Rotten Tanx wrote:Girl: Can I have the number for blah blah blah?

Me: Yes, it's...

Girl: No wait! I dont have a pen!

Me: Are you on a mobile?

Girl: Yes.

Me: Well just type the number into your mobile as I read it out.

Girl: How do I do that?

Me: Well, for example, I say "three" and you press the button that says three.

Damn, I just learned something

Spoke wrote:(from when i worked as an ISP bob in the mid-90s):

"Can you please not tell the cops about the kiddie porn clogging my email?"

...

End of thread, this wins.

At a breakfast place, 11am on a Sunday.
"Why is it so busy?"

Around '85-'86 I worked at a fish market downtown that was frequented by politicians from city hall, various news reporters and "anchors", Reagan-loving yuppies and a steady stream of the most insufferable, demanding, entitled, crusty, forever complaining, pre-embalmed old widows who looked like they never worked a day in their life.

One day one of them (looking like Tammy Faye in her last months) approached the counter in her foul, mothball-smelling fur coat and, in a raspy voice said as usual, "what's wonderful today?" I told her we just got some nice fresh catfish in that morning. As I began describing the various tasty ways she (or her kitchen help) could prepare it, she cut me off and with a disgusted look on her face said, "that's for niggers".

I said nothing and immediately turned around and walked to the back cooler where there was always beer on ice. Fifteen minutes later I came out and the ignorant old twat was gone, most likely having been waited on by one of my co-workers who agreed with her.

When working at a shitty winery in bloomington indiana, a middle-aged woman who'd just bought two cases of crappy fruit wine more announced than asked "Will these fit in the trunk of my mercedes?"

It's two boxes of wine. It'll fit in pretty much anything. I don't answer but she keeps asking, each time more loudly than the time before, clearly for the benefit of everyone else in the shitty indiana winery. I finally shoot back in a voice as loud as she has been using, "It should be just fine. Unless you've just got a c-class."

At that point she shut up.

This thread rocks. So much laughter to be found here.


I was working as a fishmonger at a green market in NY and twice I have heard this.

Customer: I would like some calamari. Hold the testicles.

Me: Tentacles?

Customer: That's what I said.

noise&light wrote:This thread rocks. So much laughter to be found here.

I knew when I started this thread it would be a goldmine, as I have had many a customer say something dumb, I now work a sales job and pretty much get to pick my customers, my customers no longer ask stupid things, as I can't work with stupid people...

I work for a behavioral agency that provides services for children.

Cut to three weeks ago:

Phone call comes in and I answer:

"Thank you for calling _________ Services, how may I direct your call?"

A lady with a really raspy, old sounding voice responds, annoyed and upset, "Why haven't you sold my condominium!?"

This caught me off guard. "Pardon?" I replied.

"My condo! Why haven't you sold it!?"

"Ma'am," I tell her, "this is a behavioral health provider for children. We don't dabble in real estate."

And she responds (here's the kicker), "Is that why you haven't sold my damn condominium!?"

I start to laugh.

"I'm finding another agent!"

She hangs up.

I was working at the gas station the other day, and had just come almost to the end of a very long shift. I work tuesday nights from 7pm-midnight and wednesday from 7am to 5pm. It's my family's business, and I just catch a nap between shifts at my parents' place five minutes away. by the end of wednesday's shift, the mid afternoon sun has usually rendered the a/c useless, as the many windows that line the walls of the store have turned the place into a giant greenhouse. the sun just cooks the air. I am usually cranky.

I was speaking to a customer about something when this big bald white dude comes in and makes a bee-line for the soda machine. (the soda machine that is still out of order). Now he wasn't big as in "fat," dude was so muscled, he couldn't put his arms down all the way.

so he walks over to the soda machine, grabs two cups and starts trying to get ice out of the dispenser. directly above the button one would press to dispense ice, there is a large black and white sign in huge letter that reads "sorry, out of order". This doesn't stop the guy from banging on the dispenser. He leans back and shouts "what the hell, man? there's no ice?" across the store.

Now as I had mentioned earlier, I've been at work for about 15 hours of the past 24. I'm tired, it's hot and it's been really busy. there is no way i didn't take a 'tone' with the guy when I responded:

"yeah, that's what the 'out of order sign is for'."

there's no way I didn't take a tone. i know this. but what did he want from me? was I supposed to run and make more ice for him? was I supposed to fix the machine that's been broken for two years? was I supposed to stand next to him and look at the machine and say: "I too, can not read, let me stand next to you, and we'll both look stupid."? Or did I need to point out the sign that is at eye level that already answers that question?

He was not happy with my response. He threw a curt "smartass" my way and then stormed around the store. I could see this guy just seething with rage. As he stalked in front of the soda cooler doors, he glared, and I could see him trying to think of something to say in response. I knew something was coming. he could have easily crushed me, so I had to prepare myself, and watch the lip.

he grabbed two giant mountain dews, put them on the counter and handed me a five with drywall and paint crusted hands. he sneered smugly as he spoke.

"Well, at least I've got a high paid gas station employee to tell me that."

I looked him dead in the eye.

"Well, yeah, but I own this place."

oh, how his face fell. oh, how difficult it was to keep the smirk on my mug from creaking into laughter as I made change for him. I've never uttered the phrase "I own this place" in the ten odd years that my family has had the gas station, as I find discussion about inheritance and the like uncomfortable.

but goddamnit, did that feel good.

A while back in my old job, the company moved to a new building, and everyone got new fancy direct extensions with our new fancy (actually, shitty, but new) phone system. For some reason, the new local phone company office had a policy to turn over disconnected phone numbers much more quickly than is standard, so everyone was getting a lot of calls for the old owners of the phone numbers assigned to their desk phone. Mostly creditors, of course. I was getting a lot of calls from some doctors office for some woman--I hope it was from their billing dept, and not "we have the results of your test" or something.

Anyway, the guy sitting next to me (let's call him Dave, because that is his name) kept getting calls for an auto parts store that I'm pretty sure had closed its doors. He would get these extremely irate and entertaining voicemails at odd hours, when he wasn't at work, from some guy screaming about "WHERE THE FUCK ARE MY BREAK PADS ASSHOLE!" and so forth, for about an entire week or more. This guy obviously didn't listen to the message saying the name of the business, which was nowhere near sounding like an auto parts store.

Finally the guy called when Dave was at his desk. He recognized the number in the caller ID and was excited to get to talk to the irate dumbass finally, so he answered. He says "Hello, Dave's Auto Parts, Dave speaking, how may I help you?" in his most chipper voice possible. The guy just launches into him on the other end with "LISTEN DAVE I DON'T KNOW WHO YOU THINK YOU'RE FUCKING WITH, BUT I WANT MY FUCKING BREAK PADS AND I WANT THEM NOW!!!" and so on and so forth. Finally, Dave is able to get a word in and says, still very calm and nicely, "I'm sorry, sir, this is actually a company called (name_of_business), we're not an auto parts store. I've gotten your messages but you never call when I'm in the office. What number are you trying to call?" And the guy reads off Dave's direct number, still all pissed, still cussing him out. Dave says "I'm sorry, we just moved to this building, that's my direct line, so maybe they disconnected their phone. Check to see if that company is still around and what their new number is." But the guy still keeps cussing him out, just letting him have it. So Dave hangs up, laughing, and tells me the story.

The guy never did call back, but I'm sure he probably has a list of "People to Kill" with Dave's name as #1, all written with a red sharpie on a piece of toilet paper.