A guy came in and ordered a dozen sandwiches. They were a whole random assortment of types and toppings, and he stressed that he wanted their full description written out on the wrapper.

We made them, labelled them, he paid, and then he proceeded to go out into the parking lot of the strip mall we were located in, and try and sell the sandwiches he’d just bought to people walking by for several dollars more than he paid for them.

We were informed of this when people came in to complain, and one of my coworkers went outside to talk to him, but he insisted that it was a free country, and he could do whatever he wanted with the sandwiches now.

So, we let him be, and, a few hours later, he came back in with all twelve sandwiches and tried to demand a refund. Our manager refused, which led to the man pitching a tantrum:

Customer: *Demandingly.* “What am I supposed to do with a dozen sandwiches?!”

Manager: “Eat them.”

The guy swore and stormed off with the sandwiches, but that isn’t the craziest part.

The same guy came back five more times during the following month, pulling the exact same thing each time. A dozen labelled sandwiches, going out and trying to sell them in the parking lot, failing to sell a single one.

He didn’t come in to try and get a refund after that first time, and, as far as any of us saw, he never made a sale, so I have no idea why he was so stubborn to try and make his ‘scheme’ work.

I work in a small independent sandwich store that sells six-inch and twelve-inch sandwiches. We are not part of the chain that calls the twelve-inch a footlong.

Customer: “Which one is bigger? The six-inch or the twelve-inch?”

Me: “…The twelve-inch. It’s double the six-inch.”

Customer: “Double? Like a footlong?”

Me: “Yeah.”

Customer: “Then just call it that, then! Most people can’t do double of six!”

The customer orders their sandwich, calling it a footlong. After he leaves, I turn to my manager:

Me: “Why can’t we just call it the footlong?”

Manager: “Because that’s trademarked. We tried calling it 30cm once, but some customers boycotted us for using the metric system and branded us communist.”

Me: “And I thought someone not being able to count to twelve would be the dumbest thing I heard today…”

Related:
The More You Read The Worse It Gets, Part 27
The More You Read The Worse It Gets, Part 26
The More You Read The Worse It Gets, Part 25
The More You Read The Worse It Gets, Part 24
The More You Read The Worse It Gets, Part 23

I work in a sandwich shop chain.

Manager: “I need you to cover tomorrow.”

Me: “I can’t. I have an exam.”

Manager: “Ugh, college again? You can’t keep using that as an excuse.”

Me: “It’s not an excuse. It’s a reason.”

Manager: “Look at me; I never got over a C+ in college. Look where I am now.”

Me: “The manager of the poorest performing [Sandwich Shop] in the metropolitan area?”

He asked someone else to cover.

I’m with three friends and we are in a chain sandwich restaurant. It’s set up so you start at one end (with a big “ORDER HERE” sign) and pay at the other (with an equally large “PAY HERE” sign). It’s how every [chain sandwich restaurant] is set up. It’s not hard to figure out.

We line up, and two other customers get behind us as we start the process. I’m second in line and as I get the meat on my sandwich, the rude man walks up. He plants himself in front of the veggies; right in the middle of the counter where you build your sandwich; and stares at the menu. The sandwich maker (artist?) and I shrug at each other. I make faces at my friends who just spread their hands in an “I dunno” gesture. My sandwich gets made and the maker moves on in the line.

Rude Man: *Bellows.* “I WAS HERE FIRST!”

The whole line is staring at the rude man like he just lost his mind. Aside from the fact that he came in long after my friends and the other customers, he’s standing in the middle of the ordering line!

Rude Man: *Still bellowing.* “GOD, WHY IS IT SO HARD TO GET SOME SERVICE IN THIS COUNTRY?”

Sandwich Maker: *Politely.* “Sir, all of these people were here before you. You’re not even in line. The line starts over there behind the man in the green jacket.”

Rude Man: *Still bellowing.* “NO, I WAS IN THIS SPOT BEFORE THOSE STUPID KIDS AND I REFUSE TO MOVE!”

The sandwich maker gets the sweetest smile in the world. If there’s a bit of evil in that smile, the rest of us would pinkie swear it never existed.

Sandwich Maker: “Then I guess I’ll serve you AFTER the man in the green jacket.”

The rude man rants and raves while the next few people get their sandwiches. The girl behind the counter never responds to him; she just keeps making sandwiches. My friends and I stayed inside to eat just to watch his theatrics and make sure he didn’t do anything stupid.

He finally left and tore out of the parking lot like a bat out of h***. We all wished a cop had seen it, just to really ruin his day.

The guy with the green jacket got his sandwich a few seconds after he left. I’m guessing the rude man left because he knew that if he waited, he would have to do the walk of shame to get his sandwich after everyone else.

Hats off to the sandwich maker and her shiny spine, though!

I’m at a 24/7 sandwich store close to a university campus. It’s around 3 AM and I’m deciding what to get when another customer orders ahead of me. Both customer and employee seem kinda stoned, but the customer more so.

Customer: “What’s in the buffalo chicken sandwich?”

Employee: “Buffalo chicken, bread, and whatever else you want.”

Customer: “Nah man. What’s in the buffalo chicken?”

Employee: “Buffalo sauce and chicken.”

Customer: “What kind of buffalo sauce?”

The employee gets an evil smile on his face at this point.

Employee: “The kind made from buffalos.”

Customer: *With a dismayed look on his face.* “No f****** way. How does that work?”

Employee: “Chop ’em up and blend ’em.”

Customer: “Then why is it orange?”

Employee: “Because their bones blend in with the blood and organs and make it orange and not red.”

Customer: *Mind blown.* “Whoooooooooa!”

Employee: “So buffalo chicken sandwich for you, my man?”

Customer: “Nah… I’ll have the tuna.”

I think we’re about to get moving and I can get to my order when this customer asks with some trepidation:

Customer: “Wait… what’s in the tuna?”

Gonna be here all night…