(Having grown up outside of “Cajun Country,” I often have trouble understanding customers that come through the store. This lady’s accent is particularly thick, and I have no one who grew up locally to ask for help.)
Customer: “I’m lookin’ for taco potter.”
Me: *getting a lot of strange mental pictures* “Taco potter?”
Customer: “Yeah. Y’know, taco potter.” *she mimes shaking something*
Me: “Do you mean… taco powder?”
Customer: “That’s what I said! Taco potter!”
(I take her to the seasoning section and show her packets of taco seasoning.)
Customer: *getting agitated* “No! Taco potter! Taco potter!” *emphatically mimes shaking something out of a jar*
Me: “I… um… I’m not sure what—”
Customer: “Taco potter! Like you put on a baby’s butt!”
Me: “Oh, talcum powder!”
Customer: “Yes! Good lord! Taco potter!”
(Why couldn’t she just say, “like you put on a baby’s butt,” in the first place?)
(I work in a local drugstore very close to the college football stadium. We do not sell alcohol of any kind. On a game day, a coworker and I spot a lady walking down the center aisle, wearing a team sweatshirt and looking lost.)
Me: “Excuse me, can we help you find something?”
Customer: “Yeah, where’s y’all’s beer?”
Me: “Oh, sorry, we don’t sell beer.”
Customer: “You sell hard liquor but you don’t sell beer?!”
Coworker: “Ma’am, if we sold hard liquor I’d have a lot more fun at this job.”
(My last name is also a first name. We’ll pretend it’s Jane McKenzie.)
Me: “I’m here to pick up my new glasses.”
Assistant: “Okay, what’s the last name?”
Me: “McKenzie.”
Assistant: *rolls eyes with exasperated sigh* “I said, I need your last name. So, that’s McKenzie what?”
Me: *sighs* “Yes, and I heard you. My last name is McKenzie. My first name is Jane.”
Assistant: “Your last name is a woman’s first name.”
Me: “My maiden name was always getting mangled in spelling and pronunciation, so I was happy to change it to a last name that was much easier to spell and pronounce when I got married.”
Assistant: “You should change it again.”
Me: “No, I don’t think so.” *rubs temples* “Are my glasses ready or not?”
Assistant: *with heavy emphasis on my last name* “Yes, Mrs. McKenzie, they are ready.”
(After I got my glasses, I made sure to complain to the optometrist about his assistant’s behavior and insistence that I change my last name, and have never gone back to that clinic.)
(I’ve just moved, and I go to the local coffee shop for the first time on a weekend morning. As I approach the door, a woman who has been sitting outside the café hops up and gets to the door at the same time I do. I don’t mind opening doors, but she gives me a look like she expects it. She heads for the register, but pauses when I stop to look over the pastries. When I head for the register, so does she. While she gives her order, I get my phone out and read the news. Then I hear:)
Woman: “Pardon me?”
(It is Miss Open The Door For Me speaking to me.)
Me: “Yes?”
Woman: “I said that I left my wallet at home and can’t pay for my drink.”
(Again, she gives the look that she expects something from me.)
Me: “Gee, that’s too bad.”
Woman: “Maybe a gentleman would buy a lady a coffee.”
Me: “Shame that there are no ladies or gentlemen here, isn’t it?”
(She turns red. I think she might be having a stroke for a second, but then she sneers.)
Woman: “You disgusting [gay slur]!”
(Then, she storms out. The baristas laugh and high-five me.)
Barista: “Man, she pulls that crap every day. You’re the first one to not buy her s***. What do you want? It’s on us.”
(In south Louisiana, snow is rare. This weekend we had a record-breaking snow storm. The town I work in is a ten-minute drive away, and crosses a large river that has only two bridges over it. The main highway “new” bridge was closed first, then an accident occurred on the second, “old” bridge. I call my boss as soon as I see my snow-covered car.)
Me: “Hey, I don’t think I’ll make it in. My car is covered, the new bridge is closed, and there’s a wreck on the old bridge, so it’s closed.”
Boss: “No, the bridges are both open. You will be here on time.” *click*
(The department of transportation lists both bridges as shut. About an hour before my shift, the old bridge opens as the accident clears. It remains open for eight minutes total before someone else wrecks.)
Boss: *text* “Bridge open. Get here now.”
Me: *calls him* “There was another wreck and the bridge closed. Department of transportation says it’ll stay closed until the ice melts.”
Boss: “Well, you’ll just have to get in line so when it opens you can get here.”
(I straight up told him no, because it was too dangerous to try and drive in an unknown weather condition. I went in the next day, and he made me stay four hours late and basically told me I was at fault. Yeah, it’s my fault it snowed. And, I work in a grocery store.)
