(I’ve had the same conversation with the employees at this store on a few different occasions.)

Cashier: *ringing up my purchases* “Are you in our computer system at all?”

Me: “No.”

Cashier: “Would you like to be? I just need your email address and phone number.”

Me: “What does being in your computer system do?”

Cashier: “Nothing, right now. But we might add benefits in the future!”

Me: “I’m good, thanks.”

Related:
Email Fail, Part 13
Email Fail, Part 12
Email Fail, Part 11

(I am the manager of a store in a neighborhood that is heavily populated with Cuban-American people. This exchange happens between a customer and my employee, Fernando.)

Customer: *speaks Spanish*

Fernando: “I’m sorry, sir; I don’t speak Spanish.”

Customer: *yelling in English* “You need to learn your roots and speak the mother-tongue of our people!”

Fernando: *pointing to his name badge* “Fernando… Italiano!”

Customer: *quietly walks out the door*

(We have a giant inflatable ghost on display for Halloween. It doesn’t quite sit right and tends to lean to the side, so we frequently adjust it.)

Coworker: “[My name]! The ghost is falling again.”

Me: “Okay…”

(We spend about five minutes fiddling with it, until we get it to sit up right.)

Coworker: “Oh, no. His ascot got flipped backwards.”

(We proceed to grab boxes and stick-like things, trying to flip the ascot back around to no avail.)

Me: “OH! I’ve got it!”

(I run away with no explanation and return with a toy extendable lightsaber. I make the “vwing” noise and I flick it and extend the lightsaber. I succeed in straightening the ghost’s tie on the first attempt.)

Coworker: “…You just fixed the ascot of an inflatable ghost with a lightsaber.”

Me: “I love this job.”

Customer: *dropping off film* “How long will this take?”

Me: “About an hour.”

Customer: “I’m in a hurry; can you make it 20 minutes?”

Me: “It takes at least 40 minutes to develop and print film, and that’s if I have nothing else going on.”

Customer: “So it can’t be done in 20 minutes?”

(A woman and her family come into the shop and she is purchasing tampons, pads, and condoms, plus bubble tape for the kids.)

Eldest: *seven at most* “Hey, what are those?” *points to box of tampons*

(The mom and I make eye-contact and almost start laughing.)

Mom: “Um, they are for mommies.”

Eldest: “But what are they for? What do they do?”

Mom: “They’re for mommies. Go outside to your dad.”

(The kid leaves and goes outside.)

Me: “At least he didn’t see the condoms.”

Mom: “Oh, god, yeah. ‘What are those for, mommy?’ For not having anymore of you!”