My best friend and I are at the mall, intending to buy a recently released console accessory. We chat a bit as we line up at the desk. A tall clerk waves us over and greets us with a moderate Slavic accent.

Me: “Hey, do you have any of those new [accessories]?”

Cashier: “We do. Do you want just the one?”

Me: “Yes, thanks! Man, I was worried there’d be none left!”

He rummages around in the cupboard behind the registers but can’t find any.

Cashier: “Don’t worry. We have more in the back.”

Me: “Not a problem at all; take your time.”

He leaves, and I turn to see my friend staring bug-eyed at me.

Me: “What?”

Friend: “Bro, what the h***?”

Me: “What?”

Friend: “Were you… were you not doing that on purpose?”

Me: *Confused* “Doing what?”

Friend: *Incredulous* “[My Name], you copied his accent. Really, really badly.”

The interaction plays out again in my head and I realise that I did exactly that! The mounting horror must show on my face, because my friend start to crack up.

Friend: “Why did you do that? How didn’t you notice?!”

Me: “I don’t know!”

The cashier comes back with the gadget. I pay and mumble a quick thanks before scrambling out of the store.

Me: “Oh, my God! I even greeted him normally, so he must have known! Did he not notice, or does he get that so much he just puts up with it? Oh, man, I was a total a**hole! [Friend], you’re not allowed to tell anyone!”

Sorry, cashier buddy!

Related:
In Soviet Russia, Accent Speaks You

I have a fairly uncommon name that can be spelled the same but pronounced two different ways. 

I work at a supermarket. I have just started and I meet my first interesting regular. He reads my name tag and pronounces my name wrong.

Old Man: “Such a beautiful name. My niece’s name is [Wrong Pronunciation].”

Me: “I agree, but I pronounce it [My Name].”

Old Man: “What? Why the h*** would you say it like that?! It just sounds stupid. My niece’s name is [Wrong Pronunciation] and that’s how it should be. From now on, your name is [Wrong Pronunciation].”

He walked off, muttering about how stupid my name is.

I work as a receptionist in a small gym where memberships are more like spots you reserve in certain classes. This one woman, now everyone’s least favourite client, comes in about forty-five minutes into the last class of the day, which is a reformer class. We close very early on Sundays.

Customer: “When does the reformer class start?”

Me: “Oh, they’re about fifteen minutes away from finishing. Are you here to meet your friend?”

Customer: “No, I’m here for the class.”

Me: “I can let you in, but you won’t get anything done and you’ll waste your money.”

Customer: “Well, you should sign me up for the next one.”

Me: “I’m very sorry, but this is actually the last class we have today.”

Customer: “Make one for me.”

Me: “Unfortunately, private classes have to be booked ahead of time through the owner.”

I give her the owner’s card.

Customer: “Then why didn’t you call me to tell me about the class?”

Me: “I’m sorry, the owner didn’t tell me I needed to call someone. Did you sign up for the class?”

Customer: “No, I didn’t want to sign up and I didn’t tell the owner I was coming.”

Me: “So how was I supposed to know you were coming?”

Customer: “It’s your job!”

Me: “Ma’am, I don’t even have your phone number in our system.”

Customer: “You should know all your clients’ phone numbers!”

Me: “Ma’am, we have hundreds of clients. Now, I can tell you’re angry, so I’ll have to ask you to leave. If you look on the app we had you install while you were registering for our gym, the schedule is posted there. Have a good day.”

Customer: “I can have the boss fire you and then buy you myself!”

I know d*** well I’m the only reason this place isn’t falling apart.

Me: “I’m sure you can. Leave.”

We have new smoothies in two flavors. This is my first day back, so I haven’t tried both.

Customer: “Have you tried the new smoothies?”

Me: “I’ve tried the chocolate one, but the veggie one should be good, too!”

Customer: “I’m having trouble deciding, but I’m going to have one of those.”

Me: “Okay!”

Customer: “The chocolate one is fine.”

I ring him up and make and serve his smoothie. When we get to the counter, however, there is an issue.

Customer: “Is this mine?”

Me: “Yessir!”

Customer: “Oh, you must have misunderstood me! I wanted the veggie one!”

I remade it because of our satisfaction guarantee; all the while his child was throwing our checkers pieces everywhere while he did nothing.

I am shopping at a local grocery store and I’m in the canned food aisle grabbing a couple of cans of corned beef hash. A woman who appears to be in her mid-seventies stops and stares at me as I put the cans in my basket.

Woman: “Ugh. How can you eat that stuff?”

I look her right in the eye.

Me: “Usually with a fork, but if all my forks are in the dishwasher, a spoon works just fine.”

She goes from disgusted to offended in a split second and starts to sputter out something, but I interrupt her.

Me: “Ask a stupid question, get a smarta** answer.”