You’re Painting Yourself Into A Corner

, , , , | Right | September 12, 2017

(Sometimes a can of paint is mixed incorrectly, thus creating the wrong color. When this happens, the gallon or quart is marked down to a lower price, significantly less than the original price, and labelled as a mis-tint.)

Customer: *walks to register with quart of mis-tint paint* “I have to tell you…”

Me: “Okay…”

Customer: “I don’t need all this paint. I just need a little bit of it. Like, only a small amount.”

Me: “Okay…”

Customer: “…so, can you open this and just give me that much?”

Me: “Um… No. I can’t open a fresh quart of paint and remove a portion of the contents.”

Customer: “Well, I don’t need the whole thing!”

Me: “Well, I can’t take some out then put it back on the shelf.”

Customer: “Fine. Then just charge me for how much I’m going to use.”

Me: “So, you want me to charge you for ONLY the amount you’re going to use, but GIVE you the entire quart?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: “No.”

Customer: “Then take out what I need.”

Me: “Why don’t you buy the entire quart? It’s only $5.00 when it used to be $22.00. That’s a great buy.”

Customer: “Because! I don’t need the entire thing!”

Me: “This is a mis-tint, it’s marked down to less than half the cost.”

Customer: “No! It’s not a mis-tint! The person in your paint department is an a**-hole and doesn’t know how to mix paint.”

Me: “I’ll be sure to let him know that.”
Customer: “Y’know what? Forget it. I don’t want it.” *buys only a soda then leaves*

Working Like This Is Alien To Me

, , , , | Working | September 9, 2017

(I’ve been working with my district manager on a massive project to change the layout of my store. I’m about three months pregnant, suffering a serious case of “baby brain,” and I lovingly refer to the baby as “my alien,” as we don’t know its sex yet. It’s early in the morning, and my DM and I are texting back and forth. I have just made a mistake.)

District Manager: “You’re killing me. It’s too early for this.”

Me: “I know, I’m sorry. I should probably send myself home for stupidity.”

District Manager: “Nope. You actually have to work extra today.”

Me: “But… But… my alien might make me break the store!”

District Manager: “Exactly, then they’d have to remodel. Have a good day.”

Not Feeling Like You’ve Won The Lottery Here

, , , | Right | September 9, 2017

(I’m a woman in my early twenties. An older man, probably around 70 or so, comes to my counter to buy a lottery ticket.)

Customer: “Is it a winner?”

Me: *flashing a huge smile* “I hope so!”

Customer: “Good. Because if it’s not I’m going to have to come back here and slap you.”

(I have no idea how to respond to this, so I ignore it and turn around to straighten the tickets and hope he’ll leave without saying anything else. Of course, I’m not that lucky.)

Customer: “Don’t worry. If I win, I’ll still come back, but I’ll give you a big old kiss. How’s that?”

(I told him I had to go check on something and walked away. I haven’t seen him since, and I’m glad, because I don’t know if getting slapped or kissed by him would have been worse!)

Your Inner Thoughts Should Stay That Way

, , , , | Related | September 6, 2017

(I find my dad looking for a specific pan.)

Me: “You know, I’d really like to do a [Genealogy Website] search. It would be interesting.”

Dad: “Eight by four by two!”

(He immediately realizes what he’s said, and very slowly turns to face me. We stare at each other for a moment, then dissolve into giggles.)

Me: “You just blurted out exactly what you were thinking, didn’t you?”

Dad: “Yup.”

Onions Make Customers Cry

, , , | Right | September 5, 2017

(I am working as a waitress during a slow night, and someone comes up and asks me if I was the one to bring out food to table #7. I tell them no, but I did take their order. When I get over there, there’s a woman sitting alone and sobbing profusely with a burger in front of her.)

Young Woman: “I- I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it! Was I rude? I just don’t know what I did wrong!”

(I try to calm her down, but she refuses to stop crying. I go back to the kitchen and get her order slip back, thinking that she has just lost something she ordered. It turns out she is deathly allergic to onions, and the cook has messed up and put extra onions on her burger. Apparently the customer thinks we are trying to poison her for being rude. We get her a new burger with zero onions, and she calms down instantly.)

Young Woman: “But… you’re not still mad at me, right?”

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