Maybe There Is A Reason She Stopped Saving You A Copy

, , , | Right | June 21, 2018

(Four times a year we get a free magazine that covers what is on over the whole of North Wales. We do not publish it; we simply get delivered a dozen copies to give out.)

Customer: “I’ve come to get [Free Magazine].”

Me: “I’m really sorry, but we haven’t had this seasons copy’s delivered yet.”

Customer: “I’ve come to get [Free Magazine].”

Me: “I’m sorry. But we don’t have them yet. They should be delivered in a couple of weeks.”

Customer: “But the girl always saves one for me.”

Me: “We haven’t had them delivered yet. Do you know the name of the person that saves one for you? When they arrive, I can remind her.”

Customer: “Lindsey. I want [Free Magazine]; the girl saves it for me.”

Me: “We don’t have a Lindsey who works here. Do you remember what she looks like?”

Customer: “Short grey hair. She always saves me a copy. Who are you, anyway? I come here all the time, and I’ve never seen you!

Me: “I’ve been here seven years. You used to come to the craft group we ran. I really am sorry, but I do not have a copy to give you. Sometimes the local supermarkets get the magazine in before we do. They are still free, so you could try there.”

Customer: “I’m not walking all the way there. THE GIRL ALWAYS SAVES ME A COPY!”

(This conversation goes around in circles for about 15 minutes before she storms out of the building saying the one thing that will get to anyone who works in customer service…)

Customer: “You know, you could try smiling!”

Today Is All Sixes And Sevens

, , , , | Related | June 14, 2018

(It is my daughter’s birthday and she asked for a trip to a particular museum this year. This one requires an entrance fee. Children six and under are free. It’s a long shot, but I try to distract my precocious and overly friendly child while her father manages the tickets.)

Daughter: *to cashier* “It’s my birthday!”

Cashier: “Today? Well, then, happy birthday! How old are you?”

(My husband and I exchange glances. We know what is coming.)

Daughter: “I’m SEVEN!”

(My husband pulls out his wallet to pay.)

Husband: “Two adults… and one child, please.”

Me: “We should have come yesterday.”

Going To Tell Him To Play In Traffic Next?

, , , | Right | June 6, 2018

(I work as a historical interpreter, teaching folks how people lived “back then.” Our home features a fire, which is the lifeblood of the house. Without it, there would be no warmth, no cooked food, no hot water, etc. There is a sign out front with rules of entry. Three of the rules are, “Please do not touch,” “Please do not enter roped-off areas,” and, “The fire is real and hot.” We keep the fire roped off. Today, the fire is glowing red and throwing off a nice heat, as it is a cold day. A father and son enter. The son, aged about four, points to the fire.)

Son: “Dad! Look! Is that fire real?”

Dad: “No, of course not! That would be too dangerous. Go touch it and see.”

Me: “Nooooooo!”

Son: *starts crying*

Dad: “Don’t yell at my boy! He wasn’t going to hurt anything!”

Me: “Only his hand when he picked up a burning hot coal. Can’t you feel the heat from here?”

Dad: “From the heater?” *looks around*

Me: “From the fire — the real fire — which is crackling, and over which I am cooking this roast that you can smell.”

Dad: “But the fire is real! That’s dangerous!”

Me: “That’s why it is roped off.”

(The boy has stopped crying now, and I’m considering launching into a speech about hearth deaths, when the mother walks in and sniffs.)

Mum: “Oh, that smells like real meat!”

Me: “It is; it’s cooking over our real fire.”

Mum: “Wow. So, what are you going to do with it once it’s cooked?”

(I sighed and patiently explained for the millionth time that yes, we were actually going to eat our real meal, cooked over our real fire, and we were eating it because we were hungry.)

“Because… People” Is A Standard Answer

, , , , | | Working | June 1, 2018

(My coworker and I are talking about an ongoing project we’ve all been working on, when the curator walks in the door. Before he catches on to the conversation, I turn to him and ask the following:)

Me: “[Curator], why is everything always so complicated?!”

Curator: “Because human beings are garbage.”

Me: “…”

Curator: *walks away*

Me: “…”

Coworker: “You can always trust [Curator] to put a positive spin on things.”

She’s Just Jelly Because She Has Jelly

, , , , , , | Working | May 29, 2018

(I work at a small science museum, and in addition to part-time staff we have volunteers. Most of our volunteers are elders and come with their fair share of quirks. One volunteer is a nuisance to eat lunch with, because she always criticizes what other people are eating. I usually bring reasonably healthy frozen store-bought meals. I cook my own breakfast, and dinner is always freshly prepared. Lunch is my only frozen meal. I always dread if I am scheduled to have a break at the same time as her, as conversations like the following will occur.)

Volunteer: “What are you eating?”

Me: “Chicken fajita rice bowl.”

Volunteer: “What’s in that?”

Me: “Chicken, beans, rice, and seasoning.”

Volunteer: “You could have made that at home, honey.”

Me: “I don’t have time.”

Volunteer: “Find time and freeze it. I freeze everything. What else do you have?”

Me: *hungry and wanting to eat and not talk* “No-junk protein bar.”

Volunteer: “Ugh. Sounds disgusting. What’s in it?”

Me: “Organic coconut, pea protein, almonds, tapioca powder…”

Volunteer: “And a million things you can’t pronounce?”

Me: “No, it’s all raw, organic ingredients.”

Volunteer: “Probably tastes awful.”

Me: “No, they’re really good.”

Volunteer: “Sure they are.”

Me: “…”

Volunteer: “You know, you kids really need to eat more healthily. I always worry about what you eat.”

(The volunteer then started eating her gelatin dessert, and I simultaneously pondered whether she was joking or if I should eat a lump of cold poison for lunch.)

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