They’re Not Deserving Of Any Credit

, , , , , , | Right | January 17, 2018

(It’s a normal evening at my store. I am checking out a long line of people when an older man in sunglasses hands me his credit card. I take it at first, thinking it’s our rewards card.)

Me: “I’m sorry, sir. I’m not allowed to touch your card; it’s company policy.”

Customer: “I don’t care. You swipe it. It’s your machine, so you swipe it!”

Me: *scanning his items, attempting to give him back his card* “Sir, please take your card. I’m really not supposed to touch them or swipe them for you.”


Me: *giving up, as at this point my line has grown by four people* “Credit or debit?”

Customer: “Figure it out!”

(I run the card as credit, then return it to him.)

Customer: *nastily* “It’s just good customer service!”

Obama Drama, Part 4

, , , , , | Right | January 15, 2018

(I work at an office supply store in the printing department. It is a Saturday evening, and a coworker and I are currently putting out ads for the next week. We have just closed our doors, and everything is going fine until we get a call. I don’t pay much attention until my coworker calls me over to take it, as it is for my department. Keep in mind that we are currently closed.)

Me: “Thank you for holding. This is [My Name]. How can I help you?”

Customer: “Yeah, I was wondering if I could get a price quote on some prints?”

Me: “Sure thing! What are you looking to get?”

(The customer proceeds to describe what he wants, which goes on for a few minutes. The conversation goes well, nothing out of the ordinary, until we reach the end of the conversation.)

Customer: “Sounds good! What time do you all close?”

Me: “We closed about 15 minutes ago, sir, but we open back up at 10:00 tomorrow morning.”

Customer: “Aw, man, really? I am actually just right outside. Could you make an exception?”

Me: “No, I’m afraid not, but like I said, we open back up tomorrow.”

Customer: “But I’m from out of town and I really need this done.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but we are closed.”

Customer: “But I’m from Texas; does that change anything?”

Me: “Unfortunately not, sir. We are still closed, regardless.”

(We go back and forth like this for several minutes. He is getting irate the longer it goes on, and so am I. I try to keep the friendliest voice I can muster. It seems like he has finally decided to give up, until the customer says something I never expected.)

Me: “I’m sorry, sir. Like I said before, we are closed.”

Customer: *in a threatening tone* “Do I need to call Obama to confirm that you’re closed?”

Me: *legitimately speechless*

Customer: *click*

(After I hung up the phone, I told my coworker and manager. They both got a pretty good kick out of it! It was the strangest phone call I have ever received. We also never did get that phone call from Obama.)


Obama Drama, Part 3
Obama Drama, Part 2
Obama Drama

They’re Praying To Win

, , , , , | Learning | January 15, 2018

(I teach at a rough high school.)

Teacher: *looking out window* “Isn’t that beautiful? Those men outside, down on their knees praying?”

Me: “They’re shooting craps.”

Not Pregnant With Information

, , , , , , | Related | January 10, 2018

(My mother is the oldest of eight children. She is the first to marry and to start having children of her own. Of my mother’s children, I am the eldest. All of my mother’s siblings marry and proceed to have children of their own throughout the course of my life. Every year, someone is announcing a wedding, a pregnancy, or a birth. While I am genuinely happy for my ever-growing extended family, I don’t feel the same amount of joy as my mother does, due to the fact that I never get to see these relatives except for every couple of years, as opposed to my mother who visits everyone once or twice a year. I’m 20 years old and attending college out of state, so my only communication with my parents is a weekly phone call, which is usually brief. I’m home for Christmas break when my mother’s youngest sibling — my youngest aunt — calls. Note: this takes place when social media is in its infancy and most people don’t have a Facebook page.)

Mother: “Hello?” *pause* “Oh, that’s wonderful! I’m really glad everything went well.” *pause* “Don’t worry; I’ll call [various Aunts and Uncles] and let them know, too.” *pause* “You rest and take it easy. Love you. Bye.”

Me: “What’s going on with [Youngest Aunt]?”

Mother: “What do you mean? She just had the baby!”

Me: “Huh… She and the baby are okay, I’m guessing?”

Mother: “Yes, yes, they’re both doing well. What do you mean, ‘huh’? Aren’t you excited?”

Me: “Mom, I didn’t know she was even pregnant.”

Mother: “Of course you did. She announced the pregnancy back in May at [Cousin]’s baptism.”

Me: “I didn’t go to that.”

Mother: “I told you about her baby shower I was going to back in October.”

Me: “You mentioned a baby shower, but you didn’t say who it was for. I assumed it was for one of your friends from church who had a daughter that was pregnant.”

Mother: “She was admitted yesterday morning!”

Me: “And I was on the road yesterday morning, if you remember. I didn’t get here until almost dinnertime.”

Mother: *dumbfounded* “I really didn’t tell you?”

Me: “I wouldn’t be surprised if only you and Dad knew, which is sad since [Youngest Sibling] still lives here.”

Mother: “You could at least be a little more excited!”

(As if on cue, my other two siblings head down the stairs, unaware of our conversation, and my mother shouts to them.)

Mother: “[Youngest Aunt] just had her baby!”

(The two of them look at each other, confused, then look towards me.)

Me: “I told you they didn’t know.” *to my siblings* “Apparently, we have another cousin.”

(For those who are curious, the cousin mentioned in this story was the last one, making twelve cousins, just on my mother’s side of the family.)

Can’t Credit Them With Any Military Intelligence

, , , , , | Friendly | December 30, 2017

(Our home number is really close to a number that Fort Leonard Wood has. About once or twice a month we get a call for them. I am 16 or 17 when I get this call at 7:00 am.)

Me: *mostly asleep* “Hello.”

Caller: “Yes, this is [Military Rank] [Caller]. I’m at the St. Louis airport. When is someone going to pick me up?”

Me: *silence*

Caller: “Hello?”

Me: “I’m sorry; you’ve gotten the wrong number.”

Caller: “Isn’t this [phone number]?”

Me: “Yes, but I’m a teenager in [Hometown], Missouri. I have nothing to do with Fort Leonard Wood.”

Caller: “Where the heck is [Hometown]?”

Me: “A small town in the middle of Missouri.”

Caller: “So, you don’t know who is going to pick me up?”

(My parents and I gave many people a geography lesson.)

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