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Don’t Mess With A Browncoat

, , , , , , | Right | December 3, 2012

(I work in a movie/TV memorabilia store. Most of the stock is sci-fi related. A boy approaches my station.)

Boy: “Excuse me, you sell stuff like Klingon to English dictionaries, right?”

Me: “We surely do. There are two in stock at the moment.”

Boy: “Okay, so then do you have a dictionary for Firefly to English? I’m like, obsessed with it… I’d like to know what the people are saying when they speak the space language, so I can say I know everything!”

Me: “Oh, it’s not actually a made-up language. They’re speaking Chinese.”

Customer: “Eh? They are not. It’s a space language. It’s set way in the future and everyone lives in space. Have you never seen it?”

Me: “I have indeed. I’m a big fan. I assure you they speak Chinese.”

(The boy looks surprised and then laughs loudly at me.)

Boy: “You’re a lassie. Isn’t Firefly more for guys? There’s loads of fighting and stuff. You can’t know that much about it. Why the h*** would space-folk speak Chinese, then?”

(I pull my keys from my pocket, from which dangles my Serenity spaceship key-ring.)

Me: “I also own the DVD box-set, the graphic novels, cast posters, two T-shirts, and several other bits and pieces. I’ve even met Jewel Staite. The characters speak Chinese sometimes because, after the war, America and China were the only remaining large power countries, who came together to form The Alliance. The culture-fusion resulted in a mixture of both English and Chinese being the commonly spoken tongues.”

Boy: “You just made that up. You don’t even know. I know far more than you. Who’s Jewel Staite supposed to be, then?”

Me: “She’s the actress who plays Kaylee!”

(A second customer in line who has been listening with interest suddenly pipes up.)

Customer #2: “I thought you knew everything about the show? Quit being such a tool and let me pay for my stuff already.”

Boy: “But I just want a Firefly dictionary! This stupid cow won’t help me!”

Customer #2: “You’ll find a Chinese to English dictionary in any big bookshop. Now if you’ll leave the poor lassie alone, you gorram a**, that’d be shiny!”

(I can’t help but laugh and the boy flips us both off, then storms out, kicking a display as he goes. I smile at the second customer.)

Me: “Thanks for that, mate. Always nice to get back-up from a fellow fan.”

Customer #2: “No problem. That boy was a total sha gua.”

(I gave the customer a free Firefly keyring like mine for that. Note: ‘sha gua’ is Chinese for ‘fool’.)


This story is part of the Movies & TV roundup! This is the last story in the roundup, but we have plenty of others you might enjoy!

23 Stories About 3D Movies And The Customers Too Dumb To Figure Them Out

 

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The Cake Is A Lie, Part 5

, , , , , | Right | November 22, 2012

(My aunt and uncle own a small bakery, specializing in artisan breads, muffins, and bagels. They have never sold cakes, cupcakes, or doughnuts. They also bought this shop in 1989, and have owned it ever since. It is a busy week for them, as one of their bakers is out sick. I am filling in and helping them out while their baker is recovering. A customer walks in whom I have never seen before. She is carrying an arm load of wedding planning brochures and folders, and is speaking to me between text messages she is sending on her phone.)

Me: “Hi, welcome to [Bakery]! How can I help you today?”

Customer: “Yes, I need to place an order for a wedding cake. My daughter is getting married next week!” *she beams with pride*

Me: “Well, congratulations to your daughter! That’s wonderful news, but I’m afraid we don’t sell cakes. We do offer various types of bread, muffins, and bagels, however.”

Customer: “Good. I want it to be a three-tiered cake. On the top tier, I want carrot cake. The second tier should be dark chocolate. The bottom tier should be lemon. All of that with cream cheese icing. Doesn’t that sounds wonderful?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, it does. However, as I just said, we don’t sell cakes here. We only sell bread, muffins, and bagels.”

Customer: “Oh, and on the top tier, could you make sure the carrot cake has no raisins? My darling hates raisins!”

Me: “Again, ma’am, we don’t sell nor bake cakes here.”

Customer: “What kind of special designs can you put in the icing? Her colors are black and pink, and I would like the cake to have a very modern, contemporary look.”

Me: “Ma’am, we don’t sell cakes. I’m sure that a wedding cake specialist could make you what you want, but we can’t do that here. I do have the name of a great wedding cake designer that we refer customers to quite often, and you are free to make an appointment with her to discuss your daughter’s cake.”

(The customer is not paying attention; she doesn’t even look up from her latest text message.)

Customer: “Uh huh? Good.”

Me: “Ma’am, we don’t sell cake.”

Customer: *again, not looking up* “Okay, so the wedding is next week, Saturday. The wedding starts at 5:00, the reception at 7:00 at [Local Hotel ballroom]. I’ll need it delivered to the hotel no earlier than 6:00, and no later than 6:30.”

Me: “Ma’am, like I said, we don’t sell wedding cakes! I have the name of someone you can call, but with just over a week until the wedding I’m not sure she, or anyone, would have time to prepare what it is you are asking.”

Customer: “Oh, and just put it on my house account with you and send me a bill.”

Me: “Ma’am, we don’t do billing, and haven’t in the entire time I’ve been in this shop. Plus, we don’t sell wedding cakes!”

Customer: *suddenly looking up* “What do you mean, you don’t do billing?! I’ve been a loyal customer of this bakery for more than 20 years! I have never been told I couldn’t have a bill sent to my house! I am good friends with [Former Owner], I’ll have you know!”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m sure you and [Former Owner] are good friends. However, they sold this bakery to the current owners in 1989. She has not owned, nor been affiliated with, this bakery in 23 years.”

Customer: *goes back to her phone as a new text message comes in* “Yes, I thought you’d see things my way! Now, I have to run. Bill me; my name should be in your system!”

(As I try to protest and get her attention, she sweeps out the door while answering an incoming phone call. Since I did not know her name, or any way to reach her, I simply write off the experience as an oddity and continue about my day. I leave a note for my uncle, who is opening the next day, but he apparently doesn’t share the note about the customer with my aunt. The next week, on Friday afternoon, I get a frantic phone call from my aunt. She is upset and asking something about me taking an order for a wedding cake, and begging me to come down to the bakery to help her figure out what is going on. As I enter the bakery, the woman from earlier is back, having come in to check on the status of the cake order, and my heart sinks.)

Customer: *pointing to me* “Him! He is the one who took my order, guaranteed that it would be ready, and promised to bill me for it! Why would you hire such a worthless piece of trash?!”

Aunt: “Miss, that is my nephew. Please do not call him names.”

Customer: “Oh, I’ll call him whatever I want to call him! He screwed up and deserves to be held accountable here!”

Aunt: “Miss, as I already told you, we have never sold wedding cakes. I don’t know what you are talking about!” *then, to me* “Did you promise her a wedding cake, to be delivered tomorrow to [Local Hotel ballroom]?”

Me: “No, I didn’t. In fact, that is opposite of what I told her. I told her, several times, that we do not sell wedding cakes, and never have. I tried to give her [Wedding Cake Designer]’s name, but she didn’t listen to me.”

Customer: “Like h*** you did! You promised me a cake for my daughter’s wedding! Her wedding is tomorrow and I demand you make sure her cake is there!”

Me: “There is nothing we can do. I told you, several times, that all we sell are breads, muffins, and bagels. We don’t sell cakes. We don’t deliver. And we don’t bill people. I’m sorry if you didn’t understand that earlier. I’d be happy to offer you a couple loaves of bread if it would help smooth things over here. But, I’m sorry; there is nothing I can do about a wedding cake.”

Customer: “I don’t want your disgusting breads! I want the cake you promised me!”

(She starts swearing up a storm and threatening me bodily harm.)

Aunt: “That’s it! Ma’am, my nephew explained to you when you first came in that we don’t sell cake. He offered to put you in contact with a wedding cake designer. You didn’t listen to him, so this mistake is all yours. Now you are threatening him. Please leave, before I call the police.”

Customer: “You haven’t heard the last of this! You will all be sorry for what you have done here!”

(Sure enough, she stayed true to her promise. Over the next six months we heard from her four different attorneys she hired, her daughter, and her new son-in-law. Each time we explained to a family member what had happened, and they apologized profusely for her behavior once they realized what kind of bakery we were. Each attorney we sat down with who represented her apologized for wasting our time, and then dropped her case. Two of those attorneys are now regular customers of the bakery and love the breads!)


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Ring Me Up And Shut Me Down

, , , , , , | Right | November 20, 2012

(I’m grabbing a few sundries after filling my car up. The only other people in the store are a young girl at the register and a customer she’s serving. I take no interest in them until I suddenly hear the customer screaming.)

Customer: “Get me your manager, now! You’ve worked your last shift at this place, you worthless b****!”

Cashier: “I certainly will, ma’am, but I was merely—”

Customer: “No! Not another word! I am the customer; the manager will believe whatever I tell him. Now stop stalling and get him for me!”

(The cashier sighs and disappears into the back room, returning with said manager a moment later.)

Manager: “Is there a problem, ma’am?”

Customer: “I’ll say there is! This incompetent s*** rang my gum up twice and then laughed in my face when I told her to correct the error. I’m certain she rang all my other stuff up incorrectly, as well. I demand you kick her to the curb!”

Manager: “I see…” *to the cashier* “Is this true?”

Cashier: “Well, just the part about ringing up her gum twice. I apologized and fixed the error immediately.”

Customer: “Bulls***! You’re lying!”

Manager: “Could you bring the transaction up, please?”

Customer: “She’s lying! She f****** laughed in my face!”

Cashier: “Ma’am, I was only smiling. I promise.”

Manager: *checking the register screen* “Hmmm, I see she did correct her error, and everything else was rung up properly.”

Customer: “FIRE HER!”

Manager: “Ma’am, may I ask you a question first? Namely, who are you?”

(She states her full name, job title, company, and the location of her office, which is a small brokerage firm in the nearby town.)

Manager: “Hmm, can’t say I’ve ever heard of them, or you. Nevertheless, let me ask you this: why should I fire this girl whom I’ve worked with for three years, has never missed a day without good reason, is always on time for her shift, and has been described by several of our regulars as one of the most courteous ladies they’ve ever met, over a simple mistake which, as I’m seeing here, she quickly corrected?”

Woman: “Wha? But… I… you… because I’m the customer!”

Manager: *nods* “Well, I’m sorry, ma’am, but I don’t see how that’s a valid reason to side with someone I don’t know from Adam, and thus lose a model employee whom I know to be perfectly trustworthy and respectful. Is there anything else we can help you with?”

(With that, the customer screams, shoves what’s on the counter at the manager, and storms out.)

Manager: *to the cashier* “If I believed every windbag who came in here ranting incoherently, I’d never be able to hang onto any staff. I’ll be in my office if you need me again.” *disappears into the back*

Me: *stunned* “My God. That was awesome!”

Cashier: *beaming brightly* “Whole reason why I love my job!”


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Emma Gets Frosty

, , , , | Working | November 5, 2012

(I’ve stopped by a comic store near where I live. I see an attractive young woman and an employee arguing.)

Employee: “I’m telling you, we don’t have what you’re looking for here.”

Woman: “Yes, you do. I was just looking at what I want.”

Employee: “We don’t have anything for girls here!”

Woman: “Do you know who I am?”

Employee: “A lost girl who won’t listen to me!”

Woman: “No. I work for [Comic Publisher]. I write comics for a living, and I’m here to look for a [Popular Superhero Comic] that was recommended to me.”

Employee: “Bulls*** you work for [Comic Publisher]! They don’t hire girls!”

Woman: “I am the writer of [Comic Series].”

Employee: “I highly doubt that!”

Woman: *crosses her arms* “Then go check!”

Employee: “Oh, I will! Girls can’t write comics!” *storms off*

(Eventually, the employee returned, albeit sheepishly; apparently the woman was telling the truth!)


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Mocha With An Extra Snot

, , , , | Right | October 30, 2012

(I am working at a coffee shop and have recently started training a new barista hire. He’s a teenage boy whose parents come to visit him a lot while he’s working. His parents are very snotty and condescending. Their son seems a little bit spoiled and not used to work, but he is very pleasant with the staff and is improving quickly. One day, his parents come in while my coworker is away from the station, so I offer to take their order.)

New Hire’s Mom: “We’ll take a pumpkin muffin, and we want that heated, and a large mocha.”

Me: “Okay, and would you like your mocha latte hot or iced?”

New Hire’s Mom: *narrowing her eyes* “I want my mocha hot, no whipped cream!”

Me: “Okay, that will just take one minute.”

(I read back their order before I ring them up, fully and precisely, as we are required to do to catch any mistakes.)

Me: “So, that’s one muffin and one large mocha latte. That comes to [price].”

New Hire’s Mom: “NO, NO, NO! I said I want a MOCHA! MO-CHA! MO! CHA! Not a mocha latte!”

Me: “I don’t understand. Do you want it to be a mocha cappuccino?”

New Hire’s Mom: “No! I just want a mocha with no latte! Is that so hard for you to understand?!”

Me: “Ma’am, I think you don’t understand. A mocha is just shorthand for mocha latte; it’s the same thing. The latte part is the espresso and milk, and it becomes a mocha latte when you add chocolate. Without the latte, you would just have the two pumps of syrup.”

(I make the drink and demonstrate the steps for her, explaining how the drink is put together, and point out how the last step with the steam wand can either make it a latte or a cappuccino. When I try to give it to her, she glares at me.)

New Hire’s Mom: “I don’t want that! I asked for a mocha, and that’s wrong!”

Me: “I assure you, it’s the drink you ordered.”

New Hire’s Mom: “No, I always order a mocha. I never get a latte! You’re incompetent! I know what I drink! I get it all the time! My son is a barista here, and he’s better than you!”

Me: “I know, ma’am. I’m the one training him, and he’s still learning the job. I’ve been doing this for some time and know my way around a coffee.”

(My coworker, the new hire, emerges from the kitchen and walks over to greet his parents.)

Me: “Hey, would you like to show your parents what you’ve learned on the machine?”

New Hire: “Yeah! What would you like?”

New Hire’s Mom: *looks smugly at me* “We want a heated pumpkin muffin, and a large mocha.”

(I finish ringing them up. He goes to work and starts showing off, explaining why the fine ground espresso packed tightly makes the drink stronger, what the buttons are for, etc. He is being a great little salesman. The whole time he is demonstrating, his mom looks more and more embarrassed because he is mirroring what I’ve already showed her. When he is finished, I remind him.)

Me: “Don’t forget the last step before you serve!”

New Hire: *proudly* “Here you go, Mom! One mocha latte and one hot pumpkin muffin!”

New Hire’s Mom: *takes it and leaves, absolutely livid*


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