Religion Really Gets My Goat

| Dallas, TX, USA | Right | April 30, 2015

(After running out of diapers in the middle of the night, my husband runs out to the nearest grocery store. There are a few people in line when this happens.)

Lady Behind In Line: “So where are you from?”

Husband: “Oh, I’m from New Orleans.”

Lady Behind In Line: “No, where are you really from? You know; your people?”

Husband: “I was born in India, but immigrated to the US as an infant.

Lady Behind In Line: “India? How wonderful. My church has helped save a lot of the heathens there! Have you been saved by the blood of our savior, Jesus Christ? If you’re not saved, you and your family will burn in Hell for all time.”

(The entire line goes silent, shocked at the gall of this woman. My husband decides to have some fun with her.)

Husband: “No, I come from a long line of Satanists. We’re having a sacrificial ceremony nearby if you’d like to attend? Wait, do you know where I can buy a couple of goats?”

(The woman turns white, drops her items on the floor, and runs out.)

Cashier: “D***! I was about to tell her I belong to the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster!”

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Taxing Taxis

| AB, Canada | Working | April 27, 2015

(Many years ago I worked in a grocery store. We had the local taxi service under contract to do deliveries for us, and we had a delivery ready to go.)

Me: “[Cashier], hey, we’ve got an order ready to go. Could you call the taxi company and get them to come pick it up, please?”

Cashier: “Sure! What’s the number?”

Me: *states phone number*

Cashier: “And then what?”

Me: “What do you mean?”

Cashier: “Well, what do I say to them?” *begins talking in a really sarcastic tone* “Hi! This is [Cashier] at [Grocery Store]! I’d like to order a taxi, please!”

Me: “Yes. That’s exactly what you say.”

Cashier: “REALLY? That’s all you have to do to call a taxi?”

Me: “Yup. Now, could you do it, please?”

Cashier: “Well, I can’t.”

Me: “Why?”

Cashier: “Because I’m shy. I can’t talk to a complete stranger on the phone.”

A Seniority Complex

| TX, USA | Friendly | April 22, 2015

(One of the grocery stores near my dad’s house has, in addition to its handicapped parking, a half row of spaces right next to the building that are signed as ‘Senior Citizen Parking.’ They are kind of hilariously subject to policing by “concerned citizens.” I go to the store with him when I am visiting, and when we come out my dad is accosted by a fellow shopper.)

Shopper: “Hey! You have to be a senior citizen to park here!”

Dad: “…And I’m 73. By whose definition do I not qualify?”

Shopper: “Oh, I… Well, okay, then.”

(In the guy’s defense, my dad is driving a convertible sports car, and although he’s white-haired, doesn’t otherwise look his age. But it gets better…)

Dad: “Who made you the parking cop, anyway? How old are you?”

Shopper: “I’m 57.”

Dad: “Well, then, in eight years you can come back and park here, too.”

Shopper: “I– But– Well, IHOP says I’m a senior citizen!”

Dad: “Excellent! Between now and then, you can go park there.”

Be The Change You Want To Give

| FL, USA | Working | April 22, 2015

(My fiancé and I are going through a check-out with a small amount of food so I decide to pay with cash, which I have never done at this store before.)

Cashier: “Your total is $12.56.”

(I hand the cashier a $20 bill. He hands it back to me. I think it’s odd, but I don’t say anything, assuming that’s how they handle cash at this location.)

Cashier: “And $7.44 is your change.”

(The cashier hands me the change and I try to hand him the $20 bill, but he doesn’t take it.)

Me: “Sir, the $20?”

Cashier: *genuinely confused* “What?”

Me: “You need to take the $20.00.”

(The cashier just stared at me uncertainly.)

Me: “You handed me the $20 back after I gave it to you and now you have handed me the change too. Please, take the $20.”

(He finally took it but still seemed completely unconvinced.)

Me: *to my fiancé, after we leave* “I really don’t think he believed me. I never had to work so hard to convince someone to take my money before.”

Fiancé: “I don’t think he believed you either, but he will when his register isn’t short that $20 at the end of the night!”

Trust Is A Two-Way Street

| Aldergrove, BC, Canada | Right | April 16, 2015

(An elderly woman comes through my till and is writing a cheque to pay for her order, but is having difficulties with her shaky hands. I offer to write it for her.)

Me: “All right, so the total was $62.83. If you would like to check it over yourself and sign it for me, please?”

(She goes to take the cheque from me when a younger woman behind it snatches it from my hands and starts triple-checking the amount on the cheque and the computer screen, before handing it to the elderly woman to sign.)

Young Woman: *snottily* “You just can’t trust some people.”

Me: “Fair enough…” *to the elderly woman* “Here’s your receipt; see you next week!”

(I quickly run the younger woman through, who says nothing the entire time. At the end of the transaction she hands me a $100 dollar bill. I hold it up to the light and start checking all of the security features, the younger woman glaring the entire time.)

Me: “Like you said, you just can’t trust some people.”

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