The Only Thing Meat-Free About Her Is Her Brain

, , , , | | Right | July 16, 2019

(I stop into the local pizza joint to order a pizza. While I’m waiting for it, talking to the girl behind the counter, a woman walks in and the girl behind the counter greets her and ask what she would like. The woman takes a step back to look up at the menu and goes:)

Customer: “Hmm… I’m not sure what I want. I’m a vegetarian so I don’t eat meat, so I am trying to think of a good combo that would be delish!”

(The girl behind the counter, who is also a vegetarian, rattles off her favorite toppings.)

Cashier: “Well, I personally like green peppers and olives on mine.”

Customer: “Nah, I think I’m in the mood for something spicy, so I’ll have the Buffalo chicken pizza.”

Cashier: “Um, ma’am, didn’t you say you didn’t eat meat?”

Customer: “Yes, I did, why?”

Cashier: “Ma’am, the Buffalo chicken pizza has chicken on it, and chicken is considered a ‘meat.’” *actually uses air quotes for “meat”*

Customer: “Oh, don’t be silly. Chicken is poultry, not meat like beef and pork.”

Cashier: “Ma’am, I can assure you that chicken is indeed ‘meat.’ Chickens are live animals, right?”

Customer: “Right.”

Cashier: “You don’t eat animals, right?”

Customer: “Right.”

Cashier: “You see where I’m going with this?”

Customer: *blinks, and then in a condescending voice* “Look, young lady! I am almost seventy years old! I’ve been a vegetarian longer than you’ve been alive, so I think I would know what is considered a ‘meat’ or not and chicken is not meat. It’s poultry! Now give me a buffalo chicken pizza to go!”

Cashier: “Whatever you say, ma’am. What size pizza would you like? Is there anything else you’d like to add to your order?”

Customer: “A large, and yeah, give me a piece of your pepperoni bread to snack on while I wait. I’m starving!”

(The cashier then looks over to see me trying to hold in my laughter and says to me:)

Cashier: “I’m not even going to try and explain to her what pepperoni is made of.”

Making Sour Grapes By Sampling Sweet Ones

, , , , | | Right | July 11, 2019

(Working nights in a supermarket, you see a lot of strange things and strange people. There is a mother/daughter duo who comes in a couple of times a week to shop, and they always ride around in the motorized carts. They are lazy, not disabled. I am the third-shift assistant manager, and the third-shift store manager and I are headed up to the front of the store to buy food for our lunch break. We notice the mother/daughter duo popping lids off of cakes in the bakery and we go over to see what was going on. They are scraping frosting off with their fingers, eating it, and then putting the lids back on the cakes!)

Store Manager: “What the h*** do you think you’re doing?!”

(The mom looks up and says, with complete innocence:)

Mom: “We’re just sampling… you know… like when you eat a grape.”

(We kicked them out and banned them from the store.)

Unfiltered Story #157536

, , , | | Unfiltered | July 11, 2019

Four Cents

These look good. As I gazed in the mirror while trying on a pair of blue jeans in one of the many dressing rooms in the men’s division of Kohl’s department store in North Canton, Ohio, on this autumn evening in 1996, something suddenly crossed my mind. I verified the price tag. Eighteen fifty. I should have enough … even with tax.
I changed back into the jeans I wore into the store. Waiting in one of the checkout lines, I pulled my wallet from my rear, right pocket and slid my $20 bill out. When it was my turn, I laid the jeans on the counter.
“Hi,” I said to the female employee behind it who looked to be in about her mid-40s.
“Hi,” she said in a solemn tone, face down.
Waiting for the woman, who looked to be in somewhat of a hurry, to ring up my purchase, I handed her the twenty.
“Twenty dollars and four cents,” she said.
“Uh, you know what?” I asked her rhetorically with half a smile. “I only have a twenty. I didn’t think it’d be more than $20.” There’s gotta be one of those penny things (for customers who are short a penny or two … or four in my case).
“It came to $20.04,” she said grimly.
“Oh … well … I don’t have any change, uh … .” C’mon, what the hell’s four cents?
“Don’t you have a checkbook?” she asked in a rather testy tone.
“Yeah … but … .”
“Well, you have enough in their to cover the jeans, don’t you?”
“Uh … no,” I said, hoping no one heard me and thinking maybe I was on Candid Camera.
This’ll do it. “My checkbook’s out in my car. … I suppose I could go out and get it … and write you a four-cent check,” I said with sarcasm oozing out of me. I couldn’t believe this was happening and was sure this little bluff would bring this dame to her senses.
The woman said nothing. She just sighed. She may as well have had a sign on her forehead that read, “Beware, I’m PMSing it today.”
So out to my car I went. As I walked out of the store, I was dumbfounded. I can’t believe this bitch is actually lettin’ me do this. … It’s fuckin’ rainin’!
After fetching my checkbook I sloshed back into the store, rainwater dripping from my head. I laid the checkbook on the counter and asked the woman, who by now looked so irritated with the matter that I honestly thought she was going to explode, for a pen. She handed me one, but not without an attitude.
“Thanks,” I uttered half under my breath in a tone intended to make the woman believe I thought I was burdening her by simply requesting a writing utensil. By now, there was a line behind me. Let’s just get this over with and get outta here. As I was about to write the amount of the check in the space that called for spelling the sum out, I looked up at the lady.
“Uh … I’ve never written a four-cent check before,” I chuckled. “I don’t know how to do it. … Do you?”
The woman – er, witch – offered a sigh that could be deciphered in one way and one way only: @%#$&*! Then, suddenly, I heard a soft, sweet voice from behind me. “Need four cents?”
I’d never been so happy to hear any three words my entire life. They’d come from a young woman waiting in line directly behind me.
“Yeah! … I appreciate it,” I said, happily accepting the young lady’s kind offer.
“Here you go,” I said to the female worker, handing her the pennies. “Hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience.”
Again, the sarcasm was simply gushing.
She took the money, placed the twenty and the four pennies in the register, bagged my pants, and virtually chucked them at me, nary a word … nor glance. She was sick of me. But guess what? I was fed up with her, too.
I waited for the nice girl who’d come to my rescue to complete her purchase. As we left the store together, I again acknowledged her kindness, and then glancing back at Ms. Bad Mood, uttered half under my breath, hoping she heard me, “She’s prob’ly just havin’ one of those days.”
Boy, do I hope it continues.

Moral of the story: Always carry change.

Unfiltered Story #157534

, , , | | Unfiltered | July 11, 2019

Since When Are Lifeless Objects Living Beings?

Knowledge. In some areas you have it, in others you don’t. I happen to know a great deal about sports trivia. One topic I know virtually nothing about, however, is jewelry. This was never more evident than one winter evening early in 1994 when I experienced one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.
Employed by a large company – Suarez Corporation in North Canton, Ohio – in which jewelry was one of its many products, my job was to sell it over the telephone to people across the country who’d purchased jewelry from the firm in the past. After a few weeks on the job, I wasn’t exactly burning the sales charts. In fact, I was probably at, or near, the bottom of the totem pole. I had yet to embarrass myself, though – at least until that one particular evening when I gave the expression “embarrassing moment” new meaning, turned it into an art form, brought it to a higher level.
As always, I received a stack of index cards when the shift began. Each card had the name of the customer and other pertinent information needed to make the call and attempt the sale, such as the patron’s phone number, address, and product(s) he or she last purchased. About an hour into the shift, I came to a card in which the name read, “Porter, James Barbara.” The last jewelry purchased by the Porters read, “Pin, Onyx Opal.” I dialed the number, and after a few rings a woman answered. “Hello?” she said.
My ensuing reply will forever be etched in my mind and quite likely in hers, too. “Is onyx or opal pin there?” I asked.
There was a brief pause, then a chuckle from the woman. Oh my God. I realized what I’d done. I’d misread the card and mistaken “Onyx” for the husband’s first name, “Opal” for the wife’s, and “Pin” for their last name! I’d asked Mrs. Porter if the pins they last purchased were home! How do I get outta this?
Rather than apologize and make a big to-do of the matter, I quickly interjected, “Is James or Barbara Porter there?”
“This is Barbara Porter,” the woman laughed, obviously on to my bewildering blunder. She didn’t buy. … Shocking, isn’t it?

Moral of the story: Don’t be ignorant.

Unable To Kinect To Your Plan

, , , , , | | Right | July 8, 2019

(I work at a local used video game store chain. Since we deal in every console, we receive a lot of cool things sometimes. However, it also brings a lot of questionable material. For instance, today a customer walks in and doesn’t even look at me.)

Customer: “Hey, man, I need 30 bucks for this unopened Kinect.”

Me: “Well, normally, I’d be happy to take it, but this location already has two of them and it has to be open. Also, I don’t really have any spare cash avail–“

(He cuts me off.)

Customer: *in a pitiful tone* “Dude, I’ll take 25; just please give me some money!”

(At this point I have no intention of dealing with this man, so I tell him we aren’t able to do it. He walks quickly back to the door, opens it, and shouts:)

Customer: “This place sucks; they never give me money!”

(He then exited the store and ran off. He forgot his Kinect. Upon closer inspection, the box was opened, and instead of a Kinect, it had a few DVDs and a PlayStation 2 controller.)

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