The Day The Music Died

(I work in an antique store. On this particular day, I have just started my shift and am standing at the counter filling out part of my daily paperwork. I glance up and greet the customers, two young guys maybe in their 20s, when I hear the bell go off. They go off into an area of the store I can’t see from the counter, but soon I hear them playing on one of the vintage guitars we have in stock. This normally wouldn’t be a problem — that’s why we keep them on the floor — until a few moments later when I hear a lot of crashing, followed by a lot of swearing.)

Customer #1: “OH, S***, OH, S***, OH, S***, OH, F***!”

Customer #2: “DUDE! WHAT THE F***?!”

(Naturally, I have to investigate. I find them standing there, guitar and stand on the floor and a few other displays with expensive and rare merchandise scattered and broken on the floor. I swear it’s like a scene from a bad comedy movie! They look at each other and then back at me, while I stand there with my hands raised in the biggest “WTF” stance I can muster.)

Customer #1: “Uh… that… wasn’t us.”

Customer #2: “No, moron, you’re right. It wasn’t us! It was you!”

(I had to call my manager in and, with a lot of arguing and his insistence that he had found it that way, we managed to get him to pay for at least part of the stuff he broke and he was strongly encouraged not to come back! His friend paid for what he couldn’t and apologized profusely for his idiot friend. I really still can’t figure out how he managed to do so much damage trying to put a guitar on the stand! Thanks to that genius, now we have the guitars on the wall and a policy that says if someone wants to test it, it has to be done by the register where there are no displays!)