This Is What You Regularly Face

| London, England, UK | Bizarre

(A sweet little old lady approaches my information desk.)

Customer: “Hello, love. I am looking for the rates for housing benefit.”

Me: “Certainly. Could I take your postcode?”

Customer: “It’s [postcode].”

Me: “Okay, that’s great. According to the government website, your benefit rate is [amount].”

Customer: “Oh, it’s gone up. Are you sure?”

Me: “It here says that the benefit increased this year.”

Customer: “Right. Well, could I get your name, please, dear?”

Me: “Certainly, it’s [My Name].”

Customer: “And do you work everyday?”

Me: “Actually, I’m part-time so I am only here Monday and Fridays.”

Customer: “Good. So if I find out that this information is wrong, I know when to come in and smash your face in.”

(The lady gathered her things and left. I am still in shock.)

Not Very Closed Minded, Part 10

, | Rexburg, ID, USA | Books & Reading, Crazy Requests

(I’m the supervisor at a university library closing on a Friday night, when we close earlier. We have an irate student come to the desk five minutes before we close.)

Coworker: “How can I help you?”

Student: “I didn’t know you guys closed early on Fridays. I need you to stay open for me!”

Coworker: “Our hours are posted, and we don’t have the power to keep the library open.”

Student: “You don’t know anything! I want to speak to your supervisor!”

(I step in at this point.)

Me: “What can I do for you?”

Student: “I just started a test! I need you guys to stay open for another hour!”

Me: “Unfortunately, we don’t have the power to keep the library open past hours.”

Student: “You just don’t know you can do something! Well, I’m going to stay, whether open or closed!”

(The student stormed off, and security escorted him out at closing.)

Related:
Not Very Closed Minded, Part 9
Not Very Closed Minded, Part 8
Not Very Closed Minded, Part 7

Should Have Eaten Fear For Breakfast

| Portsmouth, VA, USA | Bizarre, Food & Drink, Rude & Risque

(An older male patron has started insisting that I (a young female) offer to buy him lunch earlier in the week. Every following day he would whisper a reminder in the form of a food order as he passed the reference desk.)

Me: “Good afternoon, sir”

Patron: “Chicken salad… Chicken Salad.”

Me: *nods head, a little creeped out*

(A patron walks past a few hours later to leave.)

Patron: *intensely whispers* “Two hotdogs from Dairy Queen.”

(They say nothing else. Later, I turn to my coworker:)

Me: “Why is it always me?”

Coworker: “They smell the fear… or your lunch.”