(I work in a store that is next to a fast food restaurant. One day I go to the fast food place for lunch with a coworker who really hates stupidity. My coworker places his order, and it comes to $10.35. He gives the cashier a $20 bill and ¢35 in coin. The cashier looks at him in total confusion.)

Cashier: “Why did you give me the ¢35?”

Coworker: “So you don’t have to give me any change, just the bill.”

Cashier: “You don’t want your change?”

Coworker: “You just need to give me a $10 bill now, instead of giving me a lot of coins.”

Cashier: “So, you don’t want your change?”

(This goes on for another minute.)

Coworker: *getting very frustrated* “Just type exactly what I gave you into your till.”

(She does, and the till tells her to give back $10. She gives him his change, and he gets his food and leaves, very angry. After he is gone, I hear this while I’m waiting for my food.)

Cashier: “What a moron, says he doesn’t want his change, leaving me to think I’m getting a good tip. Then leaves nothing.”

(I then saw the cashier’s coworkers shake their heads. I got my food, went back to work, and told my coworker what happened after he left. He made a complaint later on and got three free meals, and we never saw that cashier again.)

(I am sat outside a restaurant, waiting for my friend. I notice a guy in his 50s walking up to a car. He tries to open the passenger door, but it is locked. He then looks inside, and tries the door again. Again, he has no luck opening the door. I’m wondering if he owns the car or if he is trying to break into it. He then tries to open the driver’s door, and it opens. He only opens it a couple of inches and then closes it. He does this three more times, and then his wife comes out.)

Man: “Do you have the keys?”

Woman: “No, where are they?”

Man: *checking his pockets* “I don’t have them. The driver’s door is unlocked, and the car won’t let you lock it if the keys are still in it.”

Woman: “Well, they must be in the car. Did you look?” *on the passenger side* “I can see them; they are still in the ignition.”

Man: “Oh, I didn’t think to look there.”

(They got in the car and drove off, leaving me to wonder if he should have been driving at all, if he A: couldn’t remember to take his keys out of the car, and B: didn’t think to look in the ignition, knowing the door wouldn’t lock if the keys were in.)

In 1991 I worked for the summer at a local dealer in the service department. Lots of stupid customers.

One evening, just as the sun is going down, a lady who has bought a new Chevy S-10 Blazer comes to the service desk and she is mad. Her complaint is that the dash lights are not working, and she is ranting about how this was ridiculous on a new vehicle.

My manager, who is familiar with this customer, walks out to the vehicle, reaches in through the open window, and turns the dimmer knob. Wow, dash lights! She says not a word, not even thanks, and gets in the Blazer and drive away.

Not a week later, she’s back. No sound coming from the right-side speakers. And she was again ranting, this time to other customers, about the crap Chevy she had bought. Again, my manager walks out to the vehicle and turns the balance knob for the stereo. One of the other customers chuckled loudly, she turned red as a beet, got in the Blazer, and left the parking-lot with squealing rubber. Her husband brought the Blazer in for service after that.

Me: “Sports department, [My Name] speaking.”

Caller: “Can you transfer me to the jewelry department?”

Me: “Uh, we don’t have a jewelry department.”

Caller: “Yes, you do. Just put me through.”

Me: “I’m pretty sure we don’t, ma’am. Let me ask.”

(I’m fairly new, so I go to customer service and ask.)

Me: “Yeah, sorry, ma’am. We definitely do not have a jewelry department.”

Caller: “WHAT?! Wal-Mart doesn’t have a jewelry department anymore?!”

Me: “Ma’am, this isn’t Wal-Mart. This is Canadian Tire.”

Caller: *hangs up*

(A young boy approaches the counter.)

Boy: “Do you have any blow-up sharks? I want to scare my friends at day camp.”

(I look through our blow up water toys. I find one, but in order to get to it I have to take several packages off the hook. In doing so, the boy sees the blow-up toy in front of the one I am aiming for. He looks at me, dumbfounded.)

Boy: “THAT is not a shark. THAT is an orca.”

Me: “I was aiming to get the toy behind it, and–”

Boy: *holds up his hands* “Never mind!” *storms off*