I’m trying to find a price match for a customer that already seems to be a bit off. Our online system is acting up and I’m without a cellphone.

Me: “Now, if you type in the barcode into your phone, it will pull up the item, and I can see what I can do.”

As I try reading the barcode, he tries to read it out loud, as well. After a couple of false starts, I try to speed things up a bit.

Me: “I’ll read it out for you. Sorry about that.”

Customer: “That’s okay. I’m f****** high.”

Me: “Ah. Okay.”

Customer: “And I don’t care if anyone knows.”

The rest of the transaction went by fairly normal as I tried not to laugh.

Marijuana is still illegal in the US. I work for a bath and body product company and part of my job is to take orders over the phone. This call is going pretty normally with the customer choosing some bath bombs and asking questions about the products, until…

Customer: “Hey, do any of your bath bombs have weed in them?”

Me: “No, I’m afraid not.”

Customer: “Not even CBD oil?”

Me: “Nope.”

Customer: “Well, how come? I thought you guys were up in Canada? Isn’t it legal up there?”

Me: “Yes, we are, and yes, it is, but we’re a cosmetics company. We don’t have a license to sell cannabis.”

Customer: *Surprised* “You need a license for that?”

Me: “Yes, just like a liquor store. Also, I’m pretty sure that even if we did, it’d have to be a Canada-only thing. US Customs would get grumpy with us for sending pot over the border.”

Customer: “Oh. Yeah, I suppose that’s true.”

(I work in the copy area of a well-known retail chain. This takes place at the mailing drop-off section of the store, which I am also responsible for.)

Me: “Hello, sir! What can I help you with?”

Customer: *stares*

Me: “Um… sir? Can I help you?”

Customer: *stares*

(It is at this point I get a strong waft of cannabis smoke from the direction of the customer.)

Me: “Hello?”

Customer: “So… I had this package come to my house.” *pause*

Me: “Yes?”

Customer: *stares*

(After a lot of this, I manage to get enough responses from him to glean that he’s looking to pick up a package that was meant to be delivered to his house.)

Me: “Sir, I’m sorry, but we don’t have that service here. If your package is being held by [Packaging Service], then it would be at one of their stores, not at a drop-off. You can call them if you want to see if they have it.”

Customer: *stares*

Me: “Um… here.”

(We keep the locations of the two nearest stores on printed scraps of paper, as customers often come in for packaging services we don’t offer.)

Me: *offers him one of the slips* “Here are the two nearest stores and their phone numbers.”

Customer: *stares at the slip* “Where are those?”

Me: “Um… we keep them under the counter but you can just have this one.”

Customer: *stares, and then proceeds to reach under the counter to the stack of scraps*

Me: “Sir!” *shakes slip* “You can just have this one!”

Customer: “No…” *incomprehensible mumbling*

(After much fumbling, he pulls a slip out from the middle of the stack, spilling the ones on top of it onto the floor.)

Customer: “This one…” *stares at it*

Me: “Um… okay… Well, they should be able to help you.”

Customer: “You sure?”

Me: “Well, it’s your best bet.”

Customer: *stares*

Me: “Have a good day, sir.”

(I walked away. He stared at the spot where I had been standing for a solid three minutes before unsteadily wandering off.)

(I am working at a pizza place. One night three teenagers come in, very obviously high. I take their order and give them their number. They sit down and I start folding silverware. After about two minutes, the cook motions behind me. One of the kids is standing behind the drink station. All I can see is the top half of his head over the station.)

Me: “Can I help you with anything?”

Customer: *mumbles incoherently*

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “Waiting.”

Me: “Your pizza will be out in a few minutes. Do you need a refill?”

Customer: *quiet for a moment, then points to the ovens* “Waiting.”

Me: “O… kay?”

(He stood there until the pizza came out and they ate the whole pizza in about five minutes.)

(I’m a teenager at a party attended by several families, all friends or acquaintances of my own family. I wander through the house with my best friend, also a teenager, as we talk about random stuff. I mention to her that I had a headache that morning until I took ibuprofen. A little while later, I’m sitting on the living room couch when four of the adults walk into the room together and sit down near me. They seem very solemn, and they’re all looking at me.)

Me: “Um… hi?”

Adult #1: “You know drugs are bad, right?”

Me: *confused* “Yes?”

Adult #1: “You know to stay away from them.”

Me: “Yes? What’s with the intervention?”

Adult #1: “You know you’re not supposed to take them.”

(I’m confused and a little hurt that they think I need a lecture. These people, who I’ve always respected and been friendly to, have never spoken so condescendingly to me before. I’ve known them for years. I’ve never had disciplinary problems or drug problems. I’ve even babysat some of their kids.)

Me: “Yep. Sure do. I mean, I do take [ADD pills] on the days I have classes. But I didn’t take one of those today since it’s Saturday and all. And this morning, I took ibuprofen because I had a headache. And then I stopped. Because the headache went away. And then, I didn’t need to take them anymore. Because I’m not an idiot. I’m also not addicted to drugs. And I don’t plan to be. Ever. I really don’t know why you would think I’d ever do that.”

(The group is silent. They seem to be digesting my words and don’t seem to know where to go next.)

Me: *stands up* “I’m going to go get some food. You guys want anything?”

(They said no, and I escaped to the kitchen. The whole encounter was very strange, but it was never brought up again.)