(My brother works at Bojangles, whose contains the slogan, “It’s Bo time.” A man walks in one day.)
Customer: “Is it Bo time?”
Worker: *in a joking tone* “No.”
Customer: “Oh, okay, then.”
(He actually left, and approached a worker in the parking lot, claiming that the people inside refused him service! He finally came inside and actually ordered.)
(I see a rat run across the floor in the back room when I open the store for the day, so I text my manager and coworker to let them know. I get the following texts over the rest of the day:)
Coworker: “Oh, my God! Please tell me it’s gone.”
Coworker: “If I see a rat, I’m just going to run out.”
Coworker: “I’m so scared of rats. I’m freaking out already.”
Coworker: “His name is Thomas.”
Coworker: “I love him.”
Coworker: “I’m going to be sad when he dies.”
(Thomas managed to evade every trap we set for him, but eventually stopped coming back. My coworker, despite her proclamation of love, remained nervous until the day we decided he wouldn’t be back.)
(I’m waiting for my pizza at a pizza place where you pick your toppings and they assemble it in front of you. It’s about a half hour until closing, so the place is pretty empty. A man walks in and goes up to the counter. He’s acting very agitated, has red puffy eyes, and keeps sniffling and scratching his nose.)
Employee: “What can I get started for you?”
Customer: “A medium pizza. Can I ask you a few questions? I’m doing a survey. It’s just two questions, really.”
Employee: “Uh, sure. And what kind of sauce?”
Customer: “Are you a registered voter?”
Employee: “Yes.”
Customer: “And do you know how many countries the US is bombing right now?”
Employee: “No, I don’t. What kind of cheese?”
Customer: “It’s seven! And you’re part of the 80% of registered voters who don’t care to know that. No one cares anymore! See you later, morons!”
(It’s unclear why he added that last sentence since he’s in the middle of the pizza assembly line and isn’t leaving.)
Employee: “Right, um, what kind of meat?”
(The customer wipes his nose messily all over his hand, front and back, and then reaches over the glass barrier to point out the meats he wants.)
Employee: “Sir, please don’t reach over the barrier. The names are printed right under each meat so you can tell me what you want.”
(I miss a bit of the conversation because my pizza is ready, but it sounds like he’s still ranting. As I’m grabbing napkins, I hear some more.)
Customer: “Where are the sun-dried tomatoes?”
Employee: “We stopped carrying them because they had some preservatives—”
Customer: *cutting him off loudly* “You little s***s! You told me you had them! That’s why I came here!”
(I didn’t hear anymore because I left, but I really don’t envy the employee who had to deal with him.)
(A coworker and I are in Houston, Texas for a training course. He’s from Scotland; I’m from England. As we have weekends off, we decide to drive down to Galveston and have a look round. After a short drive round, we spot the aquarium and decide to pay it a visit. It is very quiet, so there is only one member of staff on the ticket desk.)
Ticket Lady: “Welcome to the aquarium. How are y’all doing today?”
Me: “Fine, thanks. One adult, please.”
Ticket Lady: “No problem. Just for our records, where are you from?”
Me: “England.”
(She thanks me and gives me my ticket after I pay.)
Coworker: “An adult ticket for me, as well, please.”
Ticket Lady: “Okay, and where are you from?”
Coworker: “Scotland.”
Ticket Lady: “Oh, that’s the same thing.”
Coworker: “Really? What part of Canada are you from?”
This story is part of our Scotland themed roundup!
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(I work in a loan office. My guests are generally very easy going, but occasionally they have fits like this one. Also, while requiring an ID for every loan has been a policy at my company for a while, I am the new manager and apparently the first one to adhere to this policy.)
Me: “How can I help you?”
Guest: “I need to pay off my loan and renew it.”
Me: “No problem. It’ll be $565.56 to pay off, and I’ll need a check and your ID.”
(The guest pays their loan and signs their check, and I begin to fill out the information on it — a service we offer because it’s 2018 and no one really knows how to fill out checks anymore.)
Me: “Awesome, [Guest], and I’ll need your ID, as well.”
Guest: “You need my ID? When did that start? I’m in here all the time and I’m never late. I’ve been coming here for 20 years!”
(He continues about how it’s all but unconstitutional that I ask him for his ID when I’m about to give him $500 and ask him to sign a contract.)
Me: “Sir, have you ever seen me before? Do you know me?”
Guest: “No?”
Me: “And I don’t know you. Besides that, it’s our policy to scan an ID when we issue a loan, every time. It’s been the policy for a while; everyone else should have been asking you, as well.”
Guest: *finally providing ID* “Fine, but why don’t you take ID for payments, as well?”
Me: “A lot of people send in relatives or friends to pay their bills because they’re at work; it would be silly to not let a guest’s husband pay their bill if the guest were at work.”
Guest: “That’s ridiculous. I would never ask anyone to come to pay my bill for me! I’m not even married!”
Me: *ignoring him and trying to process the loan*
Guest: “Don’t let anyone pay my bill!”
Me: “That’s fine. I’ll put a note in your account saying we need ID for every transaction.”
Guest: “Yeah, put a note in my account!”
(Two weeks later:)
Guest: “I need to pay off my loan and renew it.”
(He places the money on the counter, but I don’t make a grab for it.)
Me: “Awesome. I will need your ID, please!”
Guest: “What? I thought you only needed my ID for new loans!” *cue almost verbatim the same rant*
Me: *cutting him off* “Yes, sir, but I have a note in your account, per our last discussion, that you don’t want anyone else paying on your account and you’d like us to ask for ID for every payment!”
Guest: “Oh… That’s stupid; take that out.”
(I laughed after he left; from insanity or hysteria, I don’t really know.)
