(I’m the silly employee in this one. I’m ringing up a woman who is buying some clear glassware.)
Me: “Your total comes to 5:17 pm, ma’am.”
Customer: *confused*
Me: *facepalming* “I mean, your total is $3; your clear glassware was half off. I’m so sorry!”
Customer: *laughing* “So how much longer is your shift today?”
Me: “Two more hours, unfortunately.”
(I work in a Mexican restaurant, and a couple of months ago our prices increased, leaving many of our customers angry. One evening, while I am working as a cashier, a customer calls in to order food to go. I take down her order, which involves about three orders of cheese dip, three dinners, two extra bags of chips, and some other things.)
Me: “All right, it should be ready in about 15 minutes!”
Customer: “Thanks, I’ll be there in ten! I’m at [Restaurant right down the road].”
(Five minutes later, a young boy walks in for the to-go order. Because people always send others for their food, I think nothing of it and proceed to charge him out.)
Me: *finishing adding up the bill* “All right, sir, it is going to be $50.43.”
(The boy proceeds to look at me and at the register before handing me his card.)
Me: “Thank you! Now your order is finished, but I need to go back to bag it up. I will be right back!”
(He smiles and nods and I go back into the kitchen. I bag up his order quickly and walk back to him. He says nothing, and takes the bag and leaves. About four hours later, my manager comes up to me with a phone and an annoyed expression. He wordlessly hands the phone over to me.)
Me: “Hello?”
Customer: “Hi, yeah, I was charged $20 extra on an order you took earlier.”
Me: “Oh, of course! I remember! Let me find the check.”
(I find it and look through it for about a minute.)
Me: “I can’t find any mistakes… Do you mind telling me what you ordered again? To make sure?”
Customer: *sighs* “Sure, it was…” *tells me her order*
Me: “I see. Well, everything you told me is marked, and it is priced correctly. Let me add it up on the register to make sure.”
(I add up the check. Twice.)
Me: “Well, ma’am, everything is okay with this order. I can’t find anything that is wrong.”
Customer: *getting angry* “No, it is wrong! Your menu says that your cheese dip is $1.50. I paid almost $4 for each one! My bill should have been around $30!”
(As she’s talking I finally realize what happened.)
Me: “Ma’am, do you by any chance happen to have an older menu?”
Customer: “Yes? Why?”
Me: *breathing in a sigh of relief* “Because our prices raised… a couple months ago, actually.”
Customer: “You mean to tell me that your cheese dip isn’t $1.50?”
Me: “Yes.”
Customer: “Then why is it on the menu?”
Me: “Ma’am… that menu is outdated. So is the one online.”
Customer: “But the menu says that it’s $1.50!”
(She is very angry and proceeds to tell me all the prices of the old menu.)
Me: “Ma’am, there is nothing I can do. I am sorry you did not have the updated menu at the time of your order, but there is nothing I can do. I cannot give a refund because you called hours after I gave you the food. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do except pass along the complaint.”
Customer: *very tersely* “Bye.” *hangs up*
(I looked over at my manager and saw that he was trying hard not to laugh.)
(My family is watching a movie. My teenage sister steps out for a while.)
Sister: “What did I miss?”
Mom: “[Character] was killed in battle, and [Brad Pitt’s character] went nuts. He stripped off his uniform, charged the enemy lines, and came back with a bunch of German scalps.”
Sister: *pause* “Brad Pitt was naked?”
This story occurs over a four-year span. It begins the year when I was in the first grade, and my sister was in the fourth grade, in the summer.
My sister and I were walking our dogs outside with our mom. My sister happened to get tugged by the dog she was walking and “sprained” her ankle in a ditch. She hurt it bad enough that she and Mom went to the hospital, but not until after she took a shower; our mom was very insistent on her showering first. The doctor diagnosed it as a sprained ankle.
For the next four years, until she was in eighth grade, she had intense pain with her ankle and foot in general. They decided to take her to a hospital again, with a different doctor.
It turns out, for the past four years, her ankle had been broken the entire time, and was left untreated.
The next few years were spent with her receiving surgery for the ankle, growing bones in her foot and having them removed, and physical therapy.
She’s now a junior in college, and doesn’t have as much trouble with her foot anymore, except when she exercises excessively.
I’m still annoyed with the doctor who didn’t find it out the first time around and let my sister suffer for four years.
(It is during my second summer working the supply yard at my high school job. A classmate of mine also worked here last summer, but didn’t return this year. He is about five inches shorter than me, wears glasses, and has a different hair color than I do.)
Customer: “You really have grown a lot since last year.”
Me: “Thank you, sir, but I’m actually the same height I was last summer.”
Customer: “No, you really have gotten a lot bigger, and you got rid of your glasses!”
Me: “I think you have me confused with [Classmate]. He worked with me here last year.”
Customer: “No, I’m sure it was you. You wrote [Shop Owner] that nice note for giving you the job, right?”
(I know he’s talking about my classmate, because his thank-you note is still on the wall in the shop, and I never wrote one myself.)
Me: “No, sir, you’re thinking of [Classmate]. He wrote that note; I didn’t. Plus, he had glasses. I never have.”
Customer: “No, I know it was you! It has to be!”
(This went on for several minutes until my boss finally called me over to a customer. The man was convinced I was my classmate. I guess despite the height difference, hair color, and vision difference, we could be twins!)
