It’s Not Made Of Husband-Of-The-Year Material

, , , , | Right | June 30, 2020

I am a sales associate in a well-known lingerie store. I notice a male in his late thirties customer looking around.

Me: “Hello, sir, can I help you find anything today?”

Customer: “Yes, I’m looking for a gift for my wife. She’s big, huge, pregnant, and feeling bad about herself, and I want to show her that I know that her body is going to go back to how it was after she has the baby.”

I was speechless. He then bought the cheapest camisole and silk briefs that were on clearance, and they didn’t even match. To the wife, whoever you are, I’m sorry!

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Sorry, But We Can’t Serve You ATM

, , , , | Right | June 30, 2020

I’m working car-side service at a fairly nice Italian restaurant.

Me: “Ciao, thank you for calling [Restaurant].”

Customer: “Do you take debit cards? Because I’ve been all over the place and nobody accepts debit cards.”

Me: “Really? Yeah, we accept debit cards. Most of our transactions are debit or credit.”

Customer: “Okay.”

The customer places an order. When she pulls up to the building, she hands me a card that looks a little off. I try to run it, but I get a weird error message. Finally, I notice “ATM CARD” written down the side of the card.

Me: “Oh, I see what the problem is. This isn’t a debit card; it’s an ATM card. You can only use this at an ATM.”

Customer: “No, you stupid b****, it’s a D-E-B-I-T card! When I was at the bank, they called it a debit card.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but it’s clearly labeled ATM.”

Customer: “You’re just a dumb b****; you don’t know what you’re talking about. You shouldn’t have told me that you accept debit cards if you don’t. This is a debit card! The bank said this is a debit card. You need to learn to do your job.”

Customer’s Friend: “Whatever, I’m too hungry for this. Here’s cash; just give us our food.”

They glared at me as I walked back outside with their food and nearly ran over my foot driving off.

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She’s Dead(bolt) On The Inside

, , , , | Right | June 30, 2020

I’m a locksmith, on the way to another city for a house unlock, and I get the info for another call. I give them a call and tell them that I’m on the way to another call and in about a half-hour or so, I can call and give them a proper estimate on when I will get there.

Customer: “Oh, well, I have to open my business and I have appointments. Do you know any other locksmiths?”

Me: “Well… not really, ma’am. Like I said, though, I can give you a call in about a half-hour and let you know when I’ll be there.”

Customer: “I thought you guys would be closer; I called a number for this town.”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. We are a completely mobile company. I can give you a call in about a half-hour, though.”

Customer: “Okay, whatever.”

I go and unlock the house, and I give the other customer a call; my GPS is telling me I’ll be there in about thirty-five minutes. I add about ten minutes to the ETA to accommodate any traffic or unexpected delays and just the sheer fact of me finding the place.

Me: “Hello, this is [My Name]. I just wanted to let you know I’ll be there in about forty-five minutes.”

Customer: “You said a half-hour ago you’d be here!”

Me: “Um… I think there’s a misunderstanding here. I said I’ll give you a call in about a half-hour with a more accurate ETA.”

Customer: “Well, if I knew it was going to be this long, I wouldn’t have called. How far are you again?”

Me: “About forty-five minutes ma’am.”

Customer: *Pauses* “Where are you again?”

Me: “I’m down in [Nearby City]. I just finished another call.”

Customer: “What address?”

I pause for a split second, realizing she’s going to try to GPS me and figure out exactly where I am to see if I’m lying to her. “Guest Service Mode” ACTIVATE!

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m not at liberty to reveal the locations of our customers.”

Customer: “Oh, well, whatever. Just get here.”

Me: “I’m already on my way.”

I start heading down there, going just a little over the speed limit to make it there without any more complaints. Of course, I don’t even get that far. About ten minutes out, my phone goes off.

Me: “Hello, this is [My Name].”

Customer: “Hi, it’s [Customer]. I just wanted to see how far away you are in minutes, since one of my appointments just showed up and he wants to know how far you are so he can decide to wait or not.”

I get an eye-twitch, having to put forth a little effort now to keep my guest service voice up.

Me: “Well, ma’am, I’m down by the Chevy dealer.”

Customer: “The one outside town?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am.”

Customer: “Okay, see you soon.” *Hangs up*

I get to her address and start working to unlock her business after I introduce myself. As I’m standing there trying to unlock the door, she keeps talking and telling me about the lock and how “I don’t know why it’s on two different keys,” and, “Whoever designed it was stupid,” and, “I lost the keys sometime last night,” etc. It gets to the point as I am trying to unlock it that I say in a very even tone:

Me: “Ma’am, I need a minute to focus on this.”

She gave me a look like “Are you a moron?” when I asked her what way she turned her key to open her door. 

As I was working on the lock, I saw that her sign said she opened at 8:00 am on Saturdays. The appointment she was running late for was at 10:30, and I got the info at 9:30 ish. So, now, I was wondering why she was ignorant enough to wait until the last minute to get her place open… and that just annoyed me.

Finally, I unlocked the deadbolt and she went in, leaving me and her client standing out there. Her client walked in, and then I took a minute to gather my tools and walked in to which I saw her with her voicemail on speakerphone, jotting down appointments. I just stood there for about five minutes before she waved me over and finally paid me.

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Praise To The Lamb(ing Sheds)!

, , , , , , , | Related | June 30, 2020

I suppose I should start with a mild warning as this story, while funny, is also kind of gross. Welcome to my life.

Allow me to start with a little back story. My father’s wife appears to have done all of her research on how to be a Step-Mother in certain children’s books. I don’t mean she could be a little grumpy; I mean she got cease and desist letters from The Mouse.

On the Sunday evening in question, I had just gotten home and was trying my d***edest to get out of my boots, an effort hampered by the fact that, despite being fifteen, I had worked thirty-six hours in the lambing sheds that weekend and was so tired I had walked home, right past the motorcycle I had ridden to work.

As soon as she heard the front door, she started in on me through the door that separated the kitchen from the front hall, screeching at me that I hadn’t done my chores and I had better get caught up right now or no supper for me.

I said, “I’ve been at work all weekend; you know that. You insisted I take the job.”

As soon as I said the words, I knew it was a mistake, and sure enough, she ripped the door open and took a deep breath to engage in her favourite pastime: berating me for being a waste of skin and air.

Sadly for her — but not me — she took the deep breath after she opened the door.

After thirty-six hours in the sheds, I was covered in… I’m not going to be specific, but suffice to say that if it was liquid and could be found inside a sheep, I was wearing it. (I ended up having to throw all of my clothes out because even a boil wash couldn’t get the smell out.)

Her eyes bugged out, she went green, and she dived past me to throw up in the downstairs bathroom. I finished undressing, threw my clothes and boots out the front door, and went upstairs to scrub myself down with Swarfega: proper manly, gritty cleanser.

You’d think that would be an end to it, right? Wrong.

As I fell asleep — passed out — it was to the sound of her howling at my father because he wouldn’t let her wake me up to vacuum the downstairs and do the dishes.

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We Sold Out Because The Sale Did Its Job, Idiot!

, , , , | Right | June 30, 2020

I am working as the lead assistant at a local retailer. We are beginning a pre-Black-Friday special on a brand of canned vegetables all week. Due to all the local food drives, supply quickly runs out.

About an hour before we are going to close, an older man walks in with his wife. The wife turns to me with a scowl.

Customer: “And where are all of the [Brand] vegetables in your ad?”

Me: “I am sorry, but we have sold out.”

Customer: “And why is that?”

Me: “Honestly, ma’am, we have a lot of local charity groups that buy them for food drives.”

Customer: “This is stupid. Shouldn’t you limit the amount they can buy? That would be the fair thing to do.”

I can tell she is fuming mad, so I ask for the ad she is holding and point at the bottom.

Me: “The ad says here that there is not a limit on any sale items. And also, being that the winter season is coming, I am not about to limit food that is purchased for the less fortunate. We will be having another sale on the [Brand] vegetables before Christmas, or you can try one of our other stores.”

As I’m saying this, one of our well-known regulars is approaching my register with her purchase, as I have let my clerk take a smoke break.

Customer: “I demand to speak to the manager. This is an outrage!”

Before I can speak, the other customer enters the conversation.

Customer #2: “Can’t you read, lady? He is the manager! And frankly, with the fuss you’re making, he should have kicked you out long ago. Now git!”

With that, the first customer storms out of the store stating that she will never return again.

Customer #2: “What a holiday spirit that one has, huh? In all the years you’ve worked here, I’ll never understand how you handle that!

This made me smile, and I wished her a happy holiday.

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