You Got Sat On By A Prankoppotamus

, , , , , | Right | September 11, 2017

(Occasionally we get some folk calling the store just to prank us and waste our time, so on slow days, some of us, like me, try to see if we can beat them at their own game. Next to our registers are a collection of plush toys shaped like animals.)

Caller: “Yes, hi, I was wondering if you sell tigers.”

Me: “Yes.”

Caller: “Really?”

Me: *looking at one of our stuffed tigers sitting on a display across from my register* “His name is Bernie, and he’s about a year old.”

Caller: “Uh… what about rhinos?”

(Lo and behold, we have a rhino plushie too.)

Me: “We have Sarah; she’s around the same age.”

Caller: “Yeah… what about elephants?”

Me: “African or Indian? We have both.”

Caller: “What? Hold on… are you pranking me? ‘Cause I called in order to prank you… I think…”

Me: “You asked if we have animals. I’m telling you what your options are.”

Caller: “Yeah, but… I didn’t mean… uh… you know what, forget it! I’ve completely lost track of what’s going on here!” *click*

ISIS = Insipid Sucrose Insurgent Sect

, , , , | Right | September 11, 2017

(I am one of many baristas working for a major name coffee brand that’s known throughout the world. Being located in the state where said brand was founded, we expect to see a lot of interesting things when folk come for their much needed java. That said, I don’t think we expected for two police officers to come in one day and ask for my manager to come to the counter. I’m manning the register next to him as the following takes place.)

Officer #1: “Yeah, um… okay, we’re still not sure how to take this, but we got a 911 call from someone at this location stating that the store was a terrorist cell working to murder its patrons.”

Manager: “Really?… wow… that’s… I don’t know what to say about that. I mean, you know us [Officer #1]. You come by pretty regularly on your patrol to get coffee from us.”

Officer #1: “I know; that’s why I’m letting you know, just in case this gets escalated further. We’re pretty sure it’s a prank but… well… I mean, it’s safe to say that this was the last thing we expected dispatch to ask us to check out.”

Officer #2: “Don’t worry, we’ll report that we’ve checked you out and all seems as it should be.”

(The two officers make to leave.)

Random Customer: “Wait! Where are you going?”

(We all turn to see a tiny old lady [who I served a little while ago] staring at us with a mix of fear and anger.)

Officer #1: “Uh, I’m sorry, ma’am, can we help you with something?”

Lady: “I called you in here to stop these d*** terrorists from killing these poor, God-fearing Americans! Aren’t you going to do something?!”

Officer #1: “I’m sorry, ma’am, are you saying you’re the one who placed the call to 911?”

(The lady storms up and grabs the container of artificial sweetener on our condiments bar.)

Lady: “Look at this! Do you know what’s in these? Aspartame! Sucralose! Neotame! Chemical death in every packet! These people are terrorists, aiming to kill everyone who comes in here!”

(There is a pause as the sudden screaming causes the other customers to stop talking and see what’s going on. The lady starts pointing at random people.)

Lady: “You! You! YOU! You all put this in your coffee! You’ve let these heathens poison you! Every single one of these is death in a packet! You’re all going to die before the day is gone! This isn’t a coffee shop! It’s a d*** morgue!”

Officer #1: “Okay… well… now that we better understand what’s going on, perhaps you’d like to accompany us to our squad car, ma’am? We can put you in touch with the people who can help you further.”

Lady: “Yes! Get me the FBI! Get me the NSA! Every single one of these d*** coffee bars has these! Poisoning and killing Americans everywhere! They’re turning our country into a giant graveyard!”

Officer #1: “Yes, well, again, can you please accompany us outside?”

(The lady clings to our container of sweeteners.)

Lady: “I need this! Evidence of terrorism! Murder!”

(The officers look to us.)

Manager: “Uh… sure. Go ahead.”

Lady: “Yeah, I know who you are! You and your whole terrorist sect are finished! This will not go unanswered! All these packets! How many have you killed already?!”

(The officers finally get the lady out of the shop [with our sweeteners] and into the squad car. Officer #1 comes back in.)

Officer #1: “Okay, I am so sorry about that. We had no idea that was a serious call. We’ll make sure she doesn’t come back here again.”

Manager: “That’s fine just… wow…”

Me: “Yeah… well… it gets better.”

Officer #1: “What do you mean?”

Me: “I served her. She put four of those packets of death in her coffee!”

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Did A Number On You

, , , , , | Right | September 8, 2017

(I’m 18 years old and work in a local grocery store. In order to get deals and sales on items, customers usually give us a card or their phone numbers. One evening as I’m checking, a customer who looks to be in his late 30’s comes through my line.)

Me: “Hi, how are you tonight?”

Customer: “Good!”

Me: “Glad to hear that! Do you have your grocery card or phone number with you by chance? You’ll save some money.”

(The customer decides to give me his phone number.)

Customer: “Okay, now since I gave you my number, you give me yours.”

(I’m a little startled by this comment, but I decide to not say anything and just keep checking him out. I get done and put my hand out to give him his change and receipt.)

Customer: “Oh, you can just write it on the receipt.”

(Since he speaks while I am counting his change back, I don’t understand what he says at first. I almost don’t say anything, until I notice he hasn’t taken his change out of my hand yet. I then realize that he wants me to acknowledge what he said.)

Me: “I’m so sorry; I didn’t catch that. What did you say?”

Customer: “Your number. You can just write it on the receipt.”

Me: *in the friendliest customer service voice I have ever used* “…thank you, have a nice day, sir!”

Dress Down For Lunch Or You’ll Get A Good Dressing

, , , , , , | Right | September 8, 2017

(I’m on a 30-minute lunch break at the grocery store where I work. I’m still in my apron, I am standing in a checkout line holding food and a drink to buy, and I am on my phone. A customer approaches me.)

Customer: “Excuse me, do you work here?”

Me: “Yes, I do, sir.”

Customer: “Do you know where salad dressing is?”

Me: “Of course, it’ll be to your left on aisle one.”

Customer: “Come show me!”

(I decide not to tell him that I’m on a lunch break, and decide that it’ll be easier to just lead him to the aisle. I show him to the correct spot, and am about to leave and go get in line again when he says:)

Customer: “I need you to pick some salad dressings out for me.”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “I’m on a fast and can’t have eggs, cheese, or dairy. I need you to pick some out for me and read me the ingredients.”

(By this point I’m a bit alarmed and confused, but I decide to help him further. I pick him out a lovely balsamic vinaigrette and read the ingredients.)

Me: “This one doesn’t have any eggs, milk, or dairy in it.”

Customer: “Really? No eggs?”

Me: “No.”

Customer: “No milk?”

Me: “No.”

Customer: “No dairy?”

Me: “Nope.”

Customer: “Okay, pick me out another one.”

(I do, and after reading the ingredients again, I hand the bottle to the customer and make sure that the back of it with the ingredients list is facing him. He briefly looks over it.)

Customer: “Okay, I’ll get this one.”

Me: “Great choice, sir. Have a wonderful day.”

(Needless to say, I practically inhaled my lunch when I got up to the break room. That’s the last time I’ll ever wear my apron/name tag on a lunch break again.)

Mew…Two?

, , , , , | Right | September 7, 2017

(I volunteer at a cat rescue shelter. Our manager sends an email around, warning us of a lady who has been dropping by every day, asking about discounts on the price of adopting cats. [We charge $100 for vaccinations, grooming, and a basic medical checkup, to ensure the cats are as healthy as can be]. Lo and behold, this woman [who looks to be in her mid 60s] indeed drops by during my shift and tries the same spiel, claiming she deserves to pay less for adopting our kitties.)

Woman: “These are MY cats! Well, they’re clones of them at least!”

Me: “I… uh… clones?”

Woman: “Don’t look at me like that! I know how this works! You pay the vets around the state to send you blood samples and DNA from the felines they treat, and then you grow clones in the back there!”

(She points at the door to our onsite vet.)

Woman: “You’ve got, what, six or seven tanks back there? Enough to keep these cages full?”

Me: “Ma’am… I… I can assure you, these cats are rescues! They were sent to us, not grown here!”

Woman: “Yeah, right, look at this one!” *She gestures to a cute calico that’s staring at her from its basking hammock on the window.* “That’s clearly a clone of my precious Bertie! It’s got the same coat color, the same eyes…”

(She then proceeds to stab her finger into the poor cat’s belly. As expected, the cat doesn’t like this, and swats at her.)

Woman: “Even the same foul temperament! You clearly just took a sample of Bertie’s blood from when I took him to [nearby vet] and made a copy of him!”

Me: *trying very hard not to laugh* “Ma’am… that’s… I promise you, that’s not the case. Many cats have similar coats, eyes, and other attributes.”

Woman: “That’s my Bertie! Ugh, look. I’ve got myself a new sugar daddy! Plenty of money to sue the s*** out of you unless you give me back all the cats I’ve lost and you cloned!”

Me: “Ma’am… look… if you want to adopt one or more of these cats, we’ll happily work with you. If you feel the adoption fee is too high, that’s something to discuss with my manager.”

Woman: “Fine! I’ll come back and try again tomorrow. Mark my words though, I WILL get my kitties back from you!”

(She left and I immediately called my manager to tell her what happened. The woman then proceeded to come back for the next three days and repeat the same spiel of us housing cats that were actually clones of other cats, though she wavered between them being her cats or the cats of her friends, and how her new sugar daddy would provide all the money she needed to sue us. After that, however, she apparently grew bored, because we’ve never seen her since.)

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