Customer: “I want to return this CD.”

She hands me a Carrie Underwood album.

Me: “What’s wrong with it?”

Customer: “One of the songs doesn’t make sense.”

Me: “Does the CD have trouble playing when it gets to that track?”

Customer: “No, it’s just the lyrics. I don’t get them.”

Me: “Have you tried looking up the meaning online?”

Customer: “I shouldn’t have to do that! Do you have a version of the song that makes sense?”

Me: “We do not.”

Customer: “Well, can you order it?”

Me: “We cannot.”

Customer: “Ugh. I knew I shouldn’t have voted for her on American Idol!”

I work in a music retail store.

Customer: “That Metallica… Is it a genre or is it just a guy?”

When I was eighteen, I got a phone call from a well-known service that would send people a record (or 8-track tape) every month, if desired. The young lady asked for my name, address, and age, and then asked what type of music I wanted to sign up for.

Me: “Classical.”

There was a long pause.

Employee: “And you’re how old?”

Me: “Eighteen.”

She hung up.

I did eventually sign up for their service, but they lost years of sales because that woman couldn’t believe that an eighteen-year-old liked classical music.

I work in an instrument repair shop. A guy comes in to complain about the work done on his guitar. Actually, the tech told him it needed far more work than the quick string change he came in for, and everything he is complaining about is stuff that our tech didn’t touch.

He is getting into some very specific, nit-picky stuff. That’s fine; I know people who have played for a long time are particular about their gear. And then, he utters this gem:

Customer: “I really don’t know anything about guitars, though. I just started playing.”

I was so glad to not be working directly with him because I had to bite my cheeks to keep from laughing out loud.

A customer walks in, takes one look at the guitars, and asks:

Customer: “Which ones are the lead guitars?”