73 Reasons To Get Your ID

, , , , | Right | November 7, 2017

(My grandma worked as a convenience store clerk from her early 60s until she was well into her 70s. I am visiting, and she has to work one of the days of my visit, so I take her to work so I can borrow her car for the day. I get there just before the end of her shift to pick her up, and I am hanging around when a customer brings a 12-pack of beer up to the counter.)

Grandma: “Good afternoon! Can I see your ID?”

Customer: “Aw, man, what? I’m 32!”

Grandma: “I saw you drive up, and you know you’re required to have your license with you when you drive, so let’s see it.”

Customer: “Yeah, it’s in the glovebox. You’re going to make me go out and get it? I really am 32!”

Grandma: “Well, sir, I’m not that good at judging ages. I’m an old lady; you all look like babies to me!”

Customer: “Aw, c’mon, you’re not that old.”

Grandma: “Tell you what. You guess how old I am, and if you get within five years, then I’ll take your word for how old you are.”

Customer: “Okay! I’d say you’re… mid-fifties. If I have to be specific… 54.”

(Grandma reaches in the pocket of her uniform shirt and pulls out her own license.)

Grandma: “I’m 73!”

Customer: *pauses* “I guess I’ll go get my license, then.”

(He actually did go get it, and he really was 32! Grandma told me later that she did that all the time to cut off the argument, and nobody had ever guessed over 60. Today, she’s 94 and could pass for a spry 75, with less than half of her hair gone to gray.)

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Locked On To That Opinion

, , , , | Right | November 6, 2017

(One day I’m working in a store at closing. Since we often have a lot of people try to rush in after closing, we have someone on duty to make sure the door pulls shut completely so it locks and to tell people we’re closed if they try to come in. I see a woman rushing toward the store with her family following her. She puts her hand on the door, then stops and says something to her family. Just as she stops at the door, a customer inside the store is leaving. As the customer inside pushes the door open, the woman pulls it open and waits for the other customer to exit before trying to come in.)

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we’re closed.”

Customer: “Huh?”

Me: “I’m sorry, but we’re closed.”

Customer: “Oh… You should really lock your door, then.”

Me: “It is locked, currently.”

Customer: “Well, it wasn’t just now.”

Me: “Because someone else was halfway through it. Have a good night.”

The Kind Of Guy Who Puts Their Mug Shot On A Mug

, , , , , | Right | November 3, 2017

(I’ve been a cashier at a grocery store chain for about six months. I’m one of the few cashiers who isn’t a minor and works nights on the weekends. It’s Saturday at around 10:30 pm when two young men walk up, reeking of weed. I greet them and ring up their order, and I scan some sort of cough syrup, which is an age-restricted item. Policy says we have to ID anyone who is under 40.)

Me: “Can I please see your ID?”

Customer #2: “What the h*** do you need his ID for?”

Me: “Oh.” *holds up cough syrup* “You have to be 18 to buy this.”

Customer #1: “Chill, man. She’s just doing her job.”

(He then searches his pockets and pulls out his phone.)

Customer #1: “I don’t got my ID on me, but I got my mugshot.”

(The customer shows me his phone, where the county sheriff’s department page and, indeed, his mugshot, are on screen.)

Me: “Um, sir, that’s not a valid state-issued ID.”

Customer #1: “It’s not?”

Me: “No, it’s… it’s just a mug-shot. Do you maybe have a license or a military ID?”

Customer #1: “No.”

(Legally, I couldn’t let them purchase the item. While they were mostly polite, the story was just too good to not share.)

Big Brains Meets Big Bird

, , , , , | Working | November 2, 2017

My husband and I are having dinner at a place that includes a stage musician playing and singing along with his guitar. It’s a quiet night, and one of the only other tables is a family with a little girl who’s just a few years old and carrying a Big Bird plushie, who seems entranced by the performance. Her mother gives her a five dollar bill and encourages her to go put it in the singer’s tip bucket, which she shyly does before running away.

He smiles and thanks her, and after finishing his current song, launches into the next one. He sings, “Sunny days, keeping the clouds away, on my way to where the air is clean…”

The little girl’s eyes get huge and, before her parents can react, she grabs her mother’s purse and goes racing up to the stage with it in her hands, dragging her Sesame Street toy. Her mother catches up to her and everyone has a good laugh, but all I can think is, “Clever man.”

Quit By Friday

, , , , , | Working | November 2, 2017

(I’m a junior in college. I’ve been working at this store since high school. My boss, while not a nice person, has always been great about working with my class schedule.)

Me: “Hey, [Boss], here’s my class schedule for this coming semester. Due to my new schedule, I can’t work Mondays or Wednesdays anymore, but I can do Tuesdays and Thursdays, instead.”

Boss: “Thanks for telling me! This won’t be an issue.”

(When I get the next week’s schedule, I notice I’m not scheduled. I shrug it off, until I’m not scheduled the week after that, either! I track down my boss.)

Me: “Hey! What’s up with the schedule? I haven’t been on there for two weeks.”

Boss: “Oh, I don’t have a need for you on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

Me: “Not even between four and eight? We’re always busy then.”

Boss: “What I need you to do is work Mondays and Wednesdays.”

Me: “I can’t. I have class from 9:00 to 5:30. Then I have project groups that meet after class. You said the schedule change was fine!”

Boss: “Figure it out, [My Name]. You’re not getting any hours until you put your schedule back to Mondays and Wednesdays. That’s when I want you to work.”

(I fume about it, until I find out the on-campus bookstore is hiring. I apply and am hired on the spot. They even ask me for my class list, so that they can schedule around it. I return to the grocery store a couple days later, resignation in hand.)

Boss: *smugly* “So, have you come back to change your schedule?”

Me: “I sure have.” *hands her my resignation letter* “I quit.”

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