I work in a big box store. One of our big sales starts at midnight the next day, and Corporate, in their infinite wisdom, has kept sections of our store open until the usual time of 10 PM. A line for the big sale has already started to form outside, but regular shoppers are still allowed in the store for regular purchases and will need to leave when the store closes.

A customer approaches me at the customer service desk around 9:30 PM.

Customer: “Why is the back section closed?”

Me: “They’re setting up for [big sale].”

Customer: “I thought so. I saw the flyer.”

Then why did you ask me?!

Customer: “I saw that [TV model] is gonna go for $499.”

Me: “So I’ve seen.”

Customer: “Could I get it now?”

Me: “You can get into the [big sale] line that’s outside the store.”

Customer: “But I’m here, I want it now.”

Me: “That would be unfair to everyone waiting outside. The store closes at ten and will open again at midnight for the sale.”

Customer: “But I’m here now.”

Me: “The sale starts at midnight.”

Customer: “It’s already past midnight in New York.”

Me: “Oh, if we’re playing the arbitrary time zone game, why didn’t you say so? Okay, so I am assigning you…” *I swish around a fake magic wand.* “…Hawaii! At midnight here in Washington, it will only be 9 PM for you, so you wait another three hours before coming in.”

Customer: “Huh? What the f*** are you talking about?!”

Me: “Well, since it was so easy for you to place yourself in a time zone three hours ahead, I figured it would just as easy to place you in a time zone three hours behind.”

Customer: “That… that makes no sense!”

Me: “Finally, we agree. Now, please finish any non-sale purchases before we close at ten. If you want to be part of the sale, please join the line outside.”

He didn’t buy anything, and didn’t stick around for the sale. Maybe he got stuck in another time zone…

Related:
No Fortitude For Longitude, Part 25
No Fortitude For Longitude, Part 24
No Fortitude For Longitude, Part 23
No Fortitude For Longitude, Part 22
No Fortitude For Longitude, Part 21

When I worked at a movie theater in high school, we were trained to immediately give up any money we had if we were ever robbed. The theater was successfully robbed once while I worked there, but this is a story about an unsuccessful attempt.

One busy Saturday night, I was working in the box office along with another high schooler. At this theater, the box office was at the front of the lobby, and the lines to get tickets formed up outside. When you talked to the cashier, it was through a microphone, and the cash and tickets were slid through a small opening at the bottom of the window, about two inches high and eight inches wide. Only after you bought a ticket did you come inside the building.

During a lull in the crowds, my coworker and I were talking when a sketchy-looking guy came up to the box office at her window and pulled out a huge knife.

Robber: “Give me the money!”

She looked at him, smiled, then leaned forward and tapped the half-inch-thick glass between her and the would-be robber.

Coworker: “It’s bulletproof, dumb-a**, and you’ve got a knife.”

The robber looked like someone had slapped him, and he seemed frozen for a few seconds as he tried to comprehend that he had been denied. Then he woke up, put the knife back in his jacket, and ran off as I called the manager on a walkie-talkie.

The manager called the police, who told my coworker it was very dangerous not to comply with the robber. Nothing was stopping him from just walking into the building and attacking us with his knife.

According to corporate policy, my coworker was supposed to be given a written warning for not giving up her till, but the managers kept it verbal, although they did reiterate to everyone the policy of handing over money if you were robbed.

The rest of us couldn’t stop telling her how cool she was for the rest of the summer.

I had a job as a product demonstrator, one of my shifts had me out by the doors handing out coupons as people walk in. An elderly woman walks in, and I immediately notice a foul smell, and it takes me a few seconds to realize what it is:

She is smoking a cigar, and she kept on smoking as she marched right into the store right past me. Once I get over the audacity of it, I flag down an employee and point out that someone is smoking a cigar in the store. I hadn’t expected much as a manager told me someone vaping in the store was fine because “it wasn’t smoking”.

However, cigars were different. The employee makes the call on their radio, and some time later, a security person and the woman come toward the entrance. The woman is livid while the security person is trying to explain repeatedly that no, she cannot smoke inside the store. It hasn’t been allowed for over thirty years, and she needs to leave if she wants to smoke, or put it out in an ashtray outside.

She goes to leave, shouting how she’ll tell everyone how rude they are to an old lady, not paying attention – she just missed the sliding doors and hit the side of the cigar first. She steps back, sputtering and gagging, before throwing her cigar down and stomping out.

That’s how I learn that particular security guy – a big dude – giggles like an elf on helium.

Related:
Not Even Close And No Cigar

My eight-year-old daughter went to a church-sponsored day camp with a friend of hers. She came home giggling.

Daughter: “Mom, at the snack table, they had a bowl of apples and a bowl of cookies. There was a sign on the apples saying, “Take only one. God is watching.” But the sign on the cookies said, “Go for it. God’s watching the apples!””

I drive a small school bus, transporting students who live outside the main catchment areas for the schools they attend. So while most students at a given school live with a few miles of it, these students live further but still attend that school instead of a closer one for various reasons. Fewer students means smaller bus, which uses less fuel.

For one such school, I only have one student, a teenager. When she started riding the bus, she asked if we could listen to the radio, and I obliged with a warning that the radio didn’t always work well. I set it to an alt-rock station, and we had nice time listening to songs and chatting during commercials, until the radio would inevitably cut out after about twenty minutes.

This past week, the radio lasted a few songs longer, and we got tunes all the way to school. It was a nice surprise! Then came Friday. I picked her up, turned on the radio, and “Mr. Brightside” by The Killers came on, a song we both like a lot. The radio petered out just before the song ended, and didn’t come back to life the rest of the ride to school.

When it was evident after a few minutes that the radio was done for the day, the student mused:

Student: “The Killers killed the radio. Not much of a bright side to that.”