Mother Nature, You’re Needed On Aisle Two

, , , , | Right | January 19, 2018

(My store has an outdoor gardening section, which is currently buried under a meter of snow.)

Customer: “Excuse me. When do you get the live plants in?”

Me: “Just as soon as the weather is nice enough for them to survive outside.”

Customer: “Well, when will that be?”

Me: “Um, after the snow melts.”

Customer: “Yeah, but when?”

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Men Think They Can Have Everything

, , , , , , | Healthy | January 19, 2018

(I am waiting at a doctor’s office. I have heard some crazy things at this place, but this is pretty nuts, even by their standards. A man is sitting in the waiting room, talking to the receptionist. He’s in his twenties.)

Man: “Can you give me some birth control?”

Receptionist: *looks at him a bit strangely* “Okay.”

Man: “Like, the copper thingy?”

Me: “That’s for girls.”

Man: “Jesus! Why are you so f****** sexist? You dumb b****! I can get it, too, if I want it!”

Receptionist: “Um, actually—”


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How To Be A Stain In The Neck

, , , , , , | Right | January 19, 2018

(I always go to one particular local dry cleaner, because it’s run by an older lady with an amazing personality, and I often get into hilarious conversations with her when I drop off clothes. This is a story she relates to me about some of her other customers.)

Customer: *over the phone* “Yes, hello. How do I get this stain out of my shirt?”

Cleaner: “Well, if you bring the shirt in, I would be happy to clean it for you.”

Customer: “Oh, no, I don’t need you bring it in; it’s just the one stain, so you can just tell me how to clean it.”

Cleaner: *thinking, “that’s not how a dry cleaner works”* “Okay, I’ll try… What kind of fabric is the shirt?”

Customer: *impatient sigh* “It’s my favorite dress shirt!”

Cleaner: “Uh, okay… What kind of stain is it?”

Customer: “You’re supposed to be the expert, here! Why can’t you tell me anything?!”

Cleaner: “I just need to know—”

Customer: “No! I’m the one asking the questions, here! What is your problem?!”

Cleaner: “The problem is that I just don’t know how you expect me to see your shirt down the phone. Good luck with your stain!”

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A Syrupy Sweet Exchange

, , , , , , , | Right | January 18, 2018

(I work at a fast food restaurant that’s famous for its customizable frozen custard treats.)

Me: “Hi! What can I get for you tonight?”

Customer: “I’ll have a mini [custard] with hot fudge, hot caramel, and light cookie dough. ‘Light’ means not a lot.”

Me: *fighting back the sass-filled comment that I thought about* “All right, that’ll be [total]. And you can have a seat; I’ll bring it out to you.”

(The customer goes and sits in the dining room. In the process of making the [custard], it melts a good amount due to the hot ingredients. Normally I’d remake it, but since I can’t do anything about the fact that hot things melt cold things, I deliver it and go back behind the counter. I start doing some miscellaneous cleaning while I don’t have anything else to do.)

Customer: *comes back up to counter with [custard]* “You f***** up my order. This is unacceptable, and I can’t believe you gave this to a paying customer.”

Me: *very politely* “I’m sorry. What seems to be wrong with it?”

Customer: “It’s all melted. I can’t eat this s***.”

Me: “Would you like me to remake it?”

Customer: “Sure, just don’t f*** it up this time.”

Me: *not wanting to make it the same way so we’re back where we started* “Would you like to try it with chocolate syrup and caramel syrup instead? They aren’t hot like the others, but taste the same.”

Customer: “Sure, all I give a f*** about is you not f****** up my order again.”

Me: *remakes it and delivers to her table* “Again, I’m sorry about that.”

Customer: “Whatever.”

(I go back around the counter and I see my manager looking confused.)

Manager: “What was that?”

Me: “She ordered a [custard] with hot fudge and caramel and cussed me out when it melted.”

Manager: “Some people expect us to defy physics. Get used to it.”

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Hey, Google, What Kind Of Cancer Do I Have?

, , , | Healthy | January 18, 2018

(I stop in a pharmacy to pick up some medication. I hear the following from a lady next to me.)

Woman: “I want to buy this!”

(She points at medicine on the shelf behind the pharmacist.)

Pharmacist: “That’s prescription medication. You can’t buy that. I’m sorry.”

Woman: “I NEED IT!”

Pharmacist: “Okay, well, we still can’t give you the medication. You need a prescription.”


Pharmacist: “Ma’am, I recommend you see your doctor before you get a self-diagnosis off of the Internet.”

Woman: “You’re a doctor! And I KNOW I HAVE CANCER!”

Pharmacist: “Actually, I’m not a—”


(She then proceeds to run out of the store, knocking down several displays and screaming “I NEED PENICILLIN! I HAVE CANCER!”)

Me: *mumbling* “How does she think penicillin will cure cancer, anyway?”

Pharmacist: “That’s not even penicillin.”

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