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“I’ll Just… Wait Here, Then…”

, , , , , , | Working | January 25, 2023

It is nearing 8:30, half an hour past closing time. (We close early on Sundays.) I’m manning the only register that’s still open, just in case there are any customers who have “mysteriously” not heard our closing announcements or seen the main lights turn out.

One of the managers is chatting with a supervisor as they approach the registers.

Manager: “[My Name], when do you get out? Nine or nine-thirty?”

Me: “Eight.”

Manager: *With a panicked and guilty expression* “Oh, s***! Gogogo!”

It took some effort not to laugh as I headed to my locker. In his defense, I hadn’t been kept there on purpose; he was just the first person with the authority to LET me off the register that had actually been there TO let me off.

Dumped By The Band

, , , , , | Right | January 20, 2023

My husband and I are at a concert for a band I love. After a couple of songs, the lead singer grabs his microphone and walks to the front of the stage.

Singer: “So, our stage manager told us not long before we got on that he’d seen a guy crying outside. So, he asked him why, and the guy said, ‘My girlfriend just broke up with me at a concert for my favorite band! I’ve been looking forward to this and she just left me here!’ and WE! THINK! THAT’S! BULLS***! So, if you’re still here, buddy, come up on stage!

The crowd gives a little cheer and then a louder one as a man really does walk up to the stage, though he’s a bit wobbly. The singer goes to meet him.

Singer: “You look pretty cheerful for a guy who got dumped an hour ago.”

Drunk Guy: “Yeah!”

Singer: *Pauses* “Okay, what does our stage manager look like?”

Drunk Guy: “Like s***!”

Singer: “Get off the f****** stage.”

Planting One’s Feet On A Stupid Price

, , , , , | Right | January 17, 2023

I’m outside in the store’s garden section, where it’s mostly been quiet so far. A woman comes in from the outside area and walks up to the register holding a small pallet of eight plants, somewhere between a small and medium size.

Customer: “Are these still two-for-ten?”

Me: “Let me check.”

I scan one of the plants and it comes up as costing five dollars.

Me: “Yes! The sale is still going on.”

The woman thanks me and walks away. She comes back a few minutes later with a few pallets of eight plants each. 

Customer: “I have four.” 

I nod and start to scan, and I notice that there are some similar-looking plants on two of the pallets. I gesture to one of the pallets with my scan gun.

Me: “How many of these do you have?”

Customer: “Four.”

Me: “Uh. No, how many plants like this do you have? Just this pallet, or are there some on the next pallet, as well?”

Customer: “Oh! Each one is different. I have four.”

Me: “Okay.”

I continue scanning plants, and she steps forward and holds her hand up to stop me.

Customer: “You already scanned that one. Why are you scanning it again?”

Me: “Well, I need to scan them all for the register to tally them up. I could enter it manually, but I can scan faster than it would take to keep going back to the register to fix each one.”

Customer: “It’s two-for-ten on the plants? Not the pallets?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, the sale is on the individual plants.”

She gestures to the pallet I’m scanning.

Customer: “So… how much would that be?”

Me: “Well, there are eight plants, so that would be forty dollars.”

Customer: “WHAT?! Forty dollars for that?!” *Angrily muttering to herself.* “That’s f****** ridiculous!” *Back to me* “I don’t want them.”

She walked away, leaving me to wonder how she thought plants of that size would be less than a dollar apiece in the first place.

Branch Out Your Understanding

, , , , | Right | December 7, 2022

I’m working in a library in a shopping center. A patron walks in.

Patron: “Hello. I have a lawn care business, and I was wondering if you needed someone to take over mowing the grass outside.”

Me: “Oh, cool. We don’t actually have anything to do with that. The shopping center is owned by [Landlady]. You’d have to talk to her.”

Patron: “Is she here today?”

Me: “Ah, no. But we can pass on a message to her.”

He writes down his contact information.

Patron: “Does she come by very often?”

Me: “Not to the library, no.”

Patron: “Have you worked for her long? Do you like her?”

Me: “Oh, no, I don’t actually work for her. I work for the library. She owns the building. The library rents the space from her.”

Patron: *Looking around​* “This is a library? It’s really nice. She provided all of these books for people to borrow?”

Me: “Ah, no. These are all [Public Library System]’s materials. They don’t come from [Landlady]’s personal collection or anything.”

Patron: “Has she had this library here for very long?”

Me: “Well, the [Public Library System] has rented this space for several years now. She’s the landlady. She just provided the space. We put everything else in here.”

Patron: “Is she a good boss?”

Me: “She’s not my boss, so I wouldn’t know. My boss is at the main branch of the library in [Other Town in the parish].”

Patron: “Main branch? [Landlady] owns multiple libraries?”

Me: “No. No, she doesn’t. It’s a public library. [Landlady] doesn’t own any of our branches.”

The conversation went in circles for a while. When he left, I still don’t think he understood.

It’s Not Just The Thermos Providing The Warmth

, , , , , | Right | December 3, 2022

My parents have decided to have a yard sale to downsize in preparation for some house renovations, and I’ve popped over to help out. Amongst the stuff they’re trying to get rid of is a bunch of my old stuff from when I was a kid, including a Thermos themed around a popular and long-running cartoon franchise.

A couple of hours in, a woman comes by with her daughter who looks to be about six years old or so. The girl immediately zeros in on the Thermos and picks it up.

Girl: “Mom! Mom! Can I please get the [Cartoon] cup?! Please?!”

Woman: “No, we really need clothes right now, [Girl]. I’m sorry.”

The girl puts it back but pouts for a while until she gets distracted by our dog.

Soon enough, the woman eventually comes up with nothing but a bunch of clothes to buy from us. While she’s trying to figure out how she’s paying, my dad quietly slips the Thermos into the bag we’ve folded the clothes into — getting a nodding approval from the mom! — and the two of them head out.

Not even two minutes later, the girl sprints back, overjoyed, and shouts at the very top of her lungs:


Easily the cutest customer we had all day.