Smoking Rots The Brain

, , , , | | Right | August 20, 2019

(I am the customer service manager. At our store, our tobacco selection is kept by the manager’s station and behind two “speedy checkouts.” There is a large blue and white sign that says, “EMPLOYEES ONLY,” hanging from a gate that blocks customers from going back there. These two registers are the only place you can buy tobacco. A woman approaches me and taps me on the shoulder.)

Me: “Yes, ma’am?”

Customer: “He wouldn’t sell me cigarettes.”

(She points to a cashier at a regular register.)

Me: “Uh, well, you can’t buy tobacco at that register.”

Customer: “Yes, you can!”

Me: “No, the system won’t allow it. Where did you even get them?”

Customer: “I just walked back and got them. Are you going to reprimand him or not?”

Me: “Uh, no. You’re not allowed to just get your own cigarettes. That’s why they’re behind the register.”

Customer: “I didn’t know it wasn’t allowed!”

(I calmly pointed to the large blue and white sign, which she obviously passed to get to the cigarettes. I sold her the cigarettes anyway, asking for her ID when prompted. I could have bypassed it, but I wanted to see if she was from another state. She lived right down the road from the store and according to her ID, she had lived there for over two years. Why she thought she could go back there was beyond me. And if you’re wondering, I asked the cashier at the speedy register if she saw the lady. She said she didn’t but there was a decent line so she may have slipped past. We had a talk about that, too.)

That Hasn’t Been Made Up Yet

, , , , | | Right | August 19, 2019

(I work in the health and beauty section of a big-box style store. I overhear the pharmacist direct a customer to a specific aisle, so I stop them to see what they need help finding.)

Me: “Were you guys looking for something in particular?”

Customer: “I’m looking for astringent. [Specific Brand] carries it.”

Me: “Okay, let’s see what we can find.”

(I lead her over to the aisle and can’t find what she is describing.)

Me: “I’m sorry but it looks like we don’t carry that product. What do you use it for? I might be able to offer similar items.”

Customer: “I use it to help my skin since it’s oily, and I also use it before I put on makeup because it helps it stay on better.”

Me: “Wait. Are you looking for a primer or something more like a toner?”

Customer: “What are those?”

Me: “Primer is the first base for putting on makeup. It sometimes has extra benefits for addressing skin concerns, but it just makes the makeup last longer through the day. Toner helps with pores, evening out the skin’s tone, and helps the skin with excess dirt and oil.”

Customer: “I want that.”

Me: “Which one? They are two separate products.”

Customer: “I want one that does both, though.”

(Sigh.)

Unfiltered Story #160160

, , | | Unfiltered | August 19, 2019

(I work at a grocery store, and for a while I was scheduled on lot service about once a week during the winter. I got better days, but it was still below freezing, nearing 0 degrees Fahrenheit)

Customer: *comes running up to me with a few dollars in her hand* You must be freezing out here. Here, take this and get yourself a cup of coffee to warm up.

Me: I’m sorry, miss, but I’m not allowed to take tips from customers.

Customer: Oh, I thought that was just for bringing groceries out. But please, take it. I’m not going to tell anyone.

Me: I’m sorry, but I really can’t.

Customer: Take it, I won’t leave until you do. You’ve been out here all night in the cold, you’ve earned it.

(This went on for a while, until I finally wore down and took the money. I feel a little bad about taking it, but it’s one of the nicest things a customer has ever done for me.)

Unable To Own Up To Ownership

, , , , , | | Working | August 15, 2019

(My husband and I go to a local bar after going out for dinner. We have been to this place a few times over the years and not much has changed; it’s laid back and inexpensive, and you can play pool for a dollar a game. We walk in, show the bouncer our IDs, and are seated at a table. It isn’t too busy; maybe half the seats are in use and mostly by people in their 40s and 50s. While we’re waiting for our drinks, a man comes stumbling in the front door and immediately starts yelling and swearing. A group at the bar greets him the same way, so we assume he is joining their party. He was clearly drinking before he came in.)

Drunk Man: “Hey, you ugly-a** motherf*****s! Where the f*** did you come from?” *to the bouncer* “You let these a**holes in?”

Bouncer: *smiling* “They tipped me pretty good!”

Drunk Man: *laughs* “Ah, you got bought, you b******!”

(Their conversations continue like this for quite a while, as the man keeps ordering rounds of drinks and shots for his group, taking a few himself. As the night goes on, he gets even louder and more colorful with his language. My husband and I decide to play some pool. We put our money in one of the tables and press the button to release the balls and only half of them come out. Confused, my husband reaches in the space where the balls should be, thinking maybe two of them got jammed. The bouncer sees us and comes over.)

Bouncer: “Oh, sorry, guys. Hang on. Someone busted this table a while ago. The balls get stuck on the track. Let me open that up for you. Next game, you should move to that table.” *points to the table beside us*

(The bouncer pulls the door off the side of the pool table and manually retrieves the rest of the balls before replacing the door.)

Drunk Man: “You didn’t fix the f****** pool table? You piece of s***!”

Bouncer: *shrugs* “Boss doesn’t pay me enough.”

Drunk Man: *laughs* “You work for a f****** a**hole!”

(We play one game and move to the next table. Again, we put our money in and press the button, but this time none of the balls come out. Instead, the door pops off and the balls start falling out the side. We immediately begin picking them up and putting them on the table. Suddenly, the drunk man is standing over us.)

Drunk Man: “What the f*** are you doing?!”

Husband: “I think this table is broken, too. We just—“

Drunk Man: “It’s not broken; you’re just too f****** stupid to know how it works!”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Drunk Man: “Shut up, b****. The men are talking.”

Husband: “Uh… Please don’t talk to my wife like that. Maybe you need to go sit down and drink some water.”

(I look to the bouncer, who is standing back watching everything unfold. We make eye contact and he looks away.)

Drunk Man: “Look, it’s easy. A [disabled slur] f****** monkey could do it. You put the money in, you push the button, and the balls come out over there. Not here! Why the f*** would you do that?”

Husband: “We did do all of that, not that it’s any of your concern.”

Drunk Man: “You’re f****** stealing!”

Me: “We are not! How about you go back to your friends over there? You don’t need to be concerned with us.”

Drunk Man: “No! You’re stealing, you thieving f****** [racist slur]s!”

(My husband and I exchange surprised looks. We are both quite white, as is every other person in this bar, so the N-word popping out like that is a shock. The drunk man starts grabbing the balls off the table and throwing them in the pockets. Since the door is still off and he uses considerable force when rolling them in, the balls go down the track under the table and fall to the floor. He repeats this process. We stand there watching. I turn to the bouncer again, who motions us over to him. Our waitress passes the drunk man, who grabs her by the arm and says something we can’t hear. She nods and walks behind the bar. He looks at us and gives us the middle finger.)

Drunk Man: “Yeah, you go sit the f*** down! F****** idiots. Are you new? You don’t know how f****** pool tables work?! Idiots. Piece of s*** tourists.”

Bouncer: “You should probably let him calm down.”

Me: “You’re not going to do anything about him?”

Bouncer: *shrugs*

Me: “Wow.”

Waitress: *appears with our check* “Here you go, guys. Have a nice night.”

Me: “What? We didn’t ask for the check.”

Waitress: *sighs* “You have to leave.”

Husband: “For what?”

Waitress: “Being disruptive.”

Me: “Us?! What about him?!” *points to the drunk guy, now trying to pound the pool table door back into place*

Waitress: “That’s the new owner. He says you have to go.”

Husband:That guy is the owner? Are you serious?”

Waitress: “Yeah. He says if you don’t leave, he’ll call the cops. You should just go. I’m sorry.”

Me: “Wow. This is… Wow.”

(We paid and left. I left a negative review on their corporate page, but was notified a few days later that it was removed by the owner for containing false information. When I asked what was false, the owner responded that he was nothing but polite to us and we were lying out our a**es about the night. He then threatened to sue us for lying, saying he would pull the video footage and everything. I told him to go for it, but I haven’t heard a word since.)

Goat Ya To Admit It!

, , , , , | | Right | August 14, 2019

(Every Saturday for eight weeks, a friend and I sell knitted and crocheted animals that we made at a craft fair. Most of the proceeds go towards a children’s cancer charity and the rest go toward covering the cost of materials. It’s the last week of the craft fair and I’m approached by an irate lady while my friend is taking a moment to browse the rest of the fair.)

Lady: “I bought a stuffed rabbit from you a month ago for my children and I’m completely appalled! The entire thing unraveled a few days ago!”

(All rabbits we had for sale were made by me, so I’m horrified that I might have made and sold an inferior product.)

Me: “Oh, no! I’m sorry! I must not have tied the ends off as well as I thought I did!”

Lady: “I expect a full refund for it for the trouble it caused me!”

Me: “Normally, I don’t accept refunds, but if it really did just unravel for no reason, I’ll be able to make an exception just this once, provided you have it with you.”

Lady: “Of course. It’s right here.”

(She reaches into her purse and removes what once was a realistic Dutch rabbit, and I’m horrified by its condition. It clearly didn’t “just unravel,” as it’s completely filthy and looks like it was chewed apart by an animal.)

Me: “Ma’am, I’m afraid I can’t offer you a refund since this clearly didn’t unravel for no reason. It looks like your dog ate it. Did your kids maybe leave it where it could get a hold of it?”

Lady: “She’s not a dog; she’s a goat!”

(There’s a beat as she realized what she just said.)

Lady: “Right. Do you maybe have another one I can buy to replace it with?”

(Later, when my friend returned to the table, I got to tell her all about the crazy lady who tried to scam us out of the $25 she paid for a rabbit and had her top my story with one about a man who complained that his tarantula wouldn’t play with the cat toy that he had bought from her.)

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