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How To Lose Your Marbles In Style

, , , | Right | June 17, 2008

(Our store used to have a completely gutted 1957 Chevy truck as a centerpiece. It was part of the store’s trademark. Walking down the store past the truck, I am stopped by an old man.)

Me: “Sir?”

Old Man: “Young lady, how much are you selling this truck for?”

Me: “Sorry, sir, the truck isn’t for sale. It’s owned by [company].”

Old Man: “I’ll give you a hundred dollars for it.”

Me: “Sir, the truck is not for sale. I apologize.”

Old Man: “All right… I’ll give you two hundred!”

Me: “Sir, the truck is not for sale. And even if it was, it would be for a LOT more than $200.”

Old Man: “Yes, I suppose you’re right… SAY! SOMEONE STEALING, LOOK!” *points behind me*

(As I turn to look behind me, the man climbs the crates next to the truck, opens the driver’s seat door, and gets behind the wheel.)

Old Man: “WHOOOOOOOOO-HAW! CAN’T CATCH ME NOW, CAN YOU!” *swings steering wheel around and starts to make gun noises* “PEW PEW! PEW PEW!”

(Mall Security ended up being called after the old man was “trying” to run us over. I wish I was joking.)


This story is part of our Shocking Old People roundup!

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What Happens When You Assume

, , | Right | June 17, 2008

(I worked at a shop that did passport photos. There was a fifteen-minute wait on the pictures, so people normally just left and came back…)

Me: “That’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”

Customer: “I’ll come back. Do you need my name?”

Me: “No, I don’t need it.”

Customer: “You little snot. It’s ’cause there’s a black man in here!”

Me: “Sir, I am not racist. ”

Customer: “Oh, sure you’re not, you racist snot.”

Me: “Sir, I have your picture. That’s why I do not need your name.”

(The customer walked out and I never saw him again.)

Make Coffee, Not War

, , , | Right | June 17, 2008

(I work at a coffee shop that is NOT a certain well-known coffee empire. Our company name is clearly displayed out front, on the menu, on the register, on our aprons and we generally don’t look a thing like the other company.)

Customer: “I’d like a medium mocha.”

Me: “Okay, that’ll be $3.26.”

(The customer pays, and comes to the end of the bar to pick up her drink.)

Customer: “Wait a second. This isn’t Starbucks.”

Coworker: “Nope, we’re [Coffee Place].”

Customer: “Well, never mind. I wanted Starbucks. Give me my money back.”

Coworker: “I have your drink ready… Give it a taste, and if you still don’t like it, we’d be happy to refund your money. ”

Customer: “NO! Just give me my money back! This isn’t Starbucks! I wanted Starbucks!”

Me: “Um, okay…”


This story is part of the Obnoxious-Coffee-Orders roundup!

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Employee Of The Year

, , , | Right | June 17, 2008

Customer: “I’m looking for a book.”

Me: “Were you after a particular book?”

Customer: “Yeah.”

Me: “What was the title?”

Customer: “I can’t remember.”

Me: “Do you know who the author is?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “Do you remember what it’s about?”

Customer: “I saw it recently…”

Me: “Can you tell me anything at all about it?”

Customer: “It had a nondescript cover.”

Me: “…”

(And I found it!)

Cutting The Cheese 101 Has A Nice Air To It

, , | Right | June 16, 2008

(One of my friends works part-time at the deli counter in a grocery store. One day a rather well-to-do-looking — the word he used was “snooty” — woman and her son came up to the counter.)

Woman: “I’d like one pound of muenster cheese.”

Friend: “Very well.”

(He proceeds to slice the cheese on the slicer, and weighs it out; it’s .97 pounds. He attempts to hand it to her.)

Woman: “That’s NOT a pound of cheese.”

(Slightly perturbed, he slices another slice of cheese and places it on top of the existing pile. It is now 1.02 pounds of cheese. Again, she sighs and appears indignant.)

Woman: “Is that including the paper?”

(He then peels the slice in half and puts the half slice on the pile; it’s .99 pounds now. At this point, the woman leans over to her less-than-brilliant-looking son, and whispers, loud enough for my friend to hear:)

Woman: “This is why you go to college.”

(My friend goes to an Ivy League school.)


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