(I work in the home department. A lady in her forties approaches me on the till.)

Customer: “I want to return this blender.”

(The receipt says it was bought a year ago and it has clearly been used.)

Me: “What’s wrong with the item?”

Customer: “Nothing. I just don’t use it anymore.”

Me: “I can’t process a refund for you because it’s been used and you’ve had it for a year now.”

Customer: “But the guarantee is for two years!”

Me: “The guarantee is for faulty or damaged items only. I am afraid I can’t do anything for you.”

(The customer looks confused, so I explain to her how a guarantee works. She looks a bit suspicious.)

Customer: “Where is your accent from?

Me: “I am from Lithuania, part of the Baltic States, neighbours with Latvia, Poland, and Belarus.”

(A lot of people have never heard of Lithuania, so I am used to it. But this lady is a real gem.)

Customer: “All right. One of my colleagues is Polish. You guys all speak the same language, don’t you?”

Me: “No, we have our own language.”

Customer: “Oh, I am sure you do.”

Me: “I assure you that we have different languages and different cultures.”

Customer: “Could you ask someone else about the blender, dear? I am concerned you might be wrong about the guarantee if you don’t know what language you guys speak.”

(I try to figure out if I have heard her correctly. After few moments of silence I assure her that I really know the how the guarantee works, but after few blank stares I just phone my manager. She confirms what I have said is correct. Unfortunately, the customer looks even more suspicious.)

Customer: “Are you here legally?”

Me: *even more shocked* “Yes, I definitely am!”

Customer: “Can I see your visa?”

(I am trying to hold myself back, and instead of saying this is not her d*** business, I just politely explain:)

Me: “I don’t have one, because I am from the EU, so I don’t need one.”

Customer: “I am sure you do!”

Me: “Well, if you are sure…”

(I end up explaining to her that travelling inside the EU doesn’t require a visa, and it works in both ways. When she’s traveling somewhere in the EU, she doesn’t need a visa, either.)

Customer: “Yes, I understand that, but England is not in the EU; it’s in the United Kingdom!”

(I can’t believe this, but I actually end up explaining that the UK is a part of the EU.)

Customer: “Dear, would you say America is a part of the EU?”

Me: “No, that is part of the USA.”

Customer: “You see? And England is a part of the UK! You really need to learn your geography, dear.” *smiles and leaves*

(My colleague is standing at the next till.)

Colleague: “All right! I always though Lithuania was a part of Russia!”

Me: “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

(Since my school is a bit inaccessible by public transport, they’ve made arrangements with a taxi company for a carpooling scheme. Our driver is nice enough, but he’s also a heavy smoker. Obviously, he’s not allowed to smoke with us in the car, but he often attempts to circumvent this by filling it up with smoke before picking me up at the start of his route. Some variation of this conversation usually follows. I get in the car, immediately smell the smoke, and open the window.)

Driver: “It’s not that hot. We don’t need the window open.”

Me: “There’s smoke everywhere. I’m letting it out.”

Driver: “You’ll get used to the smell in a minute. Just leave it.”

Me: “It’s not the smell I’m worried about; it’s more than a dozen types of toxins.”

Driver: “Just live a little. You’re supposed to be experimenting with these things at your age.”

Me: “It’s because I want to live that I don’t want to passively smoke.”

(On one occasion, he tries locking the windows.)

Me: “You need to open this.”

Driver: “I’m fed up with you letting all the cold air in. So, I’m locking them from now on.”

Me: “If you don’t unlock it, I’ll tell the school and your boss what you’re doing.”

Driver: “Fine!” *opens the window*

(If the journey was delayed by traffic, he’d often snap and lean out the window for a quick smoke. Seriously, couldn’t he just hold it for an hour?)

Me: “I’d like to check these out, please.”

(The librarian looks over the books, stopping at a gay fiction novel.)

Librarian: “Ooh, I didn’t know you were ‘that way.’”

Me: “You didn’t?”

Librarian: “No! Guess I’ll have something new to gossip about at bridge tonight.”

(Just then, the screen behind her switches to a recent local pride event, showing how much money has been raised. I am in the centre of the picture, wearing the exact same rainbow shirt I have on now. I also have blue hair, so I’m quite distinctive.)

Me: “Yeah… I’m pretty sure everyone already knows.”

(A colleague buys a new car, notifies his insurance company, and asks for a cover letter ASAP. Time goes by, no cover letter, so he phones them.)

Representative: “So sorry, sir. We’ll send it out straight away.”

(As you can probably guess, no letter. This happens three more times. On the fourth call, the representative decides to try a new approach.)

Representative: “I’m sorry, sir. The letter was about to be sent, but we had a computer error.”

Colleague: “What sort of error?”

Representative: “Well, sir, it’s very technical. I doubt you’d understand.”

Colleague: “Can you see my details on your screen?”

Representative: “Yes, sir.”

Colleague: “Does it say my employer?”

Representative: “Yes, sir. IBM UK, Ltd.”

Colleague: “Does it give my job title?”

Representative: “Yes, sir. Uh… senior systems programmer.”

Colleague: “So, tell me about this computer error.”

Representative: “Sir, being completely frank now, we screwed up. I’ll make sure it goes out today.”

(Two days later, he finally got the insurance cover note.)

Related:
Not Much Assurance About The Insurance, Part 9
Not Much Assurance About The Insurance, Part 8
Not Much Assurance About The Insurance, Part 7

Customer: “I’d like the number for Saint Anthony’s church in Newcastle, please.”

Me: “Certainly. Oh, there are two Saint Anthony’s churches in Newcastle. I have Saint Anthony of Padua’s and Saint Anthony of Egypt’s; which one would you like?”

Customer: *very calmly and patiently like she’s talking to a rather stupid child* “No, love, I want the one in Newcastle.”