Sweet Clerk; Sour Suggestions

, , , , , | Working | September 8, 2020

I go to a liquor store.

Me: “Let me have the larger bottle of [Brand] brandy.”

Clerk: “Sure. Hey! What’s your usual poison?”

Me: “Usually vodka.”

Clerk: “Oh, have I got something for you to try!”

A nearby associate speaks up.

Associate: “Oh, here we go again! You should get a commission on those.”

The clerk shows me a bottle.

Clerk: “Have you tried [some booze I had never heard of]?”

Me: “Nope.”

Clerk: “You’ll like it! It’s a mix of Cognac and vodka. They also have it in apple and peach.”

Me: “Oh, I don’t want flavored ones. Those are always sweet. I love [Expensive Sweet Liquor] but it’s got sugar and I’m on a low-carb diet.”

Clerk: “Okay, but I promise you’ll like this. If not, bring it back and I’ll drink it.”

We all laugh at his little joke.

I get home and pour a little into a Brandy snifter. I take one sip and it is a sweet liquor. It tastes great, but I can’t drink it; I give it to my daughter who can.

Two days later, I’m in line again, this time with some vodka. This time the “here we go again” associate is ringing me up and the original clerk is lingering behind her.

Me: “Hey, dude! Remember the stuff you encouraged me to get?”

Clerk: “Yeah? How did you like it?”

Me: “It was great, but I couldn’t drink it.”

Clerk: “Why not?”

Me: “Remember I told you I couldn’t do sweet drinks? That stuff was syrup.”

Clerk: “Really? I didn’t think it was sweet.”

A customer behind me speaks up.

Customer: “Was it [Recommended Liquor]?”

Clerk: “Yes, that’s it.”

Customer: “Yeah, man, that’s really sweet.”

Clerk: “Wow! I didn’t think it was sweet at all.”

I just shrugged and shook my head. I wasn’t going to act like a jerk about it — especially since I’m a regular there — but I don’t know how someone could drink a sticky, syrupy drink and not know it’s sweet. I’m glad I’m not diabetic.

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Geekdom Knows No Age Limit

, , , , | Working | September 4, 2020

I’ve worked for my boss for thirteen years, so I’m basically her personal assistant by now. This includes running errands when she can’t, such as buying groceries or refreshments for small parties.

It is one of those parties a few years ago that brings me to one of the local liquor stores. When I get to the checkout counter, I realize that while I have cash in my pocket, I’ve accidentally left my wallet in my car.

Me: “I’m so sorry, I left my license in my car. Is it okay if I leave this stuff here while I go get it?”

The cashier smiles and gestures to my shirt.

Cashier: “It’s cool. If you’re wearing that, I know you’re old enough to buy this.”

The shirt in question was my Mighty Morphin’ Blue Ranger shirt, and I was in my early thirties at the time, so he was right. I paid after confirming he wouldn’t get in trouble for selling me wine and beer without an ID.

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He’s Been A Major Problem Since He Was A Minor

, , , , , , | Right | July 29, 2020

I have not only been recently promoted into management, but I’ve also been moved to a bigger store during the current health crisis. This is my third week at my new store and my first shift not only working as a solo manager, but the closing manager, as well.

I’m a twenty-eight-year-old, five-foot-tall white woman with blonde and blue hair, tattoos, and piercings.

About an hour into the closing shift, I get an emergency call from a cashier while I’m doing paperwork. I quickly hurry over to see what the problem is.

Me: “Hi, I’m [My Name]. What’s going on here and how can I help?”

The customer is a younger white guy, somewhere in his early to mid-twenties.

Customer: “Yeah! I’ve been coming into the store for four years now, and I’ve always paid with credit, and it’s never asked for the last four digits of my card before!”

The customer jerks a finger to point at the next cashier, a white guy in his early twenties. During this time, my two opening cashiers have gotten off and are in line to make purchases of their own.

Customer:He checked me out last week and didn’t ask for my last four digits! I don’t trust her to ring me up!”

The cashier he’s pointing at is an African-American woman around my age. Up until this point, she’s been as polite as possible in retail, but at this she gets justifiably offended.

Cashier #1: “Sir, as I told you, the register won’t let me finish your sale without the last four digits of your card. If you’d like, you can come over here and verify for yourself.”

Customer: “I SAID I WANTED TO TALK TO THE MANAGER!”

The two cashiers who are off and the two who are working all point to me and speak in unison.

All: “She is the manager!”

The customer finally gives me the last four digits of his credit card, signs the PIN pad, and then storms off and rams himself halfway into the door on his way out.

Before I can say anything, [Cashier #1] pipes up.

Cashier #1: “I checked his ID; he was 22.”

Cashier #2: “I’ve never seen him before, either.”

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For Pete’s Sake

, , , , , | Working | July 28, 2020

I live in a small town. I recently enjoyed some sake at a hibachi steak house. I stop by the local liquor store to purchase some for home consumption. I look around the store but can’t find sake. I approach the cashier. Let’s call him “Pete.”

Me: “Do you have any sake?”

Pete: “Any what?”

Me: “Sake.”

Pete: “Hmm… over here.”

He takes me over to the import beers and points to a six-pack of Dos Equis.

Me: “No, sake. Japanese rice wine.”

Pete walks us back to the counter and gets the manager out of the back room.

Pete: “Do we have sake?”

Manager: “Yeah, it’s over in the corner.”

Pete walks us to a corner of the store that looks seldom traveled. I get the feeling this is where purchasing mistakes and forgotten special orders go to die.

Pete: *Points.* “This?”

I grab a bottle of sake and blow a few years’ worth of dust off it.

Me: “Yeah, that’s it. Thanks!”

I miss that small town and that liquor store.

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Can’t Get Drunk Off Your Power

, , , , | Right | July 15, 2020

I am twenty-one years old and manage a liquor store. This throws a lot of our customers off as I am the youngest person working there. I also look very young. An irate customer approaches my forty-year-old male coworker.

Customer: “I want to speak to your manager now!

Coworker: “[My Name], come here, please. Someone wants to speak to you.”

Me: “What can I help you with today, sir?”

Customer: “You’re the manager? You can’t be! You’re a woman and you only look sixteen!”

Me: “Well, sir, I am the manager. Now, what can I help you with today?”

Customer: “This guy says he won’t take back this bottle. I don’t want it. Someone said it was gross.”

Me: “We won’t take back that bottle. After it leaves the store, there’s nothing I can do about it. It’s state law.”

The bottle he has is one of my favorite bottles of alcohol.

Customer: “Well, I don’t want it and I want my money back.”

He keeps ranting and raving for about another twenty minutes. My coworker walks to another register to take care of the line that’s building up behind him. A regular customer of mine, who also happens to be one of my close friends, gets tired of listening to this guy repeat himself and adds his own two cents.

Friend: “Listen, man, she’s said about twenty times she’s not going to give you your money back for that bottle. Now, why don’t you shut up and get the f*** out of here?”

The irate customer stares blankly at my friend for a good thirty seconds before he sheepishly picks up his bottle and hurries out of the store.

Friend: “Is that stuff really gross? Because it looked amazing.”

Me: “It is amazing. You should go see if he’ll give it to you.”

The other customers in the store had a good laugh about that.

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