When Life Gives You No Lemons…

, , , , , | Right | July 11, 2018

(In our store, we make lemonade from scratch — we actually juice real lemons — so when we run out of lemonade, if there is a rush, we can’t make more right away. A couple comes in. The man orders an Arnold Palmer, which is half iced tea, half lemonade. I make it, using the last of the lemonade we have.)

Me: “Here you go! Anything else?”

Man: “Nothing for me. Anything for you, sweetie?”

Woman: “Can I have a raspberry lemonade?”

Me: “I’m so sorry, but we’re out of lemonade right now; he got the last of it. Can I get you something else?”

Woman: “Um, how about a plain lemonade?”

Me: “I apologize, but we’re out of lemonade; he got the last of it in his drink.” *points to man’s drink* “Is there anything else you might want?”

Woman: *pondering hard* “Well… do you guys make frozen lemonade, you know, like a slushie?”

Me: “…”

Man: “Oh, my God.”

Woman: “What?”

Man: “They’re out of lemonade!”

Woman: “Well, she could have said something! Geez!”

Raising A Spicy Little One

, , , , , , , | Right | July 5, 2018

(I am running a sample table at a store, serving an artichoke dip. A young girl around 12 and her mother walk up to my stand.)

Me: “Hello! Would you like to try some artichoke dip? We are serving it with some really good crackers today.”

Young Girl: “Is it hot?”

Me: “Oh, no, we serve this cold.”

Young Girl: *rolling her eyes* “I mean is it hot, hot. Like spicy.”

Me: “No, it’s not. It’s just cream cheese, artichoke hearts, and some different seasonings.” *there is really nothing even remotely spicy in any of the ingredients*

Young Girl: *grabs a sample, barely licks it with the end of her tongue, screams, and throws the sample on the floor* “That is so hot! You liar! Liar!”

Mother: “How dare you hurt my baby?! I’m going to report you! You should have a sign that warns people when food is spicy!”

Me: “Sorry, but it’s really just cream cheese and artichokes. We do give warnings when something has anything spicy in it.”

Mother: “Are you calling my daughter a liar?”

Random Customer: “I am. Your daughter is a brat. Stop giving this lady a hard time and control your kid. This is not remotely spicy. Has she never eaten food before or something?”

Mother: “How dare you?! I’m going to report you, too!”

Random Customer: “You want to report a fellow customer? Let me know how that works out for you. I’ll be standing here ready to tell the manager exactly what really happened if you try to report this lady.”

(The mother took her daughter and stormed away, throwing another sample on the ground in the process. To my knowledge, she never reported me.)

Just A Spray Of Salt

, , , , | Right | July 5, 2018

(I am pouring salt onto the freshly-made fries for a woman on our front counter, which she watches me do the whole time.)

Me: “Here are your fries. Would you like anything else?”

Customer: “What’s that spray you put on the fries?”

Me: *looks back at the fry station, trying to figure out what she’s talking about* “Spray?”

Customer: *points at the salt shaker and looks back at me* “That stuff I watched you put on it.”

Me: “It’s salt?”

Customer: *pulls a fry out and takes a bite, staring at me the whole time* “It’s good.” *stares at me a few more seconds, then snatches her bag and leaves*

A Pie In The Sky Plan For A Refund

, , , , , , | Right | July 4, 2018

(I am the cashier in this situation. An older lady, probably about 60 or so, comes to my register when I am about to block it off and go to lunch. Since she only has one item, I let her come through my line, and put up the chain at the end of my lane. We are well-known for our fresh-made pies in the bakery, and this customer has a pie box with an obviously empty and cleaned pie tin inside.)

Me: “What can I help you with, ma’am?”

Customer: “I bought one of your apple pies here last week for a dinner party and it was horrible! You must’ve used spoiled apples or something!”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. Is the pie expired?”

(I check the tag and find that its expiration date is three weeks away.)

Customer: “Yes, don’t you see? It’s expired, and I want my money back, and a free replacement.”

Me: “Of course, ma’am, but the pie isn’t expired.”

Customer: “Well, it must have been; it was terrible!”

Me: “Where is the rest of the pie?”

(Normally, customers bring in their half-eaten food to show us the problem.)

Customer: “Oh, my husband and I ate it.”

Me: “The whole pie?”

Customer: “Yes. I couldn’t let the pie go to waste, could I?”


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Re-Sealed The Deal

, , , , , , | Related | July 4, 2018

(It is the 90s, and there is a popular brand of mass-produced, solid-block cottage cheese that is packaged in large transparent plastic bags. My mom has been buying it for us to eat nearly every day for months. Dad always opens it by forcefully ripping up the plastic bag. It has practically become a meal ritual to sit down at lunch or dinner with Dad violently ripping open another bag at the table. I’m not quite nine, and we’ve been in this country maybe three months now. Most of the food packaging here is really different than in our previous country. I’ve noticed that some of the other food items we buy have resealable zippers in their plastic bags, which we’ve never seen before, but my parents do become familiar with these at about the same time I do. One day, sitting at the kitchen table I idly examine an unopened package of the cottage cheese we’re about to eat, and I happen to look closely at the other end of the plastic bag than the one dad always rips open.)

Me: “Mom, look! Doesn’t this look just like the funny zipper on the packages of [Other Food]?”

(Mom looks over idly, mumbles something, and dismisses me. Then, they both sit down at the table.)

Me: “Dad, look at that end of the bag! Doesn’t it look just like the funny zipper from the packages of [Other Food]?”

Dad: *waves me off* “Oh, really, don’t be silly, [My Name]. Of course it doesn’t!”

(He grabs the bag and prepares to rip it open. I reach over, tug it out of his hands, turn it the other way up, and carefully tear off the top tear-off part of the bag, revealing — ta-da! — a resealable zipper; which I then also open with no force required. I present it to them.)

Mom & Dad: “…” *embarrassed silence*

(The looks on both parents’ faces were pretty priceless.)

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