spiral collection box we have for children, then on to a condiment table. My manager comes out, and collectively the staff and customers watch as she tries to damage something. After a few tries she gives up.)

Customer: “So, how much do I get off for that?”

Me: “Get off?”

Customer: “My sister said if I kicked up a fuss, I would get money off my order.”

Manager: “Yes… that usually doesn’t involve literally kicking the furniture. You’ve got ten seconds to disappear, or I call the police.”

(She ran, and we gave the police our camera footage of the incident. After my manager’s monthly meeting, he told us she had tried the same thing at another two restaurants in our region. To our knowledge, she hasn’t been arrested yet.)

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