Some Hard Drives Just Fly Off The Shelves

, , , , , , | Right | August 6, 2018

(I’m working in the technology department of our store one evening when a guy comes in and starts browsing the hard drives.)

Me: “Good evening, sir. Can I help you today?”

Customer: “Yes, I want to buy a hard drive.”

Me: “Okay.”

(I explain about the different sizes and uses for backup or file transport. The customer looks at me with red, bloodshot eyes and nods slowly.)

Customer: “I don’t want one with maggots in it, though.”

Me: “Um. Pardon me?”

Customer: “The maggots. That live inside the middle of the hard drive. I don’t want them.”

Me: “Do you mean the magnets inside?”

Customer: “No, the maggots. They live inside the middle of the hard drive. My friend told me about the maggots that live in there.”

(This conversation continued on for several minutes until I politely excused myself and left him to browse. My tech supervisor laughed for a good ten minutes when I told him later.)

They Spit On Your Service

, , , , | Right | August 6, 2018

(I work in an ice cream shop.)

Customer: “Can I try this flavor?”

Me: “Sure!”

(I hand her a sample stick with the flavor. After she tastes it, she tries to hand back the sample stick with her saliva all over it.)

Me: “Oh… There’s a trash bin right next to your hand.”

(It’s labeled, “TRASH.” The customer just looked at me and rolled her eyes. I’m sorry I didn’t want to touch your saliva-covered sample stick when we have cups clearly labelled, “TRASH,” on the counter.)

Pies Usually Go Down The Pie Hole

, , , , , | Right | August 1, 2018

I work on a deli bar for a high-end retailer in the UK. We stock a variety of top-end products that you wouldn’t normally see at the more cost-competitive franchises.

It’s our company policy to offer tasters and samples, but not to have them signposted, so that potential customers will question what the product is, giving us the opportunity to create a sale. In theory, this works, but 90 percent of the time people will just take the food without batting an eyelid as to what it is.

I’m serving a lady a salad, at the farthest point away from where I have put up haggis pies on tasting. Then, whilst I’m weighing up her product to give back to her, a woman approaches me and asks me to “pop this” in the bin. Due to how normally she asks, I don’t even think as to what it could be; I assume it is an empty pot — they often fall over the counter. Boy, was I wrong. She’d chewed the pie up, realised she didn’t like it, spat it out, then handed it to me as if that was a perfectly normal thing to do.

So, I’m stood there in shock, and I say, “Are you for real?!” to which she replies, “Sorry, I didn’t like it,” and wanders off.

I wash my hands for what feels like hours, but I still feel dirty now even typing this. What really gets me was that she acted as if this was normal.

For the record, right next to the tasting area there is a designated pot for waste like cocktail sticks, etc. She could have easily placed it in there.


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This Policy Has Gone To The Dogs

, , , , , , , | Working | July 31, 2018

(I’m at common, nationwide pharmacy and grocery store when I see a woman walking a small dog down one of the aisles. While the woman is distracted, I watch the dog pee on a shelf filled with cereal boxes. The woman never seems to notice, so as I am heading to the cash, anyway, I decide to tell the cashiers about the dog. There are two cashiers and a supervisor at the front when I get up there.)

Me: “Hi, do you guys know you have a lady in here walking around with a dog?”

Supervisor: “Yeah, it’s fine.”

Me: “Really? So, I can bring my dog in with me next time?”

(Pointing at my dog sitting outside the glass window watching for me.)

Supervisor: “Ah, no. She’s just a friend, so it’s okay.”

Me: “Not really. Your company policy says no dogs except service dogs, so I should be allowed to bring my dog in if that woman can; it’s clearly not a service dog.”

Supervisor: “No, but it’s a really good dog! So, it’s okay for her, but uh, your dog can’t come in. “

(I see nothing wrong with dogs in stores as long as the owners are responsible, clean up if there’s an accident, and carefully watch them. I also have this view of parents with kids. My dog loves her pet store and hardware store walking trips, but this attitude annoyed me. Guess what I didn’t tell them?)

Customers Like Causing A Stink

, , , , , , | Right | July 27, 2018

At the grocery store where I work, we offer motorized scooters with attached baskets for shoppers who have limited mobility. Whenever a customer finishes shopping and drives the scooter out into the parking lot, it is required that one of the courtesy clerks — fancy name for baggers — has to accompany them and drive the cart back in.

I was bagging for a rather infamous duo. These two regulars, father and son, have the reputation for being the smelliest customers to ever shop at our store. To be fair, they both are senior citizens, so I shouldn’t bash them for personal hygiene — I have firsthand experience through helping my grandparents that bathing is not an easy task — but these two rivaled a clogged truck stop gas station toilet on a hot and humid summer day.

As the cashier finished up the transaction, I tried to breathe as little as possible while loading their groceries into their scooter’s basket. The father usually rides it as the son helps grab things off the shelf.

For some odd reason, though, today, the father insisted that his son drive the scooter to the car while he hoofed it with his cane. As the dad slowly picked himself up off the chair, he bent over just far enough to reveal his adult diaper sticking out of the top of his britches. Like a train wreck, I knew I should look away, but my eyes were drawn to it. I saw, much to my abject horror, a brown skid-mark neatly drawn down the middle.

As we started our slow, agonizing walk to their vehicle, I began to dread what would come next. We reached it, and I helped load the groceries into the trunk as the son helped his father into the passenger seat. After I finished, the son turned and thanked me, to which I smiled and nodded as my eyes watered from both the stench that surrounded me and the knowledge of what I was about to do. A final surprise waited for me, however. As the son stepped into the driver’s side, his shirt rose just enough to reveal that he, too, wore an adult diaper, sporting- — you guessed it — a wonderful brown line right back and center. My eyes turned to the cart’s seat, which for the past hour or so had been occupied by both men.

Now, you must understand that our carts were designed with “safety first” in mind. In the padding of the chair is a simple pressure switch. It acts as a fail-safe, immediately shutting down the scooter if it doesn’t have a rump placed firmly on top of it.

I cursed the designer of that safety measure with every fiber of my being as I rode that foul scooter back to the store.

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