He Wants The Internets

, | | Right | March 14, 2008

Me: “Hey, my name is ***, what can I do for you?”

Old Man: “My great-grandson was telling me about this really neat thing on his computer. I would like to buy it.”

Me: “So your nephew has this ‘thing’…what does it do?”

Old Man: “Well, he was showing me videos and we played a few puzzles. I was also able to check my lottery numbers.”

Me: “Oh, the internet…you’re just looking to hook up the internet in your house?”

Old Man: “Yes, I would like to buy the internet.”

Me: “Um, well you don’t purchase the actual internet. It’s kinda like paying your phone bill. You pay them and they give you phone services.”

Old Man: “I know how a telephone works! Would you like to make some commission on this internet sale or should I take my business elsewhere?”

Me: “Sir, I don’t think you understand. You need to call Shaw, Telus, or Rogers and they will come hook up your internet. It’s not a physical thing.”

Old Man: “I am writing to the Better Business Bureau and reporting this incident to your manager. I know what the internet is, WalMart has it! I’m going to take my purchase to them!”

Retail:
He Wants The Google
She Uses The Google

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A Bad Day To Be A Pair Of Jeans

, | | Right | March 14, 2008

(It was about 5 minutes to closing on a Saturday night and we had maybe 5-6 employees working all female. A new bar had just opened next door, and a drunk man wandered in.)

Drunk Man: “I need to buy some matches.”

Me: “I’m sorry sir. We don’t sell matches–only clothes.”

Drunk Man: “Well, then sell me a lighter. I need a cigarette.”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir. We don’t sell lighters or matches, just clothes.”

Drunk Man: “D*mn it, just give me one.”

Me: “I don’t have one, sir, or trust me I would.”

Drunk Man: “You lying b**ch! Give me a f**king match you b**ch!”

Me: “Sir, you need to leave or I’m calling the police. We don’t have lighters or matches. I’m sorry, but I can’t help you.”

Drunk Man: “I’ll get it myself!”

(He storms off toward the men’s department. I call my co-worker in that department, then call the manager to give them a heads up. A few minutes later the man goes running out (empty handed) and my co-worker is racing after him. She grabs my phone and starts screaming over the intercom for our manager. I asked her what happened.)

Coworker: “He pissed all over the Levis!”

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Mmmm, Crunchy

| | Right | March 12, 2008

(I used to work in a retail store as a cashier. I would sometimes get people who would hand me empty wrappers or pop bottles saying they had eaten/drank the contents while shopping. I was used to it, and appreciated honesty. Then this….)

Me: “Hello, how are you today?”

Customer: “Good…”

(The customer hands me empty a hot dog vacuum-seal wrapper thingie. THE FROZEN ONES.)

Customer: “I ate these while I was shopping. Could you ring them up for me?”

Me: *facepalm*

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Crap, I Got Spawn Of Gorgoroth

| | Right | March 12, 2008

(I work at an store that sells teaching materials. A very heavyset guy in a wheel chair comes in. Keep in mind I was the only person in the store at the time.)

Me: “Hello! Can I help you find anything today?”

Him: “Yes, I’d like to get an algebra book for my nephew.”

Me: “Okay.

(I show him the algebra books, and we make small talk about his nephew…)

Him: “I can see the divine light in you.”

Me: “…”

Him: “I went up to the mountain and Jesus burned the sins out of me. I couldn’t see anything except fire. Now I can see the divine light in people. You have it. You are pure and innocent.”

Me: *trying not to be completely freaked out* “Huh…heh…”

Him: “I can see it…you are immortal!”

Me: “Okay…”

(Later, when my boss came back and I told her about this, she laughed and told me that according to this guy she was a Demon Slayer. I felt kind of gypped.)

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Da, Is Union of Soviet Socialist Retirees

| | Right | March 12, 2008

(I work every summer in a beach shop in Florida. One morning a man had come in and bought a beach chair, and returned after a few hours with his family.)

Customer: “I would like to return this chair.”

Me: “Of course. Do you have a receipt?”

Customer: “No, I just went to the beach. Why would I keep the receipt?”

Me: “Is there a reason why you are returning the chair?”

Customer: “It’s broken.”

(The chair was soaked with water, coated with sand, and has a hole in the seat from what looks like a footprint on the cushion.)

Me: “I am sorry sir, but we cannot accept used, broken items for return.”

Customer: “What! I didn’t break it!”

Me: “I am sorry sir, but without a receipt it still cannot be returned.”

Customer: “Son of a b*tch! You hear that kids? This Russian b*tch is going to f*ck up our vacation!”

Me: “…Russian? I live here.”

Customer: “Don’t lie to me! I hear that accent.”

Me: “…What accent?”

Customer: “THERE! You just did it. No one talks like that in the Northeast.”

Me: “…I’m a Southerner. You’re in the South.”

Customer: “Whatever, you piece of racist sh*t!”

(The man left only after he threw the chair at a clothes rack. Quite the job experience for a 15 year old.)

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