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Needs A Bigger Cue To Queue

| Berkshire, England, UK | At The Checkout, Bad Behavior, Extra Stupid, Popular

(I am in the stockroom collecting a customer’s parcel. As I go to leave, a coworker lets me know that in my absence two queues have formed at the till and the order in which they queued.)

Me: *towards the gentleman who had been queuing longest* “Hello, how can I help?”

(The woman who had started the second queue glares at me angrily and starts to speak angrily and sarcastically.)

Female Customer: “Excuse me, but it would be nice if you could tell me where exactly we’re supposed to queue!”

Me: “Where the gentleman was queuing.”

Female Customer: “Well, how was I supposed to know that?”

Me: “Well, ma’am, I thought the fluorescent yellow arrowed tape on the floor was enough of a clue.”

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A Night Of Obamadrama

| HI, USA | Bigotry, Politics

Customer #1: “Oh, these are cute little plates. I’ve been looking for something like this.”

Me: “Yes, they’re from our Fourth of July sale, and right now they’re only 99 cents!”

Customer #1: “I need a fork.”

Me: “Oh, well, we don’t sell silverware individually, but we have these sets of about 20 or more.” *I show her where they are on the wall*

Customer #1: “Oh, here’s one.”

(She rips a fork out of the twining holding it to the set, and under my shocked eyes, lays the plate down and then sets the fork on top of it.)

Customer #1: *after staring at the fork on the plate for a few seconds* “Okay.”

(She picks up the fork and drops in back in the box, and then takes the plate to the register to be rung up. I tape the fork back into the box, while noticing silverware in several other boxes have received the same treatment. Later, I get Customer #2. She is buying a mattress pad, and it is one with two handles built into the plastic case. The handles are cotton, round, and thick; comfy and easy to hold.)

Customer #2: *after I finish ringing her up and tying a small bag to the handles to mark her purchase* “Oh, don’t you have a bag?”

Me: *I look at the handles, and then back to the customer* “Um… sure, let me get you one.”

(I bag it, and Customer #2 walks out holding cheap plastic handles that stretch and dig into your hand. 45 minutes before closing, and I get Customer #3. She sidles up to me, giving me a strange sort of smile, and I smile back and say hello.)

Customer #3: “Want to know what they did to me now?”

Me: “Uh… sure?”

Customer #3: “I was over at [next-door Nail Shop], because I was treating myself to a pedicure for my birthday. And those non-English speaking workers gave me an infection. I had to have all ten of my toe nails removed.”

Me: “Oh…”

Customer #3: “I sued them, for all of what the State of Hawaii will allow you to: $285. My only other choice was to go to their main office in LA, and I would have to get an attorney for California for that. I came here today because the girl at [Cosmetics Cart downstairs] offered me a free facial a week ago. I got a terrible rash, and when I went to see the doctor I went into anaphylactic shock. Here, I have pictures—”

(By the time she starts digging out her smartphone, I suddenly remember that two years ago she came into the store with a cast on, and I had sympathetically pointed it out. That led to a 20-minute rant on the child who ran a shopping cart into her at [Other Store], and how much she hates kids and parents who don’t watch their kids, and going shopping, and living here, and Hawaii in general, and her husband’s job forcing them to live here, etc. All with wide, intense eyes and jerky hand gestures, without waiting for any response, she starts up a brand new rant today while I’m forced to look at pictures of her facial rash, and her rant about things she hates.)

Customer #3: “—and we can’t go home until my husband retires, and that won’t be for a few years yet. He refuses to retire while Obama is in office, because he doesn’t want to have Obama’s signature on his retirement papers.”

(A coworker walks past, glancing at us, and I try to give him a look that says “Save me!”)

Customer #3: “And I am SO ASHAMED at living where Obama SUPPOSEDLY grew up. My husband blames Obama for everything, but I only blame him for about half of everything.”

(My brain melts while the customer continues her scary-eyed rant for another twenty-five minutes.)

Customer #3: “…and I hate shopping. I only come in here because it’s air-conditioned and the weather is horrible outside, but at least I feel that [my Department Store] has quality merchandise, and they know how to treat their customers. Bye, now.”

(She wanders away, now that it’s ten minutes to closing. The same coworker comes back over.)

Coworker: “I wasn’t sure. Should I have saved—”

Me: “YES.”

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I Like Big Butts And I Cannot Buy

| Fresno, CA, USA | Bizarre, Health & Body, Trigger Story

(I get two rather interesting customers. I do the normal “would you like a store card” spiel, and am told no, which is no problem. I run her card through the register when I hear the woman paying, in a very quiet voice, say this:)

Customer: “I wish this place sold butts.”

Me: *thinking I heard it wrong* “What?! Did you just say what I think you did?”

Customer: “Yeah. I wish this store sold butts. I need a bigger one.”

Me: *has started cracking up* “Well, you can have some of mine!”

Customer: *laughs and picks up her bag to leave, her friend laughing at her comment, too*

Me: “You’ve made my day. Have a great one!”

(Thank you, random customer who wanted a bigger butt. You made my day for sure.)

 

Dear readers! This story was originally submitted without a title, to encourage you to come up with a witty submission yourselves. After considering the many amazing suggestions in the comments section, we have come up with the title above. Thank you all for participating; we had a blast reading them!

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Not Very Closed Minded, Part 14

| Pittsburgh, PA, USA | Bad Behavior, Popular, Time

(A lady has been in our store for nearly seven hours and is very chatty, often stopping employees from finishing their work because she wants to talk. It’s about five ’til closing when she finally comes up to the registers. I’m helping put away clothes nearby when the transaction is being finished and when things start to go down hill.)

Cashier: “Your total for the night is $1600.”

(She swipes her charge only to find that it is declined.)

Cashier: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you still owe $1300. It seems that your credit limit was only $300. Do you have any form of payment?”

Customer: “No, that’s the only card I brought tonight.”

(At that point the manager has to void the whole thing out and we then have to re-ring everything.)

Manager: “Ma’am, do you want us to put this on hold so you can come back another day to decide which items you want?”

Customer: “No, I’ll decide now.”

Manager: “Well, we are already way past closed and we have to be out of the building by 10:15 or else the alarms get turned on.”

Customer: “No, I’ll do it now.”

(She then keeps chatting away, seemingly oblivious as to how pissed we all are at her, since now no employee can leave until she’s gone. At the end of the night she makes this comment:)

Customer: “Gosh, you’d think I was the most wretched customer of the day. What did I even do?”

Related:
Not Very Closed Minded, Part 13
Not Very Closed Minded, Part 12
Not Very Closed Minded, Part 11

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Can’t Understand The Petite Differences

| HI, USA | Crazy Requests, Popular

(I work in the clothing section of a well-known department store chain. A woman approaches my register wanting to return a shipping order.)

Customer: “I ordered these four [Brand] jeans online, but they sent me the wrong ones.” She shows me a pair she had grabbed from the display. “These are the ones I wanted.”

Me: “I’m so sorry about the mix-up. Let me look up the UPC number and re-order them for you.”

(I scan the ones she grabbed, and notice the UPC number is the same as the ones she’s returning.)

Me: “Ma’am, it looks like these are the same as the ones you have now.”

Customer: “No, they’re different. I don’t want to argue with you about it.”

Me: “Okay, was it a problem with the size? Sometimes there are fluctuations between different styles.”

Customer: “No, I tried them on. They fit right.”

Me: “Well, the color is blue-black. Did you want a different color?”

Customer: “No, that’s fine.”

Me: “And they’re both the curvy/straight leg cut. Were you looking for something else?”

Customer: “No, that’s the cut I want.”

Me: *at a loss* “Well, ma’am, they have the same UPC, and the color and cut are the same. I can assure you these jeans are the same as the ones you ordered-”

Customer: *irritated* “No, they are NOT the same. Look—” *she shows me the ironed-on label on the inside of the waistband of the jeans she ordered* “THIS says ‘[Brand] jeans petite.’” She shows the label on the one she grabbed from the display. “And THIS ONE says ‘[Brand] petite denim.’ THESE were the ones I ordered, and THESE are the ones I want. I want you to order me the right ones.”

(I’m speechless for a moment, and I can already tell the situation is only going to go downhill from here. I try to give her the benefit of the doubt and explain as kindly as I can.)

Me: “I’m sorry for the confusion, ma’am, but the reason the inside label looks different is just because [Brand] updated the design recently. I promise you they’re all the same cut—”

Customer: “I don’t want to argue with you about it. Just order me the ones I want.”

Me: “Ma’am, they all have the same UPC number. I can order four more for you, but there’s no way to guarantee whether you’ll get the old or new label design.”

Customer: “Get me your manager!”

(I give up and call a manager down. The customer begins her spiel about how the jeans are DIFFERENT, and how they sent her the wrong ones. My manager looks at the jeans, and then looks at me over the customer’s shoulder, a ‘What the hell?’ expression on her face. I mouth the words ‘THEY’RE THE SAME’ to her, rolling my eyes. I show my manager the UPC labels.)

Manager: “Again, we’re sorry, but like my associate said, it’s just a new label design. The jeans themselves are exactly the same.”

(We process the customer’s return while she throws a fit about our horrible customer service. She demands both our names, and the phone numbers of the head store manager as well as corporate. Taking her return receipt, she finishes with what she imagines is a crushing blow: “I worked for [Other Famous Department Store] for fifteen years, and we were always on top of things like this!”   I manage to keep a straight face until she leaves, and then turn to my manager with an incredulous look.)

Me: *deadpan* “She’s trying to claim a store that’s been in the red since the 1980s is ‘on top of things’?”

Manager: “Maybe that’s when she started working there.”

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