At Least Your Marriage Is Secure

| VA, USA | Working | January 3, 2015

(I finish up a meeting with corporate office. I pack my laptop up and go to lunch. Not five minutes in to my lunch my district manager pages me with a security code. I rush to the front to see what’s going on.)

District Manager: “Did you see that man? He was carrying a big black bag and came from the back of the store. I think he stole something. His bag was empty when he came in now it’s full?”

Me: “What man are you talking about?”

District Manager: “The one with the dark hair. There!” *pointing out the window* “The one getting into the that truck. Remember his face! I think he stole from us.”

Me: “Sir, I will remember that face well… seeing how that’s MY HUSBAND… who picked up my computer we used for your report.”

(All my coworkers got a good laugh on this one and he’s never called me for a security code again.)

Drug Test: Scoring A Big Fat ‘D’

| St. Louis, MO, USA | Right | January 3, 2015

(I am doing to pre-closing activities when a young man runs up, puts his hands on the checkout desk, and leans toward me in a panic.)

Customer: *under his breath* “Where do you keep the penises?”

Me: “I must have misheard you, sir. The what?”

Customer: *still mumbling, looking around* “You know what I’m talking about. The penises.”

Me: “I… know what those are. I’m not sure why you would think we’d carry them.”

Customer: *getting agitated* “Not, like, real ones. You know, they come in… like… black, and white, and Asian.”

Me: “Wait, you’re looking for a fake penis?”

Customer: *relieved that he’s gotten through to me* “Yeah, like, so you can fill it with urine. From someone else. For a thing. Where are they?”

Me: *now realizing this is one of our many ‘help me pass a drug test’ customers* “We don’t carry anything to help you pass a drug test, or perform any other illegal activity. I can’t sell you ANYTHING now. Store policy. Please leave.”

Customer: “Who said anything about a drug test?”

Me: “Sir, for what legitimate purpose could you be filling a fake penis with someone else’s urine?”

(The customer struggled for a moment, looked around, and left.)

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A Day For A Dollar

| OR, USA | Right | January 1, 2015

(I’m grocery shopping at the local discount store. I pick the line that looks shortest, and set my basket down. The fairly well-off looking woman in front of me has apparently been accidentally overcharged a dollar, due to the ancient cash registers requiring the cashier to key in the amount to charge someone’s card.)

Woman: *angrily* “You do realize that this refund will take three days to go through? Three days I have to wait for my money! Couldn’t you just give me a dollar?!”

(At this point, it’s obvious that the woman’s been going off like this for some time. The manager is trying to calm her down while showing the cashier how to run the return. The poor cashier looks like he’s looking for a hole to crawl into and die in.)

Me: “You know, if you’re in such bad financial straits that being out a dollar for three days is going to completely wreck your budget, I could give you your dollar. I’m unemployed, on food stamps, and having to scrounge recyclables to return for cash to fill my gas tank, but if you’re making such a fuss over being out a dollar for three days, you’re obviously poorer than me.” *holds out a dollar bill*

(The woman goes beet red and signs the return in silence, then darts out to her car.)

Cashier: “Thanks, ma’am, you’re awesome.” *fistbumps me*

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A Hot Slice Of Justice

, | Grimes, IA, USA | Right | January 1, 2015

(We’re getting pretty close to closing time. We’ve barely had any orders today. I’m working the kitchen with two others. Everything’s been cleaned and there’s nothing to do until another order comes in, when suddenly a customer comes storming into the store, shouting things exceptionally hard to understand, and possibly drunk.)

Me: “Oh, lord, here we go…”

Customer: “Where’s the kitchen guy! I WANT TO SEE THE KI—”

Me: “Right here. You can stop yelling now. I can hear you.”

Customer: *does actually stop yelling, probably because he had to look up to me* “Where the f*** is my pizza? I ordered a pizza over an hour ago. Now, where is it?”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, I don’t know what you’re talking about. We haven’t—”

Customer: “WHERE IS MY ORDER!? I DEMAND TO SPEAK TO YOUR MANAGER!”

Me: “Well, the manager is asleep. If you want, I can go back there and see if we have your order.”

Customer: “Yeah, you do that. I want my free f****** pizza!”

(He gives his name and address. I go to where we keep the order slips.)

Me: “Sir, there’s no slip under either of those.”

Customer: “WHERE IS MY GOD-D*** PIZZA! I ORDERED A PIZZA FROM THIS STORE!”

Coworker: “Hey, why don’t you call again?”

Customer: “What?”

Coworker: “If you did call this store, and we took your order, it was never filled. Go ahead and call the number again. If the phone rings, we’ll give you a free pizza.”

(He whipped out his phone, mashing the buttons until he got to the recent calls, and called the store. Our phone didn’t ring, but somebody on the other end picked up. He had placed an order at the store on the other side of town. The customer shoved his phone in his pocket and stormed out of the store without a word.)

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Nipped That One In The Inappropriate Bud

| Kansas City, KS, USA | Right | January 1, 2015

(I am working the sporting goods department of a huge, multinational retailer. I’m stocking fishing gear and cleaning up my aisle as I’m approached by a creaky-boned geriatric, clutching her cart for stability as her walker is stowed in it. With bleary, watery eyes behind huge, thick granny-glasses staring at me, she croaks out:)

Customer: “Where are your nipples?”

Me: *dumbfounded* “Excuse me?”

Customer: “Your NIPPLES! Where are your NIPPLES?”

Me: *stunned silence*

Customer: *perhaps used to deal with people who are hard of hearing* “YOUR BABY BOTTLES AND YOUR NIPPLES! WHERE ARE THEY?”

Me: “Oh! Our infant’s section is in the opposite corner of the store.”

Customer: “THANK YOU!”

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