The Chosen One Is Not Always Right

, , , , , | Right | October 15, 2018

(I work at a store where, “Yes, we can,” is the policy, meaning we do whatever the customer wants, no matter how ridiculous. The following happens about thirty minutes before close.)

Customer: “White.”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “I need white!”

Me: “Miss, I need to know what you need that’s white, and I’ll help you find it.”

Customer: “Shirt!”

(I take her to white shirts in several departments. She doesn’t seem pleased with any of them until we get to juniors. Then, she starts actually saying more than two words.)

Customer: “My horoscope said that all I needed to do was tell someone what I needed and I’d get it. I’m glad you did, because otherwise you’d make my horoscope wrong and then I’d be doomed.”

Me: “Glad I could help.”

Customer: “I want this one! Give me this one!”

(She then thrusts the shirt she’s been looking at into my hands and looks at me expectantly.)

Me: “We can check you out right over there.”

Customer: “NO! YOU NEED TO CHECK ME OUT! MY HOROSCOPE CHOSE YOU; NOW YOU NEED TO FINISH HELPING ME!”

Me: “Miss, I’m a floor associate, and I’m not qualified to check out your purchase right now.”

Customer: “BUT YOU NEED TO! YOU’RE CHOSEN, AND YOU HAVE TO!”

(In order to get her to calm down, I had to call the manager who pulled me off of the floor and had me ring on the only open register while the regular cashier watched to ensure I didn’t mess up her drawer. The customer ended up leaving happy. This is so far one of the weirdest things I’ve had happen to me in the store.)

The Mother Of All Dragon Sellers

, , , | Right | October 8, 2018

(I run a stall selling handmade plushies, quilts, scarves, and other knitting projects. As something to draw attention, I have a huge, six-foot, stuffed dragon as the centerpiece on my table, complete with horns, wings, sail, the works. It’s a very complicated piece, and one I’m quite proud of.)

Customer: “Hey, so, this dragon here. My kids would really like it for their room. Where did you get it from?”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “Well, I’m not really loving your $600 price tag for it. Wanted to see if I could get it for a cheaper price from wherever you bought it.”

Me: “Erm… I didn’t buy it, sir. I made it, just like I made everything else you see here.”

Customer: “Really? This looks way too high quality to be handmade.”

Me: “I can assure you it is.”

Customer: “Come on. Level with me here. Where did you buy this and can they offer me a better price?”

Me: “Okay, look, sir. I was willing to let your comments slide the first time, because yes, a lot of folk are shocked I can produce such high-quality plushies on my own. I am not, however, going to tolerate your continued insistence that it’s too good to be handmade, nor am I going to humor your desire to be a cheapskate by demanding I provide you with an alternative that will ensure I don’t get any money from you. The price of $600 is based on the cost of materials it took me to make the dragon, its size, the hours upon hours I spent sewing, stuffing, and cutting, and the cost of packaging it up so it won’t get damaged in transit. If that’s not to your liking, then you’re welcome to shop elsewhere.”

Customer: *pause* “How about I give you $300 for it?”

(I pick the dragon off the table and place it in a box behind my chair where it’s out of reach.)

Me: “I don’t think so, sir.”

(The customer scowled and walked off. I later sold the dragon at full price to another family.)

Gore-Tex Vortex

, , , , , , | Right | August 14, 2018

(A customer storms in with a pair of boots and slams them down on the counter.)

Customer #1: “Feet wet, boots Gore-Tex, money back, NOW!”

Me: *looking the boots over* “How long have you had them?”

Customer #1: “A year, but that doesn’t matter… Money back, NOW!”

Me: “Actually, it does.”

(I ask him to follow me to the footwear wall where all our boots are displayed, and I begin explaining to him that Gore-Tex is a one-way valve material in between layers of the footwear. It allows your perspiration to escape in the form of water vapor, but Gore-Tex is not what keeps the outer materials dry. That is a repellent called DWR, and it needs to be renewed at least once a year.)

Customer #1: “You have no idea what you’re talking about, and if you don’t give me my money back right now, I’ll have no choice but to talk with your manager.”

(Just then, another customer looking at footwear chimes in. He is older, with grey hair and glasses.)

Customer #2: “Excuse me. I don’t mean to interrupt… but he’s absolutely spot on with his simplified definition.”

Customer #1: “This isn’t any of your business!”

Customer #2: “Actually, it is. You see… I am one of the scientists who originally developed Gore-Tex. Perhaps you should listen to this gentleman; you might learn how to take care of your boots properly.”

Customer #1: “When I bought these boots, no one told me I had to maintain them.”

Me: “That may be so, and if it is, you have my apologies. Other than the DWR having worn off the outer of the boots, it looks like they still have plenty of life in them.”

(I hand him a can of water repellent from the shelf.)

Me: “By the way, I am the manager… and this one’s on me.”

Unfiltered Story #116496

, , | Unfiltered | July 17, 2018

(I work at a CVS in Philly, and at about 8:30 pm a girl who is about 13 and her mom comes in.)

Mom: Ok, you go get your stuff and i’ll go get mine.

the little girl rushes off to the nail polish section while her mom goes in the laundry detergent isle. they both come back 10 minutes later with full hands.

Me: Would you like a cart?

Mom: yes, please!

I go grab her a cart and her and her daughter stuff their stuff inside the cart. they go to the self-pay machiene and the girl starts loading her items. once her items have been loaded she pulls out $30 from her pocket and gives it to her mother. when the transaction was finished her total came to about $210. However, she had a coupon that saved her 25% off her purchase. she put the coupon in and it wouldn’t go through.

Mom: Excuse me? something’s wrong with this thing. it wont take my card.

Me: Ok, ill get this for you…… there we go! it should work now. any more problems just let me know.

Mom: thank you so much!

(the mom goes to her wallet to grab her credit card and a look of horror appears on her face. she frantically searches through her wallet and she looks at her daughter.)

Mom: S***, I think we left the card in (popular resturaunt name). we have to go get it.

(she calls the place and they tell her they have her card)

Mom: *looking over to me* Excuse me! Sir! Come Here!

Me: What seems to be the problem?

Mom: I left my credit card in a store nearby and my daughter and I need to go get it. Do you think you could watch our bags for us please?

Me: of course.

Mom: ok, thank you so much!

(she then proceeds to grab her daughter’s hand and run out the door to her car and drive away. they come back 5 minutes later, the daughter out of breath, and the mom tired. They pay for their purchase, thank me again, and just as they were about to leave, the girl comes up to me and holds out $3 that are crinkled up tromendusly.)

Girl: Um, I know it’s not much, but,um, for all your um, help, I’d like to give these to you.

Me: Thank you so much! however, i’m not allowed to take these since my boss might get mad at me.

Girl: oh, uh, that’s uh, okay.

(the girl’s face is as red as a tomato and I felt bad. Even though i declined her offer, it made my day. I hope her and her mother come back again!)

It’s An Independent Production

, , , , , , | Related | July 4, 2018

(My sister and I both love the musical “1776,” so when we take a family trip to Philadelphia, we immediately declare we’re going to sing “But Mr. Adams” in Independence Hall. Our mother puts her foot down, saying she doesn’t want to bring bail money. However, when we go to Independence Hall, we see the area where “But Mr. Adams” was set…)

Me: *under my breath* “Mr. Adams, I say you should write it. To your legal mind and brilliance we defer.”

Sister: *under her breath* “Is that so? Well, if I’m the one to do it, they’ll run their quill pens through it. I’m obnoxious and disliked; you know that, sir. But I say you should write it, Franklin. Yes, you. You–”

Me: “But—”

Sister: “You–”

Me: “But–”

Sister: “You–”

Me: “Buuuuut–”

(At this point, we throw caution to the wind, and proceed to belt “But Mr. Adams” at the top of our lungs while reenacting as much choreography as we can. By the time we end, our dad looks bemused, our mother is face-palming, and a tour guide looks impressed.)

Guide: “You know, I think that’s the first time anyone’s known the whole song. Most people just hum a few bars and call it good.”

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