“A Waste Of Oxygen” Is Our New Phrase

, , , | Right | March 28, 2020

(I am walking by the registers when I decide to cut through a closed register instead of continuing down the row. A woman in line must think I am opening a register because she follows me. When I keep walking, she drops her canned goods on the belt and clears her throat loudly. I turn, surprised.)

Me: “Hello.”

Customer: “Well?”

Me: “Uh…?”

Customer: “Are you going to check me out or just stand there?”

Me: *looking around* “I was just walking through.”

Customer: “Lazy! Ring me up right now!” *slaps the belt* “Now! Now!”

Me: “Okay!”

Customer: “I don’t want my receipt printed or emailed or anything. Waste of paper! Who returns food?”

Me: “Okay.”

(While I’m scanning her groceries, another customer approaches.)

Customer #2: “Uh, are you open? Your light isn’t on.”

Me: “No, sorry, I—”

Customer: “Yes, she is! She’s just lazy!”

(The other customer looks at me, I shake my head, and he goes to a register where the light is on.)

Customer: “Asking if you’re open. He’s gotta check out. Of course, you’re open!”

Me: *ignoring her ranting* “Okay, your total is—”

Customer: “You don’t have to treat me like a [ableist slur]!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. Cash or card?”

Customer: “Card!”

(The transaction finishes and my register resets. Before the woman can say anything else, I walk away. The other customer who came up earlier stops me. Still, the woman calls after me.)

Customer: “Hey! Where’s my receipt? How am I gonna get out the door without a receipt? If they stop me, I’m telling on you!”

Customer #2: *to me* “What an incredible waste of oxygen that woman is.”

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She’s Not Very Five Alive

, , , , , | Right | March 28, 2020

(A customer approaches my register, sets a single frozen meal down, and tells me she has six total. I hit the quantity button and scan it, and the transaction completes as normal. She stands aside and studies her receipt, and then approaches me again while I’m ringing out other customers.)

Customer: “Excuse me, how many did you ring me up for?”

Me: “Six.”

Customer: “I only have five here.”

Me: “Sorry, but you did tell me you had six.”

Customer: “I thought so, but I only have five now. Where did the other one go?”

Me: “I handed the one I scanned back to you.”

(She starts peering all around behind my counter as if I had hidden it back there, and then she goes back to her cart and I hear her slowly count her TV dinners, sorting them into stacks, turning them over and recounting them.)

Customer: “Two… and two… and one…” *looking back at me* “That’s five, isn’t it?”

Me: *internally face-palming* “It appears so. You can grab another one, since you paid for six, or we can refund you for the extra one you were charged.”

Customer: “Well, there were no more on the shelf.” *trails off and stares blankly at me*

Me: “Okay, then just hop back in my line and I’ll refund you.”

(I take one box to scan and issue the refund. I hold the item out and she starts to walk away with a dazed expression.)

Me: “Ma’am? You can take this back; I only needed it for a moment.”

Customer: “But, but, you just refunded me for… Wait, I didn’t want it, right?”

Me: “Okay, let’s go over this again.”

(She still didn’t quite understand, but I assured her that she had, indeed, paid for it and she accepted it reluctantly and left, still muttering to herself in confusion. I got distracted by a phone call and she was long gone by the time I realized she had also left her pocketbook tucked under the card reader.)

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Stephen King’s New Cosmetic Line

, , , , | Related | March 28, 2020

(I like to do different greetings with my nana when we talk on the phone. Here’s one I just did:)

Me: “Hello, ma’am, I work for a shady makeup company. Which lipstick would you prefer: fire-engine red, petal pink, or alabaster white?”

Nana: “Oh… petal pink.”

Me: “Which perfume would smell better: dog doo or skunk butt?”

Nana: “Neither one of them! Although dog doo doesn’t make your nose burn.”

Me: “Which eyeshadow would look better: corpse yellow or frozen-to-death blue?”

Nana: “You’re morbid.”

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Pick A Better Habit Or It’s Your Loss

, , , , , , , , | Friendly | March 28, 2020

(When my nephew is little he picks his nose until it bleeds CONSTANTLY. Nothing we nor the doctor do will stop him. Even painting his nails with medicine the doctor recommends barely helps.

One year, when he is still in this stage, my parents and I take him to the Fred Hall Sportsman Show. It’s an annual California show for people who fish, hunt, hike, and generally love the outdoors.

We’re passing a booth run by an older man who sees my nephew with his finger back up his nose despite us telling him to stop. The man walks up to my nephew holding out his right hand, revealing that his index and middle finger have been amputated at the knuckle.)

Man: “Do you know how I lost these? By picking my nose.”

(My nephew instantly took his finger out of his nose and never put it back up there. He still talks about that now that he’s in his early thirties, laughing about it. Thank you, sir, for getting him to stop picking his nose. Now, we just need to find another man with amputated fingers to talk to my great-nephew. No, not my nephew’s son — his sister’s.)

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He Won’t Sue, He Already Had Too Much Exposure

, , , , , , , | Right | March 28, 2020

I work as a staff member at an airport club, the kind that you have to pay to belong to and that offers WiFi, desks, tables, phones, snacks, and so on for busy travelers.

The men’s room is located directly adjoining the staff office, with doors that are virtually identical except for small stylish plaques saying, “MEN,” and, “STAFF.” Consequently, it’s not uncommon for men in a hurry to lunge into the staff office, do a double-take, and then excuse themselves and go next door.

Today — Super Bowl Sunday, as it happens — a couple of us were sitting at the table in the staff office when suddenly the door flew open and a man all but ran into the room, with his fly unzipped and his junk already out. I can only assume he expected it to be a one-seater that he wouldn’t have to share with anyone.

Embarrassing for him, embarrassing for us. But what really made it memorable was his response to the situation. Standing there gaping at us, he shouted, “I’LL SUE!” 

Then, he turned and ran back out… without making any real effort to cover himself.

I looked at my coworker and she looked at me. “Did that really happen?”

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