I work in a convenience store. The laws in my state basically cut off all sales of alcohol at 2:00 am. A drunk man comes in at 2:10 and gets angry when he cannot buy beer. He throws a fit and I kick him out.

He comes back about an hour later and parks his car near the edge of the lot, but he doesn’t come inside. I see him get out of his car and go storming out of sight around the corner of the building, with something long in his hands — too distant to see it clearly. This freaks me out, naturally.

The phone is in my hand to call the police, when suddenly the whole store goes dark. I sprint to the front door and lock it while telling the dispatcher what’s going on.

A police officer comes inside to stay with me while two others go around back. Over the cop’s radio, we both hear a request put in for an ambulance.

They find him knocked out behind the store, and a camping hatchet — the non-insulated metal kind — buried in the severed power conduit. One shoe was blown completely off and is sitting, alone, a few feet from his unconscious body. Melted a hole right through it. Somehow, he gets off with only a few burns, rather than a medium-to-well-done cooked heart.

We get to listen to cops trying to figure out whether or not they will need to shut down the power to the area to get the hatchet out, because with evidence sitting right in front of them, they are not going to touch that thing to bring it into evidence until they know it is safe.

The owner has to shut the store down for a full day to have the power cable repaired.

Customer: “I’m trying to find a book about the University.”

Me: “You’ve come to the right place. Let me show you our local interest section.”

(I do so, and the customer looks for the book they want.)

Customer: “I don’t see it.”

Me: “Well, maybe we can special order a copy. Do you know the book’s title?”

Customer: “No, but it’s green.”

Me: “That’s one of our school colors.”

Customer: “Well, it’s about this big.” *motions with his hands*

Me: “Um… I’m going to talk to my manager.”

(I walk into the back of the room. My manager is talking to a semi-retired teacher in his sixties.)

Me: “I have a customer that’s looking for a book, and he only knows that it’s green and about this big.” *motions with hands*

Senior Employee: “Oh, he means that book.”

Me & Manager: “Huh?!”

This story is part of our Book Lovers roundup!

Read the next Book Lovers Roundup story!

Read the Book Lovers Roundup!

(Our mall has recently been renovated. Most of the stores have closed and the building has been turned into a strip mall. When the building was an indoor mall, we always had customers coming into our store to ask us questions about the mall in general, or about other stores, since our store was closest to the entrance. We thought we would be finally getting away from that now that there is no “mall” anymore, and every store has their own entrance. Of course, we are wrong. Here are transactions that happen far too many times a day.)

Customer #1: “How do I get to [Store]?”

Me: “It’s just along the strip now, with its own entrance.”

Customer #1: “So it’s gone?!”

Me: “No, it’s out front with its own entrance, like every other store.”

(And this one…)

Customer #2: “How do I get into the mall?”

Me: “You don’t. There’s no mall anymore.”

Customer #2: “No, but I need to get to [Store].”

Me: “Yeah, it has its own entrance now, just like us. It’s just along the strip out front.”

Customer #2: “But they’ll be bringing the mall back, right?”

Me: “No. It’s a strip mall now.”

Customer: “Right, until they’re done renovating.”

Me #2: “No. They’re renovating to make it a strip mall.”

(And this one…)

Customer #3: “I have an appointment at [Store] and now I can’t get to it!”

Me: “Yes, you can. It’s just out front, right in between [Other Stores]. It has its own outside entrance.”

Customer #3: “No, it doesn’t! There’s a fence around the doors!”

Me: “There’s a fence around the old mall doors, but [Store] is farther down, with its own entrance.”

Customer #3: “No! There’s a fence around it!”

(And this one…)

Customer #4: “How am I supposed to get into the mall!?”

Me: “You can’t anymore. Every store has its own outside entrance now.”

Customer #4: “But there’s a fence in front of the mall doors!”

Me: “Yes, because they’re doing construction. There’s a store going in there.”

Customer #4: “Well, how do I get into the mall, then?!”

Me: “You can’t. There’s no mall anymore.”

(And this one…)

Customer #5: “So, is this [Our Store] and also [Other Store]?”

Me: *confused* “No… It’s just [Our Store].”

Customer #5: “But [Other Store] isn’t in the mall anymore. So, is it in here?”

Me: “No, this is just [Our Store]. [Other Store] is farther down, with its own entrance.”

Customer #5: *looking around* “So, I can’t get to it from in here, then?”

Me: “No.”

(And yet another… Our new outside door is finished and is being used by the public. The construction crew has just finished putting the wall in where our old mall door used to be. It’s a complete, finished, drywalled, and painted wall.)

Customer #6: “So, we can’t use that door anymore, then?”

(I am a female worker at a popular furniture store, known for lower-cost furniture. A man, woman, and their two sons — about nine and ten — walk into my area and crowd around a desk.)

Me: “Is there anything I can help you with?”

Woman: “Yes, we were wondering what this desk was made out of?”

Man: *condescendingly* “Honey, I told you! It’s pine.”

Me: “Actually, sir, it’s plywood. There’s a thin layer of birch wood on top, but it’s mostly plywood.”

Man: *looking at his sons, and heaving a huge sigh* “No, honey, do you even know what plywood is? Plywood is made up of scraps of wood and is visually unappealing. You know… icky looking. This one is nice, and smooth!” *calls one of his sons over* “Knock on it.” *son knocks* “Do you hear that? That’s a good pine wood knock!”

Me: *pointing to the back of the tag* “The list of materials the desk is made of is right here. See? It’s mostly plywood. There’s no pine at all.” *lifts the desk* “The desk is also really light. I probably wouldn’t be able to lift a desk this size if it were pine.”

Man: *shoos me away with the back of his hand as his sons giggle* “We won’t be needing you; we need someone who understands wood.”

(They family left, and I saw them talking to a male coworker and pointing to the desk. They talked, and the man shook his head angrily. My coworker took out his radio and I heard a call for a manager. The manager came out and all of them left. Later, my manager called me into his office so I could explain why I was telling customers the desks were made of pine.)

(I work at a self-service photo lab. You enter your memory card into a computer, select your photos, and enter your name. It prints off a slip, you pay, and you come back later to collect your photos. Every single time, we remind customers to hold onto the receipt with the slip, as it not only proves you paid for your photos, but has your name and order number on it, so we know what photos are yours.)

Customer: “I’m just here to pick up my photos.”

Me: “Sure, no problem; can I get the receipt?”

Customer: “Sorry, mate, I lost it.”

Me: “That’s okay; it happens. What name were they under?”

Customer: *gives his name*

Me: *looks for photos* “I can’t find any order by that name. Did you order them today?”

Customer: “Yeah, I did it like twenty minutes ago.”

Me: “Okay, cool. Let me just look again.”

Customer: “Okay.”

Me: “I still can’t find any photos under that name. Are you sure that’s the name that you ordered them under?”

Customer: *gives me a condescending look* “Mate, I’m pretty sure I know my own name.”

Me: “Fair enough. Let me look again to be sure.”

(I look for the photos again.)

Me: “There is definitely nothing under that name. Are you sure that you printed and paid for them here?”

Customer: “100% sure.”

Me: “There definitely isn’t anything under here with that name.”

(I go through all the orders and show the customer the first photo of each order to see if he recognises his order. We aren’t really meant to do this, but it’s the only way I can think of to ID his order. After about thirty orders:)

Customer: “Yep, that’s one of mine. The next photo should be of a boat.”

(The next photo is indeed of a boat, so I’m confident this is his order.)

Me: “These photos are under the name of [Completely Different Name].”

Customer: “Oh, yeah, that’s right; I used a fake name. Sorry about that.”