The Stupidity Census Is In Full Swing

, , , , | Right | March 12, 2021

Every year, residents receive a town census that they have to fill out and return. The department that receives these is located in the same office as us, but we have separate windows and counters separated by a wall.

Each window has the name of the department directly above where you stand, so there is one for “Town Clerk.” The census is mailed in an envelope with “Town Clerk” on it. There is a return envelope included addressed to “Town Clerk.” The census itself has a note that says, “Return to the Town Clerk,” on it in bold. I put a box on the counter in front of the “Town Clerk” window with a sign saying, “Place census in this box,” in large, 96-point, bold red font.

My window is not the “Town Clerk” window.

I still have at least twenty residents a day come to my window and give me their census. I don’t know how to make it clearer.

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You Took Out The Wrong Trash

, , , , | Right | March 9, 2021

A customer I’ve come to remember as The Most Entitled Lady On Earth walks into our gift shop carrying a clear plastic container with food remnants in it. While we do have a trash can behind the counter, we try not to put food in it as it attracts mice. This trash can is not even visible to customers.

Customer: “Where do I throw this away?”

Manager: “There’s a trash can on the sidewalk, just outside the coffee shop next door.”

Customer: *Full of disdain* “I’m not walking that far.”

Then, she deposits her used food container on our counter for us to deal with. My manager and I exchange “Did she really just do that?” expressions. My manager has a kill-em-with-kindness approach to these situations.

Manager: *In an overly sweet customer service voice* “Would you like me to take that out to the trash can?”

The customer replies in a tone that suggests, “Finally, these peons are getting it.”

Customer: “Yes, thank you.”

My manager drops it off in the trash can, not more than fifteen feet outside our store’s front door. The customer browses for a bit, then, without an ounce of self-awareness, asks:

Customer: “So, how long does it take to walk to [Train Station that is roughly a thirty-five-minute walk from where we are]?”

I wish I had estimated for her how many trash cans she might pass on that thirty-five-minute walk.

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No-One Noon

, , , , | Right | March 9, 2021

Due to budget cuts over a decade ago, the town I work for closes its town hall to the public at noon on Fridays. Fridays also happen to be one of our busiest days of the week, with a lot of residents trying to get things done before the weekend. Our closing time is rigid, but we won’t kick anyone out who is already in the building, and we will let those in who are walking up the walkway toward our building when we go to lock the door. This is one of those doors that locks from the outside, but you can leave without having to be let out.

One Friday, in particular, was very busy. It was going to be a nice weekend, so residents were lining down the hall wanting to get tag sale permits, among other things. At 12:01 pm, I locked the door, looking down both sides of the walkway to make sure I wasn’t shutting the door in someone’s face. Seeing no one, I walked back into the office to continue my closing procedures and help the residents still inside.

Around ten minutes after we technically closed, I noticed more residents in line who definitely were not there before. Perhaps they had been in a different part of the building, so I shrugged and continued working. Around twenty minutes after closing, I noticed yet more residents. I walked into the hallway to see what was going on and where they were coming from.

As it turns out, whenever someone left through the doors, the next person waiting outside grabbed the handle before it closed and let in a few more nearby. I even had a resident storm up to me, angry that she had to keep letting people in because the door was locked and we should have maintenance check on why the door kept locking. I explained to her that the door was locked because we were closed, and to please stop letting people in. She was very confused but walked away when she was done. It took us about a half-hour to finish helping everyone without new people coming in.

Our hours are clearly posted on the door, our website has our hours on it, our Facebook page has our hours listed, our voicemail lists our hours, and every letter and bill we send out have our hours on it. Our hours changed close to fifteen years ago. I’m not sure how to make it clearer.

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Ring Me Once, Shame On Me…

, , , , , , | Learning | March 6, 2021

It is the first day of the new semester of my third year of college. The professor has spent a large portion of the class reviewing the syllabus.

Professor: “…and cell phones should be off or set to silent. If you interrupt my class with a phone call, I will take a half-grade off your next test.”

My phone starts ringing with a recognizable fanfare from a famous video game series. The professor stops speaking and everyone stares at me.

Professor: “You going to answer that?”

Me: “Nope. Going to pretend like it’s not happening.”

Professor: “Ha! Good call.”

I got full credit on the next test.

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Lolly, Lolly, Lolly, Get Mistaken For A Child Here

, , , , | Related | March 5, 2021

I am a 4’11”, twenty-year-old woman, and I have a babyface. My height and appearance have been the subject of many jokes in my family, especially since most people think I’m younger than I really am and treat me so. This particular event sticks out.

I go out to the store with my mom to pick up a few things and we get to the register. I notice the cashier glance at me but I think nothing of it. Before we go to leave, we hear the cashier say:

Cashier: “Hold on a moment, please.”

My mom and I stop and turn around only for the cashier to hand me some lollipops and talk with the kind of voice people use for kids.

Cashier: “Here you go, sweetheart.”

I grab the lollipops and thank him, and then we go out to the car. When we’re in, we sit in silence for a bit. I stare at the lollipops for a moment before I turn to look at my mom.

Me: “He thought I was a little kid.”

My mom bursts out laughing and can’t stop giggling, even after we get home. We walk in and she pats my head.

Mom: “Aww, it’s okay, sweetie. At least you got lollipops out of it!”

Me: “That’s true, but I don’t like most of these.”

Mom: “If we go there again and he’s there, he might give you different flavors!”

Me: “You’re never gonna let me live this down, are you?”

Mom: “Exactly!”

I’m used to being mistaken for being younger than I am, but this was the first time I got candy out of it. I still have one of the lollipops, and it’s now something that I find pretty funny.

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