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Books Should Categorized By Cover Color

, , , , | Right | November 29, 2018

Customer: “I’m trying to find a book about the University.”

Me: “You’ve come to the right place. Let me show you our local interest section.”

(I do so, and the customer looks for the book they want.)

Customer: “I don’t see it.”

Me: “Well, maybe we can special order a copy. Do you know the book’s title?”

Customer: “No, but it’s green.”

Me: “That’s one of our school colors.”

Customer: “Well, it’s about this big.” *motions with his hands*

Me: “Um… I’m going to talk to my manager.”

(I walk into the back of the room. My manager is talking to a semi-retired teacher in his sixties.)

Me: “I have a customer that’s looking for a book, and he only knows that it’s green and about this big.” *motions with hands*

Senior Employee: “Oh, he means that book.”

Me & Manager: “Huh?!”


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Stupidity Reaches Exclamation Point

, , , | Right | November 24, 2018

(I am working a call center for a government agency. These are federal employees whose wages are a matter of public information. The caller in question makes $90k+ a year.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Call Center]. This is [My Name]; how may I assist you?”

Caller: “I need a password for [system], please.”

Me: “Of course! I just need you to verify your security code.”

(The caller verifies and I reset the password.)

Me: “Okay, your password is Vacation, zero, one, exclamation point, with a capital V on ‘vacation.’” *Vacation01!*

Caller: “Exclamation point? What’s that?”

Me: *pause* “On your keyboard that would be Shift-1.”

Caller: “OH! You mean the line with the dot under it!”

Me: *another pause* “Yes, sir.”

(I completed the call with a headache at the thought that these are our tax dollars hard at work.)

Pervert’s Ideas Are The Fault Of The Victims, Apparently

, , , , | Right | November 23, 2018

I am working on putting small freight items away whilst running the register. I have fairly long hair, and to keep it from getting caught in fixtures around the store, I wear it back in a braided ponytail. As I’m picking up several boxes to put away, an elderly gentleman grabs me by the hair and proceeds to exclaim, “Look at the mane on this one!”

I have my hands full, so I can’t grab my hair back, and being shocked at his behavior, I’m scared into stillness. My coworker gets him to let go.

I walk as quickly as I can to put the items in my arms away and hide in that corner of the department until the guy leaves. I return to the register where my coworker tells me that the customer said to her, “She really shouldn’t keep her hair long like that; it gives perverts ideas.”

I just stare at her in disbelief. To this day, I have avoided that customer.

Driving Them To Smoke

, , , , | Right | November 20, 2018

(Prices for all our cigarettes have recently gone up, averaging about eighty cents a carton. Of course we had signs posted for a few weeks before it went into effect. In my gas station, we also have a food area where I am currently scheduled to work. I decide to cut through the front area to get some things quicker.)

Customer: “I need two packs of cigarettes. What are your cheapest brands?”

Me: “It’s [Brand]. I think with the new tax it’s [price].”

Customer: *huffy* “Well, I only have twelve dollars! And I need two packs and some gas!”

Me: “Would you like to pump your gas first, then? If you don’t have enough, maybe you’ve got some quarters hanging around.”

Customer: “No! I need two packs of cigarettes! Your prices are too high! You need to fix this!”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but we can’t change the prices.”

Customer: “You have to do something to fix this! I need my smokes!”

(I always thought enough gas to get going was more important than smoking, but apparently not.)

He Tried His Breast

, , , | Right | November 16, 2018

(I work at a deli that also serves hot food during the day. We have a hot case with various pieces of chicken and potatoes to make combo meals from. It’s the very end of the day and we’ve run out of breasts to make the combos with, so it’s by-piece or bust. It should be noted we have a discounted eight-piece meal that’s incredibly popular at the moment, so it’s a quick grab for most. It features two of each piece: breasts, thighs, wings, and legs. A customer walks up about twenty minutes to close, an older gentleman with frazzled hair looking a bit… out of it.)

Customer: *looking over the meals* “I want some chicken.”

Me: “Can do, but fair warning that we’ve run out of breasts, so I can’t make you any combos. Can’t substitute for ’em.”

Customer: *seeming a bit out of it* “That eight-piece chicken.”

Me: “Sorry. No more breasts for the night; can’t do any combos.”

Customer: “That eight-piece chicken.”

Me: “No breasts? Single pieces are all we have.”

Customer: *quietly, with a tinge of annoyance* “I want an eight-piece chicken!”

Me: *sighing internally, trying a different tactic* “I can give you thighs and other pieces, but no breasts—” *gesturing to the case FULL of the other pieces* “—perhaps a few of those?”

(At this point, the customer stares off into space, as if this decision would blow up a sun somewhere in the universe. He pauses for a minute.)

Customer: “Oh. Uh.” *stares* “Chicken?”

Me: “I, um… How about I just grab you a few of each and make you a box?”

Customer: *hazy* “Chicken?”

(I just nodded and made him a box. He ended up requesting five of everything, something close to nearly $25 of chicken. I handed it over, and he happily tottered off to the checkout. Enjoy the chicken, eight-piece dude.)