Their Carpets Are Wibbly-Wobbly Timey-Wimey

, , , , | Right | March 25, 2020

(My father and I go to a “Doctor Who” shop in London, as we’re both big fans of the show. This happens as we’re going to check out.)

Clerk #1: “Hello!” *normal checkout conversation takes place*

Clerk #2: *on store phone, in background* “Hello? No, this is not the carpet shop. You must have copied the number wrong. We have not ever sold carpets; this is a sci-fi merchandise store! No carpets.”

(This phone conversation goes on for quite a few minutes, back and forth.)

Dad: *to [Clerk #1]* “Does this happen often?”

Clerk #1: “Yes, the carpet store is right next door; sometimes we get confused customers.”

Clerk #2: *hangs up phones* “One day I should, if they won’t believe me when I say we’re not a carpet shop, say, ‘Yes, you’re right; we’re the carpet shop. Can I have your name, address, and payment info?’ I wouldn’t actually do anything with it, but maybe wait until they complain about no carpets.”

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Unfiltered Story #190598

, , , | Unfiltered | March 25, 2020

(I am the customer in this story and am turning myself in. I’m from the United States, and at the time was living in London, so I felt as if I was comfortable with various English accents, but am somewhat unfamilar with Welsh accents. I stopped at a café for a bite to eat and am ordering at the counter when this exchange occurs…)

Me: I’ll have a [coffee drink] and oh, what’s your soup of the day?

Barista: [unintelligible]

Me: I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that?

Barista: [unintelligible]

Me: *thinking it’s maybe a local speciality* Okay, what’s in it?

Barista: [same unintelligible phrase as before]

Me: *giving up* I’ll have that…

(And what was the mystery soup? Tomato and basil. To the barista’s credit, he wasn’t muttering or anything, and other than the tomato and basil, I understood him just fine. To this day, that tomato and basil soup was the best I’ve ever had!)

Looking Forward To Friday For Different Reasons

, , , | Working | March 24, 2020

(I work in a retail job while at university. There has been a late evening lecture every Thursday since I started two years ago, and because of this, my availability has remained constant through my job. I come in one morning to see that I am scheduled for next Thursday.)

Me: “Oh, it looks like someone has made a mistake on the rota.”

Manager: “Why is that?”

Me: “I’ve been booked for next Thursday.”

Manager: “That’s correct. Your availability says you can work Thursdays.”

Me: “No, it doesn’t.”

Manager: “I checked it myself while doing the rota. It most definitely is. I don’t know how you’ve gotten away with it quite frankly.”

Me: “I have a lecture late Thursday. It’s been like that since I started. My availability has never changed.”

Manager: *scoffs* “Why don’t we check?”

(He leaves the kitchen and grabs my personnel file from the office. He returns and makes a big show of opening it on the table, spreading all my personal information around — which I later find out results in a couple of others in the kitchen discovering my sexuality — and finds my contract.)

Manager: “Monday: available. Tuesday — oh, would you look at this — available. Wednesday: available, and Thursday…”

Me: “Go on.”

(He waited a couple of seconds before scrambling to put my file back together. He then took the rota and updated it. The experience left me quite shaken about how he handled disagreements, and I ended up putting in a complaint. He no longer does the rotas, as my complaint was one of several about him making errors, and he no longer has access to the personnel files after how he behaved. I’m not sure what else happened with him in the background, but I hope he suffered a little.)

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The Tables Have Turned

, , , , | Right | March 24, 2020

(ALL of our tables have numbers on them for the kitchen to take food to. When customers come to a till to place their order, we must ask for a table number, as there are approximately two-hundred tables. This happens to my coworker who is working the till.)

Coworker: “Hello! How are yo—”

Customer: “I’d like a steak sandwich, kids’ spaghetti, a salmon sandwich, side of chips, side of onion rings, a latte, a cappuccino…”

(She rants off this massive order without stopping. Meanwhile, my coworker hasn’t done anything yet as she hasn’t been given a table number.)

Coworker: “Sorry, I need a table number first.”

Customer:What?!

Coworker: “I need a table number before I can take your food order.”

Customer: “Well, I’m over there!” *gesticulates randomly*

Coworker: “Each table has a number; we need the number or I cannot take your order.”

Customer:I am outside! Can’t you just tell the kitchen to take it outside?”

Coworker: “No, because there are other people sitting outside as well as you. I need the table number.”

(The customer then THREW the menu at my coworker and stormed off. She didn’t go to get her table number as we didn’t see her for the rest of the day!)

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Armoring Up For The Ultimate Prank

, , , , , | Friendly | March 24, 2020

(I’m sitting with one of my friends during dinner. The conversation rolls around to her sister, with whom my friend is in the middle of a — several years long by now — prank war.)

Friend: “So, I need ideas on how to pay back that little b****. Got anything?”

Me: “You mentioned that your house had a suit of armour, right?”

Friend: “Yeah, that piece of junk my dad found in a thrift store.”

Me: “How about you put on that suit of armour, wait until your sister wakes up in the morning, and then jumpscare her.”

Friend: *homicidal joker grin on face* “Ooh, I like the sound of that. Problem: I’m not sure it’s even wearable. And it’s covered with dust and cobwebs.”

Me: “Can you try to get your father to put it on? Say that you’re curious if it can actually be worn and talk him around into wearing it. That way you can both confirm if it can be worn and how to put it on.”

Friend: “Oh, that’s a good idea. Two birds with one stone.”

Me: “Better, I imagine that your father would not want to wear something that is filled with spiders, so he’ll probably clean it first, which means that you won’t have to wear a dusty old suit.”

Friend: *excitedly* “And I can video him doing it. If he gets stuck inside it’ll be a big hit on [Video Site]! Five birds with one stone. Man, you’re a genius.”

Me: “I prefer ‘devious mastermind,’ but anyway, that still leaves the million-dollar question: will your father wear the suit of armour?”

Friend: “Yeah, I can convince him to do that. He’s quite the nut job. Once, my uncle and I managed to convince him into dancing naked on the abandoned railway bridge near our farm.”

Me: *OMGWTF face* “What?”

Friend: “Yeah, a rain dance to piss off the sky. We videoed it. Getting him to put a suit of armour on will be easy. Oh, I can’t wait for the weekend. This is going to be so fun!”

Me: “Show me the video of your dad in the armour at some point. And good luck with the prank.”

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