(I have worked in retail since I was a teenager, but on this occasion I am out shopping with a friend. My friend keeps picking up clothing items to look at, and then just dumping them. Almost out of habit, I am following behind her, straightening them up.)

Friend: *noticing me cleaning up after her* “Um… What are you doing?”

Me: “Just folding this up again.”

Friend: *long pause* “Why?”

Me: “Well, part of me just can’t help it, and part of me is getting a little frustrated that you don’t even try to put something back where you found it.”

Friend: “Whatever. Isn’t that their job? I’m helping them, giving them something to actually do.”

Me: *stares* “Seriously?”

Friend: “What?”

(I have a not-yet-folded t-shirt in my hand, and I begin whacking her with it.)

Me: “Don’t. Ever. Say. That. To. Me. AGAIN! Seriously?! You think these guys don’t have enough to do during their shift? You have no IDEA! You’ve seen me after work, right? Remember when we met up after my shift last week?”

Friend: “Yeah?”

Me: “Remember how exhausted I was?”

Friend: “I guess?”

Me: “THAT’S BECAUSE I SPENT MY DAY PICKING UP AFTER OTHER PEOPLE, AS WELL AS DOING MY ACTUAL JOB. STOP BEING A SLOB JUST BECAUSE YOU ARE NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS PLACE!”

Friend: “Okay, okay, jeez! I’m sorry!”

Me: “OKAY! THANK YOU! All right. Now. This shirt is actually really cute, and you should try it on.”

Friend: “Um. Okay.”

(She takes the t-shirt she has just been beaten with and scurries to the changing room. A staff member has been watching this entire exchange, dumbfounded.)

Staff Member: “Dude.” *extends hand for high five*

Related:
Reasons Why Customer Service Should Be Mandatory: #2

(I am standing by the till whilst my managers are having a private meeting. Since I can handle the shop floor on my own because it’s not a big store, they’re confident leaving me alone sometimes. A customer walks by with a dozen ladies’ tops in her hand and three skirts. She goes towards the changing before I stop her.)

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you’ll have to leave some tops out here. It’s only three items at a time.”

Customer: “Well, what do I do with the rest?”

Me: “Well, the book rail is in front of you. You can hang the tops on its ridges, and when you are done with one, you’ll only need to reach out and replace one top with another.”

Customer: “But that means I’ve got to try on the top, take it off, come out, get another, put it on, take it off, and replace it again. That’s too much effort! Can’t I take them all in?”

Me: “No, you can’t take them all in, because it’s three items at a time. It’s company policy. All our shops employ it.”

Customer: “Well, other shops on this street don’t!”

Me: “We’re not other shops. This is [Business] and our company policy is three items at a time.”

Customer: “You’re a little s***, you know that?!”

(I stayed quiet and bit my tongue before she hung the tops and skirts up like I suggested and started to try them on. In the end, she only bought two tops.)

(I’m in class, and the fire alarm goes off. Everyone stands up, just like we were taught to do in the fire drills.)

Teacher: “Sit down!”

(The class sits down and the teacher takes her sweet time getting her handbag and coat.)

Teacher: “Okay, everybody stand up and follow me! Leave your bags and coats behind!”

(It’s the first day back at university after winter break. I’m in a class of fourth-year students doing a history course on the American Civil War.)

Lecturer: “Welcome back, everyone. I hope you had a good break. Now, everyone knows what day it was yesterday, right?”

Classmate: *immediately and enthusiastically* “Pitbull’s birthday!”

(It was Martin Luther King, Jr. Day.)

(The front page of one of today’s national newspapers shows a young Princess Elizabeth, who of course is now our Queen, apparently being shown a Nazi salute in 1933 by her uncle, the future Edward VIII. A customer is at my till buying the paper.)

Me: “Ooh, that’s going to be a bit of a scandal.”

Customer: *laughs* “I just bumped into a friend of mine outside who works for the local paper. She said a woman rang them up to complain about the press coverage of this story.”

Me: “But this is a national paper.”

Customer: “My friend asked if she had a local angle to the story, but apparently this woman thought that you could just call your newspaper if you wanted to complain about ‘the press,’ and wanted them to pass on her complaints to the [National Paper].”

Me: “Let me guess. She huffed and puffed when she found out the local paper had no say on it?”

Customer: “Yep! She shouted she was never going to buy [Local Paper] ever again unless they printed an apology to the Queen on the front page, and then she hung up!”

Me: *laughing* “There’s always one, isn’t there? Here’s your change.”