A Number 666 With A Side Of Brimstone

, , , | Right | May 20, 2009

(After serving them their fast food, a woman with a family of six runs up to the counter, furious.)

Customer: “You! You stacked our food wrong! Now my kids are crying!”

Me: “Pardon?”

Customer: “Come look!”

(She brings me down to their table, where their three pre-teens are crying their eyes out and her husband looks incredibly frustrated.)

Customer: “Look!”

Me: “Ma’am, I don’t see anything wrong with your food–”

Customer: “[Child #1] is supposed to eat first, but his food is on the bottom! We won’t be able to get it without moving the other things!”

Me: “I don’t think I understand.”

Customer: “He’s the first person on the left! He has to eat first, or Satan will claim his soul!”

Me: “Uh…”

(I decide to ask counter-clockwise around the table what everyone ordered, and hand them their food out off the pile.)

Customer:, “Oh, thank you! You will serve as a warrior of God someday!”

Me: “…right.”

(That family still shows up once a month or so, and suffice to say, I always run out to see what order they’re sitting in before I serve their food.)

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Abandon All Hope, All Ye In Dante’s Diner

, , , , | Right | May 14, 2009

(We provide a complimentary bowl of prawn crackers at our restaurant. When I go to take a customers order, I notice he has eaten the entire bowl.)

Customer: “You know, I’m allergic to MSG. I’ll die immediately if I even eat one milligram.”

Me: “Those prawn crackers you just ate have MSG in them.”

Customer: “Oh, my God, I’m going to die!”

(Two hours later, when the bill comes around…)

Customer: “I don’t think I should pay for the meal. I’m going to die anyway.”

Me: “Um… yes, that will happen eventually, but it’s been two hours and you’re still kicking.”

Customer: “Maybe I’ve died and we’re all in purgatory? In that case, technically, I haven’t eaten anything.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to pay for your meal.”

Customer: “Purgatory waitresses aren’t very compassionate, are they?”

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Atone For Sins, Make Peace With Maker, Close Phone Account

, , | Right | May 12, 2009

Me: “How may I help you today?”

Customer: “I’d like to close my account.”

Me: “Well, I’m sorry to hear that, but I can assist you with that right here. May I ask why you’re closing your account today?”

Customer: “What? You don’t know?”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, I don’t.”

Customer: “It’s the Armageddon!”

Me: “Uh, well, okay, ma’am. I’ll get your account closed right away… Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Customer: “Watch your back, young lady! You’ll see! The Armageddon’s coming, make no mistake!” *hangs up*

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Burned With Goblets Of Fire, No Doubt

, , , , | Right | April 30, 2009

(This happened quite a few years ago, but it’s still one of my fondest bookstore memories.)

Customer: “Do you happen to sell that Harry Potter book?”

Me: “Yes, sir, we do. Would you like me to show you where they are?”

Customer: “If it’s no trouble…”

Me: “No trouble at all. ”

(I lead him over to the children’s section and hand him the first book in the series.)

Me: “Here you are. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Customer: “No, I think that’s all I need.”

(The customer shovels a dozen copies of the same book into his arms.)

Customer: “The church is having a book burning tonight and I just need to make sure I bring enough.”

Me: *laughs*

Customer: *completely serious* “I’m not joking.”

Me: “Oh. Well, you do realize that there are now four books in the series?”

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Ill-Timed Intervention

, | Right | April 30, 2009

Me: Hi, ma’am. How can I help you on this fine Sunday afternoon?”

Lady: “I need to talk to the owner.”

Me: “She’s not in today, ma’am. If you’d like to–”

Lady: “I need to talk to her NOW! I have a message from GOD!”

Me: “…”

Lady: “…” *glares*

Me: “Well, she’s still not in. If you wanna leave a message…”

Lady: “You don’t understand! God Himself has sent me here with a message for her; it’s important and needs to be delivered today, right now!”

Me: “God sent you here?”

Lady: “Yes, to deliver an important message to the owner.”

Me: *leaning across the counter, eyebrows raised* “Um… wouldn’t God know that the owner never works on Sundays?”

(She freaks out and begins ranting incoherently about how God will strike us down. Then she throws some things and leaves, slamming the door.)

Me: “Have a good day!”

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