(A kid walks up and asks to buy a pack of cigarettes.)
Me: “Could I see your ID, please?”
(The kid hands me an un-laminated piece of hand-cut white paper with a picture taped to it and all the “information” handwritten.)
Me: “Seriously, you’re going to try this?”
Customer: “It’s my military ID…”
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(I’m a host at a restaurant and I’m talking to a customer after ringing them out.)
Customer: “So, are you in high school?”
Me: “No, I’m in college.”
Customer: “Oh, that’s great! What do you want to do with your degree?”
Me: “Well, I’m majoring in history. I want to get a Ph.D. and be a professor.”
Customer: “Oh, you shouldn’t do that. You should be an air traffic controller!”
Me: “Um… I don’t know if that’s the right job for me. It would be a little too stressful.”
Customer: “But you know what the worst job in the world is?”
Me: “What?”
Customer: “Translator.”
Me: “A translator? Why?”
Customer: “Because the government kills them.”
Me: “What?”
Customer: “It’s true. My husband was in the Navy for 35 years, and after secret meetings, the translators knew too much, so they would take them out back and shoot them.”
Me: “Oh. Wow, that’s… terrible. I guess I won’t be a translator, then.”
Customer: “Good. Remember, become an air traffic controller!”
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Customer: “Excuse me.”
Me: “Yes, may I help you?”
Customer: “What is this?”
Me: “A t-shirt.”
Customer: “Who’s the d*** picture of?”
Me: “That’s Grizzly Adams, sir.”
Customer: “No, it’s Charles Manson! How can you sell this in your shop? It’s disgusting!”
Me: “It’s not my shop.”
Customer: “You work here, why don’t you find a real job that doesn’t promote murderers and killing!”
(The customer hands me a card: “[His Name], Army Recruiter.”)
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(This was at a government office on a Navy base.)
Me: “[Program Office], [My Name] speaking. Can I help you?”
Caller: “Can I speak to the homeowner?”
Me: “Sir, this is a naval base, not a residence.”
Caller: “Are you sure?!”
(I work in an English branch of a US coffee chain. Because we’re a naval town, US navy ships always stop here and the sailors come in for ‘a taste of home’…)
Me: “Hello, what would you like?”
Sailor #1: “One of your chocolate frappuccinos.”
Me: “Okay. What size do you want?”
Sailor #1: “Erm… can I ask you a question?”
Me: “Yeah, go on then.”
Sailor #1: “Are your frappuccinos made with ice, like they are back in the States?”
Sailor #2: “Yeah! Good point, man!”
Me: “Yes. Yes, they are made with ice.”
Sailor #2: “Is that British ice or do you get it, like, flown over from the States so it tastes the same?”
Me: “…”
Sailor #1: “Dude! Yeah! Is it going to taste the same as it does at home?!”
Me: “Why don’t you try it and let me know?”
Sailors #1 & #2: “Yeahhh…”
(Their ship was over for about a week and true to their word, they came back to inform me that their drinks did, in fact, taste the same as they did back home.)
