A Premium Reason To Quit

, , , , , , | Right | June 26, 2018

(There’s nothing I love more than getting yelled at by crazy old men for things that A) aren’t my fault, B) I can’t change, and C) have been this way since before I was born. Most gas stations, if you haven’t noticed, charge a bit of a premium for credit card use. This is because the banks themselves charge us for when people use credit cards; the premium helps to defray some of that cost. This premium has been in place for decades now, and 99% of gas stations have that premium. Those that don’t make up for it by just setting their prices higher. This somehow didn’t make it through to the geezer who runs up to my window, brandishing his receipt like it’s one of Wonka’s golden tickets.)

Customer: “YOU CHANGE PRICE! Say $2.31! Why change?! YOU CHANGE!”

Me: “Sir, $2.31 is the credit card price. $2.21 is the cash price listed on the sign.”

Customer: “WHERE SAY?”

Me: “On every pump, sir. The credit card price is listed there.”

Customer: “No, it wasn’t! Show me!”

(I lead him to a pump and point.)

Me: “Right there, sir. Every pump lists the credit price.”


(By this time, I’m a bit fed up.)

Me: “I’m sorry you feel that way. Can I help you with anything else?”

(Kill them with kindness, right? With a huff, he let out a final “F*** YOU,” jumped in his van, and peeled out of the parking lot at something like 40 miles an hour. I have to say, I wish him luck. We’re the cheapest gas station for three miles, and every other gas station in the county has the same premium.)

Otterly Disgusting

, , , , , , | Working | June 20, 2018

I took my daughter to the zoo. They have a family of otters and that particular day the otters were having a grand time. We noticed that a couple of them were doing a peculiar stamping dance move. I filmed it and pondered out loud if it was a mating ritual or play.

A zoo employee was nearby and said, “Actually, they’re going to the bathroom and covering it up.”

They’re About To Get A Chip Card On Their Shoulder

, , , , | Right | June 18, 2018

(The store I work at is one of the first in the area to get chip card readers. If the card has a chip, the card scanner won’t allow the customer to swipe. At this point, our store has had the chip card reader for about six months, and we’re still one of the only places to use it. The customer swipes his card and I hear the reader beep.)

Me: “Oh, you have a chip card! Just insert it in the bottom there and leave it until it tells you to take it out.”

Customer: *inserts his card* “You know, I really don’t like this new system. It’s much easier to just swipe.” *he takes his card back out*

Me: “Oh, you didn’t leave it in long enough. Try that again, and it’ll tell you when you can take it out.”

Customer: “Okay, fine.”

(He inserts his card again, and takes it out when the reader asks if he wants cash back.)

Customer: “This process takes too long.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but you took your card out too early again. Try again, and it’ll tell you on the screen when you can take your card out, and it’ll beep obnoxiously.”

Customer: “This is ridiculous!” *puts card in and takes it out too early again*

Me: “That was still too early.”

Customer: “I don’t have time for this. Here.” *hands me a $100 bill*

Me: “All right, out of a hundred.” *I open my till to make change and notice another potential problem* “I’m out of tens and fives, so you’ll be getting a lot of ones. Is that okay?”

Customer: “Whatever! I just want to get out of here.”

(I had to bite my tongue about how if he had just listened to instructions, he’d be gone already.)

Remembering When Is A Cakewalk

, , , , , | Related | June 15, 2018

(My brother occasionally buys personal-size cakes for himself. Tonight, he’s talking about celebrating his birthday by eating an entire regular-size cheesecake. I remind him that he recently lost a lot of weight on a good diet, but he counters with:)

Brother: “You know how long it’s been since I’ve had cheesecake?”

(Sounds like a decent rationale; I’m about to shrug it off when I recall something:)

Me: “You had one just like three days ago!”

Brother: *delighted* “You do! You remember the small things. I was just testing you.”

Sir Neutered The Fifth, Destroyer Of Rugs, Defiler Of Christmas Trees

, , , , , , | Related | June 13, 2018

(After our mother suffers from some unpleasant drama, my brothers and I decide to lift her spirits by getting her a cat, something she’s been talking about doing for a while. We eventually find a precious little, orange fluff ball that fits our basic requirements, and bring him home, humorously enough, the day before Mother’s Day. Mom takes to him immediately and locks the two of them in a room for some bonding time. While we wait for her to come back out, [Brother #1] starts to read the paperwork the shelter sent home with us to our father.)

Brother #1: “He was only brought in recently, so he’s a little underweight, but his health is otherwise good. He has all his shots up to date; you’ll have to renew some of them next year. He was tested for kitty HIV and he came back clean, so he can go outside eventually, and he is neutered the fifth…”

Brother #2: *laughing* “He is neutered the fifth?”

Father: *also laughing* “That sounds like some really fancy aristocratic name you’d find in Europe.”

Brother #2: “‘What ho, peasants? I am thy lord, Sir Neutered the Fifth.'”

Brother #1: *dramatically* “‘What is my legacy?'”

Me: “To not have a legacy, apparently.”

Father: “Okay, we have to convince your mother to name him that.”

(She named him Thomas. But it’s fine, he’s her favorite present of all time and that’s all that really matters.)

Page 3/3812345...Last
« Previous
Next »