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Something Smells Scammy

, , , , | Right | September 10, 2021

I am sitting in the food court during my lunch hour stuffing my face with saturated fats, over-processed ingredients, and bad calories when a handsome gentleman decides to approach me at my table. As I admire his beauty from afar, this good-looking suitor gives me the worst pickup line ever.

Con Artist: “Excuse me, do you buy cologne?”

Me: “Come again?”

Con Artist: “I asked if you ever buy cologne.”

Me: “Yes, I do.”

Con Artist: “How much would you say you spend on your fragrances?”

I’m still unsure of where this conversation is heading.

Me: “Approximately $40 to $80, depending on if it is a designer scent and if I like it.”

Con Artist: “What if I told you that you’re spending way too much for designer fragrances and that the only difference is the amount of oils being used in those bottles?”

Me: “Ummm… Uh… I’m not sure where you’re getting at.

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a bottle of cologne with no label, sprays a piece of paper, and hands it to me.

Con Artist: “I work for an independently-owned company and we manufacture fragrances that are exactly similar to designer fragrances but at much lower cost. The secret is the amount of essential oils used in the product in producing the scent. Try it.”

I take a whiff of the sample. Immediately, my nose starts to burn and my eyes water as I take in an aroma that can only be described as musky mildewed flowers being plucked from a sewer drain and used as someone’s toilet paper.

Con Artist: “What do you think?”

Me: “Uh… It’s… quite… interesting.”

Con Artist: “It’s only $20 — much cheaper than those designer colognes you buy. Interested in buying a bottle?”

I reply as politely as I can, trying not to cough in his face.

Me: “No, but thank you.”

Con Artist: “Oh, come on, man. Don’t you want to smell good for your girlfriend or wife?”

Obviously, he doesn’t know that I’m gay. Darn.

Me: “I’m fine. Thanks. And I’m not married, nor do I have a girlfriend.”

The con artist picks up his cologne and leaves in a huff, but not before getting in the last word edgewise.

Con Artist: “No wonder you’re single.”

He disappeared among the crowds of food court patrons. Oh, well. I’ll always have the food court.

We’ve Read Weirder Things In “Not Always Working”

, , , , , | Working | August 9, 2021

When our daughter was young, we were at a candy store in a huge mall around Easter time. [Daughter] was looking at the huge chocolate-covered eggs — the size of your fist — and noticed that one of the pretty candy flowers had fallen off. We brought the box with the chocolate egg over to an employee and showed her the flower.

The lady looked at my daughter.

Lady: “Oh, don’t worry, honey. We’ll just lick it and stick it back on,”

And she gave my daughter a wink. Then, just in case anyone overheard our conversation and actually believed what she had said, she looked around the room at the other customers and said, in a much louder voice:

Lady: “We’re not going to actually lick it; we have icing in the back to stick it back on!”

It’s funny that you have to actually tell people that you’re joking, just in case they think you’re serious!

Making Candy Taste Bitter

, , , , , | Right | August 7, 2021

We have a sign stating our price for bulk candy: $6.48 for half of a pound. Naturally, no one reads it.

A customer has three bags, full to the brim, of little stuff like jellybeans and sour strips. I already know this is going to be bad by the pompous expression on her face.

Me: “That is going to be [roughly $78 plus tax].”

Customer: “For candy?!”

Me: “Yes Ma’am, it is $6.48 for half a pound. $12.96 for one pound. Your bags weighed slightly over six pounds.”

Customer: “Give me the employee discount!”

Me: “Are you a team member?”

Customer: “Yes, now give me my discount!”

Me: *Doubting it but playing along* “Please provide your company ID.”

Customer: “I don’t have it!”

Me: *Shrugging* “Then I can’t help you.”


Me: *Firmly* “Not unless you provide ID.”

At this point, I am done. For an employee discount, you have to provide proof of employment, no exceptions, and have to sign a paper. This is drilled into us all the time.

Customer: “Let me talk to your manager!”

Grateful that she said the magic words, I call the manager and tell him what’s going on, away from the screaming customer. Blessedly, though our manager is newly appointed, he has a spine of steel.

Manager: “Ma’am, my employee told you that she can’t give you the discount without proof of employment. Either provide it or get out.”


Manager: *With a bored expression* “Okay, now I am calling mall security.”

The manager’s indifference turns the customer up to 100; it’s kind of glorious to watch. He picks up the phone and dials, giving our store name. That is as far as he can get before the woman explodes so loud that security can hear it over the phone.


Manager: “If you can’t prove it, you can’t get the discount. But as an ’employee,’ you already knew this, didn’t you?! So, I don’t know why you’re throwing a tantrum.”

Of course, he was now goading her on, but this was simply to distract her for long enough to let security arrive.

We were treated to a delightful rant about how she was high up enough that the rules and policies didn’t apply to her. She told us that if she wanted to shut this store down permanently, she could. She threatened that once she called the president, he was going to get us all fired and then sent to jail for refusing her.

Security came at a run and this finally cut her tirade short. Apparently, she didn’t think my manager had actually called and was speechless to find that people in uniform were telling her to come with them. She meekly allowed them to escort her off mall property.

Sadly, because she had mixed multiple kinds of candy in a single bag, we couldn’t just put it back, so I had to damage all of it.

I spent the evening pondering how pride could have kept her from admitting she was wrong, but somehow didn’t prevent her from making a complete fool of herself with blatantly obvious lies.

No Storage Facility Big Enough To Contain Their Whining

, , , | Right | July 27, 2021

The mall where I work is very close to a major outdoor concert venue. A concert is scheduled. I’m selling, dusting, and folding when two girls from a cosplay convention come up to my register. [Girl #1] holds up her handbag which is the size of a standard garment bag.

Girl #1: “Hi! Can I leave this here with you?”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Girl #1: “Can I leave this here with you while we go to the concert?”

Me: “No, ma’am. I’m sorry, but you can’t.”

Girl #2: *Whining* “Why noooooooot?”

Me: “Because [Clothing Store] is not a storage facility, ma’am. No one here can watch your bag for the next three to four hours. Why don’t you lock it in your car?”

Girl #1: “Because the car is parked on the other side of the mall!”

Girl #2: “Yeah, like, it’s like a whole mile away!”

Me: “Well, I’m sorry, ladies, but you can’t leave your stuff here and expect us to watch it for you. It’s just not going to happen.”

They walked away muttering. I wanted to bang my head on the counter until I felt better. 

I told my manager about it, and she said, “You think it’s bad up HERE? Down on the first floor, they’re bringing in baby strollers and wheeled coolers and asking the same thing!”

Encounters of similar levels of insanity repeated themselves all weekend long.

I’ll Eat My Sandwich, You’ll Eat Your Words

, , , , , , | Right | CREDIT: PupSpace | July 13, 2021

I work in a mall store doing tech repair. Today, I close the store for about fifteen minutes to go get food from the food court. I get back to the store and start reopening when a lady comes fast-stepping into the store.

Me: “Hi, welcome to [Store]. How can I help you today?”

Customer: “Excuse me, I came by earlier and you were closed. I need my phone fixed and I’m very busy today.”

Me: “I’m sorry. I had to go get food.”

I point at my cheesesteak which I was eating when she came in. Clearly, it’s lunchtime.

Customer: “You’re at work! You’re not supposed to eat at work!

Me: “Again, I’m sorry. I didn’t eat breakfast and my blood sugar—”

Customer: *Interrupting, screaming* “It’s unprofessional to eat at work! And it’s rude to close the store for something as trivial as that!”

As trivial as basic human sustenance? Time to change the subject. I apologize for the third time.

Me: “I’m sorry. How can I help you?”

Customer: “My phone won’t charge! It’s been dead for three days.”

I plug her phone into my amp meter, and there’s a trickle of power going in. I take a pair of tweezers, and in her charging port are a few little pieces of dust and pocket lint. I plug it back in, and it starts charging perfectly.

I hand it back and start to explain it’ll be free because it was an easy repair when she starts yelling again.

Customer: “You couldn’t have fixed it that fast! It’s not okay to short a customer!”

Fine. If she wants it done “right,” I’ll do it right.

I pull a chair up for her and turn on some music and open the phone up. I fiddle around with the charging port for a while, pretending to “fix” a phone I already fixed.

Me: “Since I opened your phone, I have to charge you $50 for the labor.”

Customer: “Now I know you were trying to waste my time!”

She paid the $50 and left, and I have a good laugh over making a sale that I didn’t need to make for a phone that didn’t need a repair.