(I am the dumb customer in this story. I am an American traveling in Sweden, and don’t speak a word of Swedish. Before my trip, I went online and purchased, according to the website, a reservation for a train ticket. I go up to the ticket counter at the train station.)
Me: Hello, I have a reservation for a ticket. (I set my reservation printout on the desk.
Attendant: -Confused look-
Me: I printed out the reservation, and so I think I need to pick up my ticket here.
Attendant: This is your ticket. (She indicates the writing on the ticket) “Biljett” is Swedish for ticket. You just need to go to the platform.
(I felt rather silly that I hadn’t even thought to translate one word of Swedish, especially since I didn’t think of myself as the stereotypical clueless American tourist. I could have sold the train company my firstborn child and been none the wiser.)
I am just at the end of my break, finishing off a call with my girlfriend right before going to the check out in time for my shift. A smiling young woman walks up to me with a few books, having overheard my call.
Customer: “Was that your boyfriend?”
Me: “No, that was my girlfriend, actually.”
Customer: “WHAT?! THAT’S DISGUSTING!”
I stare at her in shock, never having had a customer actually scream something bigoted at me.
Me: “Sorry, what?”
The woman grabs the books she bought and rips them out of my hands.
Customer: “DON’T TOUCH MY BOOKS, YOU GROSS LESBIAN! YOU’RE SICK!”
Suddenly, another customer walks by — a girl who looks to be about 14 or 15. Just as she passes us, she raises her hand and smacks the woman’s a**.
Girl: “Hey there, sexy.”
The girl winked at her with a grin and then sprinted out of the store, leaving the woman to just stand there in a stunned fury. She stomped out of the store, leaving her books behind.
(I work at a gas station close to a major highway outside Stockholm. Due to its location, it is always busy. This particular day, it is even busier than usual and all three registers have a line at least five people deep. A man in his 70s enters and goes directly to my counter.)
Old Man: *at the top of his lungs* “I NEED BATTERIES!”
Me: “Okay, but you will have to wait your turn like everyone else.”
Old Man: “WHAT? I CAN’T HEAR YOU! I NEED BATTERIES FOR MY HEARING AIDS!”
(Several people in line start to chuckle at the man who doesn’t seem to realize he is screaming.)
Me: *louder* “You need to wait your turn!”
Old Man: “BUT I AM GOING TO A BAPTISM!”
Me: “You still need to wait your turn like everyone else!”
(The old man turned quiet and looked at me blankly for a while and then left. I guess he didn’t hear much at the baptism.)
(I’m going to the Austrian Alps with my parents to visit my brother. We’re checking in our luggage when I notice a sign by the check-in desk.)
Sign: ASSAULTS ON STAFF: While traveling through the airport, please be courteous when dealing with our staff. Any threats, verbal abuse or violence towards our staff will be taken seriously and you may be prosecuted. Photography and video recording of our staff is prohibited. Our staff is trying to help you with your journey. Thank you for your cooperation.
(It’s a sad world we live in where this needs to be spelled out to people. And even sadder that the sign probably doesn’t help all that much.)
Customer: “Hello, I’ve driven quite far to get some prints from my old digital camera, and I’d like to pick them up today if possible.”
Me: “Absolutely, sir. Where’s the memory card?”
Customer: “Right here.”
(The customers unwraps a plastic bag and tries to hand me the contents. I just give him a knowing look that he quickly notices, he takes a look at the thing in his hand, and it dawns on him.)
Customer: “This is the battery, isn’t it?”
