Waiting For The Other Shoe To Drop

| Working | January 23, 2014

(I have just stepped off a cruise ship and am heading into the main street when I pass a market stall with lots of shoes. I swipe a fleeting glance at them.)

Owner: “Ah, pretty lady looking at the pretty shoes!”

Me: “I’m just looking.”

(I carry on walking past when he grabs my arm. He sees the disdainful look I give him and he lets go.)

Owner: “These shoes are beautiful! They will look beautiful on your beautiful feet!”

(He creeps me out, but I need another pair of shoes and, in his defense, they weren’t terrible.)

Owner: “You are English? No?”

Me: “Yes. I am English.”

Owner: “Beautiful English rose! For I do you special deal. Okay?”

Me: “Okay. How much?”

Owner: “You are so beautiful. Only the best leather for you!”

(He peels back the thinnest leather I have ever seen. The stitching on the shoe isn’t even straight. It’s drastically warped and very noticeable. I decide to hear him out all the same, but I am getting annoyed.”

Me: “So, how much?”

Owner: “For you pretty lady, today is your lucky day! They are half price! I do you special deal. Just for you I will take more off! $150!”

Me: “I don’t think so! Why are you charging so much?”

(The owner looks insulted and then laughs at me snidely.)

Owner: “You have no style! These are Gucci!”

(The owner defiantly points to the Gucci label on the sole.)

Me: “If they are real Gucci, why is Gucci spelt wrong?”

(The owner throws the shoe to the floor in anger and tells me in very colourful language to go away and that I am an ugly English girl!)

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Getting The Raw Deal

| Working | September 8, 2013

(Near where I live, there is a popular Amish market. We buy their baked goods a lot. We buy a six-pack of cinnamon buns. Once we cut one, we realize they are raw inside.)

Me: “Yes, I’d like to return these, please.”

Baker: “Why?”

Me: “They’re raw on the inside.”

Baker: “But they’re already open.”

Me: “Yes, I cut one. That’s how I realized they were raw on the inside.”

Baker: “But you can’t return it. It’s open.”

Me: “I can’t eat it. It’s raw. You’re not allowed to sell it that way, either. It’s a health hazard.”

Baker: “Well, what do you want me to do?”

Me: “I’d like a refund. I can’t eat these, and I had no way of knowing they were raw when I bought them.”

Baker: “…”

Me: “Well, could you finish cooking them at least?”

Baker: “But you opened it! One’s cut!”

Me: “Yes. Now think about it. Do they look raw on the outside?”

Baker: “No…”

Me: “Excellent. Now, are they raw on the inside?”

Baker: “Yes…”

Me: “Good. Now the big one: How could I know they were raw on the inside?”

Baker: “…if you cut one and saw.”

Me: “Yes! So there’s no way I could’ve known without cutting one.”

Baker: “Oh. Well, I don’t want to give you a refund.”

Me: “Well, you do realize you’re not allowed to sell them like this? There are laws. There are health regulations. I could report this—”

Baker: “—fine! Here’s your refund!”

Me: “Thanks!”

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Like My Antiques, I Need Love Too

, | Right | July 26, 2011

(We rent out individual spaces to people. A new dealer has just moved in and is about to leave the store. Note that she is about 70 years old and I am 30.)

Dealer: “Okay, I guess you have to inspect my bags before I leave.”

Me: “Yeah, we do.”

(It looks like a bunch of moving supplies and paper.)

Dealer: “Are you going to frisk me?”

Me: “Pardon?”

Dealer: “Well, it says you check everything at the door. I figured you’d check me too.”

Me: “Ma’am, we check your bags and boxes, but not you. I’m not going to frisk you, as that is inappropriate.”

Dealer: “Well, it’s been a while for me, dear. You can feel what you want.”

Me: “I’d like to keep my job without a sexual harassment complaint on the record. We’ll just see you next time.”

Dealer: “Oh, come on! It’s been so long!”

(Her 80 year-old husband is standing there laughing the entire time.)

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Time To Trade In One Slightly Used Mom

| Right | May 25, 2009

Customer: “Is this flea market going well for you?”

Me: “Decently… considering how many other tables here, I’m glad for the business we’ve gotten.”

Customer: “You can sell just about anything here, right?”

Me: “Mmhmm.”

Customer: “If I give you twenty bucks, will you please sell my children?”

Me: “Well…um. I’m sorry, but no.”

Customer: “Please?”

Me: “I’m sorry. Selling your children would be slavery.”

Customer: “Okay. So, can I buy this?” *holds up a cheap ring*

Me: “Sure. That’ll be–”

Customer: “I’ll give you my daughter for it!”

Me: “No. You know what? If I give you the ring, will you go away?”

Customer: *goes away with her children and the cheap ring*

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More Than He Bargained For

, , , , | Right | April 27, 2009

(My father is manning tables at the local flea market. A man comes up to the table and picks out an item that’s priced at $8.)

Customer: “Will you take $6 for this?”

Dad: “Sure.”

(The man finds another item, this one priced at $5.)

Customer: “Will you take $4?”

Dad: “Sure.”

(After a while, the man finds another item, this time priced at $6.)

Customer: “$5?”

Dad: “Sure.”

(Finally, the man gathers all of his items together and winds up for the ultimate bargaining ploy.)

Customer: “How about $20 for all three?”

Dad: “Sure.”

(Dad was always an agreeable sort.)

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