Gyula

(I’m taking the food to an eight-top table, and everyone gets their food. One customer has ordered a breakfast sandwich on a bagel. The way that we make the sandwiches is by wrapping the meat and cheese in the eggs. It’s basically a folded omelet placed on a bagel. I can tell that the man is a little confused looking at his food, so I wait for him to ask the question.)

Customer: “I ordered bacon. Where is the bacon?”

Me: “The bacon is wrapped up in the eggs, and you will find it as soon as you bite into it.”

(I then go on to ask if there is anything else I can do for the table. For the most part, everyone is fine, and I only have to get a couple of drink refills. However, before I am able to turn around to leave, he asks again:)

Customer: “Where is my bacon? I ordered bacon on my sandwich?!”

Me: *looking at him in the eye* “Sir, it is wrapped up inside the eggs. I promise it is there.”

(I make a quick exit to get the refills and then come back. When I return, I notice that he still has not touched his food, and I am beginning to feel a little annoyed. Unsurprisingly, the first thing he says when I walk in the room is:)

Customer: “I ordered bacon on my sandwich, and there is no bacon on my sandwich.”

(Once again I let him know that the bacon is in fact on the sandwich, and that he can’t see it because it is wrapped up in the eggs. Other people at the table begin to ask me random questions about the restaurant and the area, but in the background, all I can hear is him asking for his bacon. I finally turn to the man, and in a rather harsh voice say:)

Me: “Sir, the bacon is wrapped up in the eggs. Could you please either take a bite of your sandwich or cut it in half to verify that the bacon is there before I leave?”

(The table was completely quiet and was staring at me. He took a bite of the sandwich, and found that there was, in fact, bacon in the eggs!)

(A customer comes up to my register with a cart full of various sizes of picture frames.)

Me: “Hello! Did you find everything?”

Customer: “Yes.”

(She just stands there, not taking anything out of her cart, just looking at me.)

Me: “Good! You can go on and put those smaller frames up here on the counter. And I’ll just need you to lift up the large ones so that I can reach the barcode on the bottom.”

Customer: “You have to scan them?”

Me: “Yep! If you are wanting to buy them, that is!”

(I smile and laugh my hollow ‘customer laugh.’)

Customer: “Oh, I thought… I didn’t know the scanning was necessary.”

Me: “It’s how our registers know what you’re buying and charge you the correct amount. So you can just hand those small frames to me, and I’ll scan those, then we’ll get to the big ones. The small ones I can also wrap and bag for you.”

Customer: “You mean I have to help you?”

Me: “Well, that is the fastest way to check out. If you cannot lift them, though, I can come around and get them.”

Customer: “I just don’t understand any of this…”

(I give up and just take everything out of her cart myself, as a line is forming.)

Customer: “What are you doing?! I have never had such rude service.”

Me: “Ma’am, if you want to buy these, I have to ring them up. That’s all I’m doing.”

Customer: “Whatever. Okay, these are all 40% off.”

Me: “Yes, you’re right. Their sale prices are just up here on the screen. And with that sale, your total comes to [total].”

Customer: “I don’t believe that’s the sale price.”

Me: *internal sigh* “Well, see, for example, this frame was originally [price]. When you take 40% off of that price, it comes to [total], as displayed on the screen.”

Customer: “Fine, whatever. I’ll double check the math when I get home. And I want to use a coupon.”

Me: “Okay, sure! I just need to scan the barcode on it. Do you have a printed coupon or is it on your phone?”

Customer: “What? I don’t understand.”

Me: “I need the coupon to scan it, ma’am.”

Customer: “Why? Just take the amount off. I’d like a 30% one, please.”

Me: “I cannot apply a discount, then, ma’am. We have to scan the coupon for you to receive the discount. If you wish to come back tomorrow with the coupon and get a price adjustment, though, we can certainly do that for you. But the only available coupon for your purchases is a 10% one.”

Customer: “Oh, I guess I’ll come back in. That’s poor service, though.”

Me: “I’m sorry you feel that way. Now how will you be paying?”

(As she runs her credit card through the card reader, I start wrapping her frames in paper to protect them.)

Customer: “What are you doing?! You’re hurting them!”

Me: “I’m wrapping paper around them to protect them from scratching one another.”

Customer: “No, no, no, stop!” *she throws them in her cart with a crash*

Me: “Okay, you just need to sign this receipt for me and you’re all done.”

Customer: “No. I don’t sign things.”

Me: *using my stern ‘mom voice’* “Then your transaction is not complete and you cannot leave with these items.”

(She stares at me for a while and finally gives in with a huff. She leaves, muttering about poor service. Everyone in line behind her is wide-eyed with confusion, and the next few customers comment on how it seems like she’s never been in a store before. Then she reappears with her husband, holding one of the larger frames).

Customer: “I’d like to trade this frame for another. It has scratches.”

(I definitely gave her a quick, evil stare, but the frame is question is very easily scratched and it’s our policy to let customers trade them out.)

Me: “Okay, sure. If you want to just leave that one up here, you can go on back and pick another one. If you pick a different style, we’ll have to run an exchange through the system.”

(She leaves her frame and husband with me. It’s now 10 minutes to close, and we have a long line of customers. Her husband stands in front of my till browsing a magazine).

Me: “Sir, if you will step to the end of my register here, I will check out a few of these other guests. We need to be closing soon, so I need to help everyone get out of the store. When your wife returns, I’ll do whatever needs to be done to process her frame.”

(He throws his hands up in disgust and makes an exasperated noise, but doesn’t move.)

Customer #2: *barreling up with a cart* “Outta my way. You aren’t doing a d*** thing!

(She shoves her cart into him until he moves. I don’t say anything, because I’m too annoyed and trying not to laugh.)

Customer #2: *to me* “There you go, love. What’s wrong with him? He a zombie?”

(I ring up five guests before the original customer finally returns. Luckily, she’s got the same type of frame as the one she purchased, so I’m allowed to let her take it without doing anything in the register system.)

Me: “Okay, awesome. Looks like that is exactly the same type of frame, so you can just take that and go! We don’t need to do anything else!”

Customer: “What? You’re trying to make me steal!”

Me: “What…? No, no I’m not. You’re leaving with essentially the same item as you brought back, minus a small scratch. I promise, it’s fine. Thank you, and have a good night!”

(She and her husband stand there a minute complaining about me, then go stand in front of the automatic sliding doors, which slide open for them. They don’t move, talk, anything. They just stand there).

Customer: “HOW ARE WE SUPPOSED TO GET OUT OF YOUR D*** STORE?!”

(Everyone in the area just stares, shocked. I have had it, so I just turn around and call up the next customer to my register.)

Customer #3: “Never have I so enjoyed waiting in line at this store! What a show! It was like an SNL skit or something! I’m gonna write to the Pope, tell him you should be sainted. You acted so pleasant the whole time, with just the perfect touch of ‘rage boiling under the surface.’”

(The original customers must have figured a way out of the OPEN DOOR THAT THEY HAD ALREADY USED THREE TIMES, because we didn’t find them inside after we closed!)

Sziasztok, kérnék egy lehallgató berendezést a lakásomba, megoldható? És volt akinek még a kinecttel volt baja.

Customer: “Can you recommend a book for my son?”

Me: “Sure, how old is he?”

Customer: “Three.”

Me: “Okay. What’s he into?”

Customer: “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him in five years.”

Me: “Um, he’s three?”

Customer: “That’s what I said.”

Me: “But… you haven’t seen him in five years?”

Customer: “Yeah, messy divorce. I just moved back to Seattle. I used to read him bedtime stories.”

Me: “How old was he?”

Customer: “You know, like a toddler.”

Me: “I think you’re missing something. He was three when you left, but it’s five years later. Your son is eight now…”

(It is near the end of my shift and I am cleaning the bathrooms in my section. The only event currently going on is being held at the other end of the building; there are two other sets of bathrooms and several closed doors between the event and my area. Nonetheless, out of habit, I have put up the “CLOSED FOR CLEANING” sign in the doorway of the women’s bathroom. It’s a bright yellow sign, on a bright yellow safety bar, that is at chest level so that people can’t just walk underneath it. I have just finished cleaning the mirrors and sinks. As I turn away from the mirrors, a woman walks in.)

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry, but this bathroom is closed.”

Woman: “What? Why?”

Me: “Because I’m cleaning it.”

Woman: “Well, you should have a sign up!”

Me: “Uh, I do. Right across the doorway”

Woman: “Well, that doesn’t apply to me! I have to go!”

Me: “Are you with the group on the other side of the church?”

Woman: “YES! Now let me use the bathroom!”

Me: “Ma’am, you would have had to pass by two other bathrooms on the way down here. Those were much closer to your event.”

Woman: “I wanted to use this one!”

(My bathrooms aren’t that special; they’re the oldest bathrooms in the building. The ones by her event are much nicer and had been renovated only a year ago. One toilet in my bathroom is also out of order, while we wait for a back-ordered part to come in.)

Me: “All right, fine.”

(She tries to go into the stall with the big ‘OUT OF ORDER’ sign. The stall is locked AND taped shut, since people had been ignoring the sign most of the week and unlocking the stall. Thus far, the tape had deterred them.)

Woman: “Why can’t I get in here?! I want in! I have to go!”

Me: “Ma’am, that stall is out of order. The toilet doesn’t work. That’s why there’s a sign and the door is taped shut. There are seven other stalls that are just fine.”

Woman: *huffing* “FINE!”

(I go out to my cart to take inventory of what I need to restock before I leave, while I wait for her to finish. A few minutes later, she comes barreling out, knocking my sign out of the doorway.)

Woman: “Your toilet is broken!” *storms off down the hall*

(I rolled my eyes, put the sign back, and went to clean whichever toilet she used, figuring she had probably gotten the one with the finicky flusher. She hadn’t. What she had done was unlock the out of order stall and ripped the tape down… and then ripped down the out of order sign, tossed it in the toilet, and urinated and defecated on it. I had to call my shift supervisor down to turn the water back on to that toilet so I could clean it, which left me with a flooded floor from the huge leak that had necessitated closing that toilet in the first place.)

A nice looking couple brought their computer in for repair.

Client: It just stopped working.

They added offhandedly that they been smelling a “plastic” smell, and had also recently replaced a missing slot cover.

I nodded, outlined my usual fees and told them to expect a call when I’m done.

I cracked it open, but nothing could have prepared me for what I’d uncovered. Dildos. Dildos everywhere. Melted dildos everywhere.
They seemed a little surprised when I called them back in, and looked downright mortified when I showed them the cause of their computer trouble.

It turns out that their toddler found mommy and daddy’s fun-time stash and jammed the computer full of dildos, which had melted from the heat. It looked like a Jell-o factory had exploded in there.

Even worse, they turned to me, and asked:

Client: But you can still fix it, right?

Client: Hi, I got this email. What does it mean?

I look up his file and find the email, which spells out the situation very clearly.

Me: I’m looking at what we sent you. Where’s the confusion?

Client: Oh, I didn’t read it; I’m just wondering what it is for.

Me: Why don’t you take a moment to read it?

A few moments go by.

Client: Okay! Thanks for your help! Bye!

When I was a kid and my mom would bake cookies, there was an unwritten rule that my sister and I would get to lick the beaters when my mom was done. This usually happened in the midst of holiday baking, and I have such fond memories of hanging out in the kitchen, waiting for her to be done with the mixer so that I could swipe some of that sweet, sugary cookie dough off the beater. At some point along the way, raw cookie dough became bad news amidst worries over salmonella. I don’t think my mom ever made us stop eating cookie dough, but it sure took some of the fun out of it! Luckily, this sweet dip tastes almost exactly like raw cookie dough (minus the gritty, sugary texture), which means all the sinful goodness without the raw eggs!

Almost ten years ago, one of my best friends and I were lucky enough to work at the same place. We routinely used our work breaks to bring binders full of recipes to the corporate cafeteria and swap favorites. This recipe was one of the recipes that she gifted to me during one of those escapes from the cubicle, and it continues to be one of my favorites.

I love that it’s not a straight-up dessert, but rather an awesome sweet snack that’s perfect for get-togethers. If you grew up stealing bites of your mom’s cookie dough, you’ll absolutely love this dip!

One year ago: Compost Cookies
Two years ago: Pumpkin Seed Brittle with Vanilla Bean and Cardamom
Four years ago: The Best Chocolate Buttercream Frosting
Five years ago: Egg Bagels

Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough Dip

Yield: 6 to 8 servings

Prep Time: 15 minutes

Total Time: 15 minutes

A sweet, creamy dip that tastes just like chocolate chip cookie dough without the guilt of raw egg!

Ingredients:

½ cup unsalted butter, cut into small pieces
⅓ cup light brown sugar
Pinch of salt
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
8 ounces cream cheese
½ cup powdered sugar
¾ cup semisweet mini chocolate chips
Graham crackers or Nilla wafers, to serve

Directions:

1. In a small saucepan, melt the butter, brown sugar and salt over medium-low heat, stirring continuously, until the brown sugar dissolves. Remove from the heat, whisk in the vanilla extract, and set aside to cool to room temperature.

2. With an electric mixer on medium speed, beat the cream cheese and powdered sugar for 1 minute, until smooth and fluffy.

3. Reduce the mixer speed to low and slowly beat in the cooled butter mixture. Increase the speed to medium and beat for 1 minute. Stir in the chocolate chips.

4. Transfer the dip to a serving bowl and refrigerate if not serving immediately. Remove from the refrigerator 15 to 30 minutes before serving. Serve with graham crackers or Nilla wafers. Leftovers can be stored in the refrigerator for up to 5 days.

(A family walks in and gets some cigarettes and snacks. They walk to their vehicle and after ten minutes, the father, who was pretty rude earlier, walks back inside.)

Me: “Hello.”

Customer: “I need a new pack of cigarettes.”

Me: “Okay, sir, which kind?”

Customer: *tells me name of the cigarettes*

(I go to ring them up, at which point he stops me.)

Customer: “No, no, no! I want to exchange the ones I just bought for those!”

Me: “Okay, sir, may I have the other pack?”

(The customer hands me the opened, and half-gone pack of cigarettes.)

Me: “Sir, once these are opened, I am not allowed to return or exchange them.”

Customer: *angrily* “THIS IS AMERICA!”

(I am slightly thrown off and just stare for a moment. He widens his eyes and tilts his head forward wanting a response.)

Me: “Sir, I know this is America, but with THAT logic, I can go to a bank, rob it, scream ‘THIS IS AMERICA,’ and run out with no repercussions. This IS most definitely America, but we have rules and policies here that we still have to follow.”

Customer:“I have the receipt!!”

Me: *knowing full-well he declined the receipt when I offered it to him* “Sir, even with a receipt I cannot return an opened and incomplete item to the shelf.”

Customer: “Give me my receipt!”

(I print it out and hand it to him. He leaves and his son enters.)

Son: “I need to exchange these.” *lays receipt on counter*

(At this point I am very agitated.)

Me: “Sir, I cannot exchange or return open and incomplete items.”

Son: “But I have a receipt!”

Me: “Sir, I’m sorry but it doesn’t matter. The cigarettes are open and several have been taken out. All I can do is ring up a new pack.”

Son: “Can I have my money back for these, then?”

Me: “No, sir, the pack is opened and some are missing.”

Son: “Well, I’ll just keep the pack. You just give me my money!”

Me: “That’s not how this works. I can’t give you a refund and let you keep the pack. But I can’t give you a refund on incomplete and used items anyway.”

(At this point THE WHOLE family comes in and is yelling at me in another language, screaming occasionally ‘This is America!’ and ‘I know my rights!’)

Son: “We want to see the policy that states you can’t take these back and give us a refund.”

Me: “It isn’t written anywhere. It’s common sense.”

Son: “I want to speak to a manager!”

(Only one person is on shift at a time. Managers are not on site either.)

Me: “No managers are currently on site, sir.”

(This is also at 12 am and we are directed to leave any complaining customers with the store phone number and a time when managers will be available.)

Son: “Then give me their personal number!”

Me: “At 12 am? Sir, I can guarantee if you call them at 12 am, you will not get what you are wanting. Besides, we are not allowed to give customers personal numbers. I can give you the store number and a time when a manager will be available, but that’s really all I can do.”

Son: “I’m calling the cops, then.”

Me: “That’s fine. Please do.”

Son: “You are a horrible employee!”

Me: “Tell me, would YOU buy a pack of cigarettes that was ready opened? Or want to even use a pack of cigarettes that someone you know nothing about opened and touched?”

Son: “…no.”

Me: “Exactly. So why would you expect someone else to do the same?”

Son: “THIS IS AMERICA!”

(The year is 1998. The South Park movie just came out and tons of kids attempting to sneak in to see it. I’m now seeing a mother and son.)

Mother: “Hey, I’d like two tickets for South Park: Bigger, Longer, and Uncut please.”

(I look at the son, who appears to be no older than five years old.)

Me: “Um… ma’am. I’d hate to inform you, but this movie is not suitable for your child as it’s rated-R.”

Mother: “Why not?”

Me: “First off, even though it’s a cartoon, it’s NOT made for kids as it’s filled with swearing, offensive humor, and general themes not appropriate for kids. Second, South Park is well known by many parents throughout the state for its controversy.”

Mother: “I don’t care. It’s a cartoon, so it’s for kids.”

Kid: “Yeah! Adults are too old for cartoons.”

Me: *sigh* “Enjoy the show…”

(20 minutes later, the parent shows up again with her kid, visibly angry.)

Mother: “WHY DIDN’T YOU TELL ME THIS WASN’T A KIDS’ MOVIE?!”

Me: “Ma’am, I told you explicitly that this wasn’t for kids, but you ignored me as ‘cartoons are only for kids.’”

Kid: “MOM! TAKE ME BACK TO THE F****** MOVIE, YOU UNCLE F********!”

Mother: “You do not use that language with me, [Kid]! GET ME THE MANAGER NOW!”

Me: “Okay!”

Manager: “What’s the problem here, [My Name]?”

Me: “This woman is rather mad here?”

Manager: “Okay, what’s up?”

Mother: “This movie was not suitable for my child!”

Manager: “Which one?”

Son: “TAKE ME BACK TO WATCH THE F****** SOUTH PARK F****** MOVIE, MOMMY!”

Manager: “I think that answers my question. Ma’am, I believe [My Name] did tell you that this movie is not suitable for your child.”

Mother: “It’s a d*** cartoon. It should be for kids only. That’s made to corrupt the youth!” *she then hits the manager with her purse*

Manager: “Ma’am, please refrain from unruly behavior.”

(She then punches me in the face, and starts to harass me verbally.)

Manager: “I’ve had enough. GET OUT!”

Mother: “Why the h*** should I?! Give me back my f****** money, b****!”

Manager: “You’re harassing us and you’ve hurt my employee. Now get out or else I’ll call the police and you will be banned from the theater!”

Mother: “I think you’re mistaken.”

(She then attacked other customers. We called the police and she was arrested. She was sentenced to a month in jail.)

(My coworker and I are discussing Harry Potter: which book was our favorite, which movie, what we would have liked to have seen in the movies, etc. when a customer walks in.)

Customer: *scowling at us* “You shouldn’t read those books. They teach the devil’s work!”

(My coworker and I reply at the same time.)

Coworker: “Not really.”

Me: “Not in the slightest.”

Customer: “YES, THEY ARE! They have magic in them so they teach the devil’s work!”

Me: *smiling* “Humor me here, okay?”

Customer: “Okay.”

Me: “Your little girl watches Disney, right? And she really loves the Disney Princesses, right?”

Customer: *proudly* “Yes! She’s growing up on good, wholesome family movies like I did!”

Me: “Okay, so she loves the Princess movies. Who is her favorite?”

Customer: “Right now it’s Rapunzel.”

Me: “You mean the Disney Princess who has magical hair because her mother ate a magical plant to save her when she was pregnant with Rapunzel? The same Rapunzel who was kidnapped by a witch and kept in a tower?”

Customer: “Yes! The witch was evil! She wanted to use Rapunzel’s magical hair all for herself.”

Me: “Right. Rapunzel’s magical hair that healed people when she sang.”

Customer: *snottily* “What’s your point?”

Me: “My point is that you let your child watch Disney movies that are full of talking animals, magical hair, enchanted furniture, etcetera, etcetera, but you don’t think my coworker and I should read Harry Potter because it has magic in it, making it the devil’s work.”

Customer: “That’s right!”

Me: “You see the flaw in your logic, right?”

Customer: *loudly* “There is no flaw! Magic is evil and that’s that!”

Me: *rubbing my temples* “Right. Did you actually need anything tonight?”

Customer: “No! I think I’ll go to the dollar store down the street instead!”

Me: “You do that, ma’am.”

(Two customers approach the counter, the first being a tall, bald man and the second being an elderly lady.)

Customer: “Hi. I’m every customer ever, and I have a bunch of stupid questions and unreasonable demands.”

Me: “Hi. I’m every employee ever, and I present a negative attitude as well as an unforgivable ignorance of both the products my employer sells and how to conduct myself civilly with other human beings.”

Customer: “Like an idiot, I have approached you with no idea what I want. But I nevertheless expect you to keep your full attention on me while I waste your time.”

Me: “That’s fine. I’ve already tuned you out and began to sing the theme song to Duck Tales to myself in my head as you bring us collectively closer to death without having accomplished anything meaningful.”

Customer: “Regarding [liquor], I will now proceed to barrage you with questions about it that either you have no way of knowing, or which I should already d*** well know the answers to.”

(I hand him a bottle of the liquor he mentioned and start to ring it up.)

Me: “I respond to your worthless questions with vague and unsatisfying responses, as my cranial faculties are occupied with lewd and lascivious irrelevancies. That will be [price], you personification of the downfall of western civilization.”

Customer: “I object to the price quoted, even though it is clearly indicated on the shelf behind you, and suggest some sort of extortion on your part, undoubtedly fueled by prejudice towards some aspect of my appearance, race, culture, or creed.”

Me: “Although mentally I am most certainly questioning your intelligence, parentage and/or upbringing, I merely offer transparently insincere apologies.”

Customer: “I proclaim in brash and vulgar terms my dissatisfaction. I make a laughable and grandiose claim of my own importance, such as being a millionaire, the brother of your company’s CEO, or perhaps the good old-fashioned ‘Do you have any idea who I am?’ I further suggest that I could have you fired effortlessly and fully intend to do so for the insufficient quantity of butt-kissing you have exhibited toward me over the course of this transaction.”

Me: “I sadly inform you that my superior is not present on the premises and unhelpfully refer you to the company help line. Quietly I memorize the details of your face so that I can fantasize about committing acts of unspeakable and grotesque violence toward same at some later date.”

(The customer begins walking out the door.)

Customer: “Vague and impotent threat to your person and questioning of your sexual orientation!”

Me: “Sarcastic suggestion to have a nice day!”

(He walks out the door. The old lady behind him looks thoroughly perplexed by our exchange.)

Old Lady: “Who was that?”

Me: *shrugging* “My manager.”

Wallpaper Download

(It is my first day working the customer service desk, and a customer is cussing and yelling because I can’t do a return for him. One of my coworkers, famous for being very patient and good with difficult customers, happens to wander by. I’m nervous, so I flag her over.)

Coworker: “Oh, [My Name], do you want some help?”

Customer: “Help?! I need help! That f***** b**** won’t take back my return! This is s***!”

Coworker: “Did you call the manager?”

Me: “Yeah, and he said we couldn’t do anything.”

Customer: “And that’s bulls***!”

(My coworker looks unimpressed. I explain why we can’t do the return to her.)

Coworker: “Hmm. Okay, well, I know he said no, but I think he’s actually wrong. I’ll take care of this. Sir, will you come with me?”

Customer: “No! I’m standing here at this d*** desk until you fix my d*** problem!”

Coworker: “Okay. Suit yourself.”

(The customer keeps swearing and yelling until my coworker returns.)

Coworker: “Okay, we’re going to make an exception. Boss’s orders.”

Customer: “Finally! I’ve been here for f***** ever!”

(I do the return, and as I’m about to hand the customer his money, my coworker holds her hand up to stop me.)

Coworker: “Sir, I want to make it very clear that if I had any choice at all, I wouldn’t do this for you, and if you EVER come in here again and swear or yell at my coworkers, my boss, or me, I will personally see that you are escorted from this store, by the police if necessary. You should be ashamed of yourself for acting like this and making [My Name] feel like she’s not doing a good job because she is doing a marvellous one.”

Customer: “I… I’m sorry.”

Coworker: “No, you aren’t, and quite frankly, I don’t care. I’ve said my piece. Now here is your money, Sir. Have a splendid Thanksgiving.”

(I’m working at my till when an old lady in a wheelchair approaches me. Our rabbit hutches are situated right next to our office that keeps the safe inside.)

Customer: “Hello, dear. I was wondering if you could give me some advice about your rabbit hutches.”

Me: “Of course. Is it just for one rabbit or two?”

Customer: “Oh, it would be two.”

(I take her over to the hutches and show her around explaining the features of each one.)

Customer: “I don’t have much room in my husband’s car and I really need one for today. Do you sell them un-built?”

Me: “I can grab a flat packed one from out the back if you’d like?”

Customer: “Could you bring one out to show me so I can see if it will fit?”

(I run out to our storage area and grab a flat-packed version of the hutch she had asked for. When I bring it out her attitude has completely changed.)

Me: “Here you go. This is the one. It’s really simple to build and will only take ten minutes.”

Customer: “FOR GOD’S SAKE. HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO GRAB ONE GODD*** ITEM FOR ME?! DON’T BOTHER WITH IT. I’LL JUST GO SOMEWHERE ELSE WHERE THEY DON’T TREAT THEIR CUSTOMERS LIKE S***!”

(I stand there in stunned silence as the customer quickly leaves the store, cursing frequently under her breath. Later on my manager, who ran home from work, couldn’t find his trainers which he leaves in the office. We decide to look on the CCTV to check if anyone has moved them. The video shows me walking off to get the hutch for the customer. When I leave she proceeds to get out of her wheelchair, enter the office (which has a combination lock on it), and try to open the safe. After failing to open it she grabs my manager’s trainers, shoves them in her handbag, and returns to the wheelchair.)

Manager: “Who the h*** was she?”

Me: “I think I almost sold the Devil a rabbit hutch today…”

[@themichaelrock]

Since 2001, artist and illustrator David Zinn has stalked the streets of Ann Arbor, Michigan, creating temporary illustrations with chalk and charcoal. Zinn improvises each piece on the spot and makes use of found objects, street fixtures, and stairsteps to create trompe l’oeil illusions. These are some of our favorite pieces from the last few months, but you can see plenty more on Facebook and in his 2013 book Lost & Unfounded: Street Art by David Zinn. All photos courtesy the artist. (via Street Art Utopia)

magnus-thegreat-redundancy:

I believe that every american should at least watch this monologue from The Newsroom

Guest: “I need directions.”

Me: “Okay. To where?”

Guest: “To [Address].”

(The address she was giving me was on the very same street our hotel is on, and I knew the place well.)

Me: “Oh, I know where that is. You just make a left from the hotel, and—”

Guest: *very seriously* “Don’t tell me what to do! I’m not your slave!”

Me: “Um… I never said you were.”

Guest: “Then don’t tell me what to DO, then!”

Me: “Um…okay.”

(Silently, I use directions from the Internet, print it up, and hand it over.)

Me: “Here you go.”

Guest: “Thanks!”

(I saw her a few minutes later, complaining to someone on her phone about ‘a piece of paper that’s telling her what to do.’)

(I work in a cafe that also serves gelato. We also make ice cream cakes which are entirely made of ice cream. We just put layers of different flavors in a pan, freeze it and unmold it. To prevent any sort of misunderstanding, we also put a big sticker on each box saying ‘keep frozen.’ Even then, the concept seems to be hard to get for some customers. A customer that bought a cake four hours ago rushes into the shop looking really angry.)

Customer: “I want to have a refund! The cake you sold me did not work!”

Me: “What do you mean, it did not work?”

Customer: “Your cake melted before I could serve it to my guests! I want a refund!”

Me: “Did you leave the cake on the counter for a little while before serving it to your guests?”

Customer: “Of course not! I’m not an idiot! When I put it out of the fridge it was already melted!”

Me: “Wait… what? You left the cake in the fridge?”

Customer: “Yes, I did!”

Me: “But, sir, it needs to be kept in the freezer. It’s ice cream!”

Customer: “And?”

Me: “Ice cream needs to be kept frozen if you don’t want it to melt!”

Customer: “You really think I am stupid? I know ice cream melt! We are talking about a cake!”

Me: “Yes, a cake made of ice cream.”

Customer: “And?”

Me: “Like ice cream it needs to be kept in a freezer.”

Customer: “But it’s a cake!”

Me: A cake made of ice cream!”

Customer: *pause*

Me: (pause)

Customer: “But it’s a cake!”

onlylolgifs:

Kids Who Lost The Fight Against Sleep

Client: Please use the attached file as the logo in my website header.

The file was a crooked cellphone photo of a computer screen where the client had typed the name of their company in Comic Sans using the Vistaprint design-your-own-card function.

(I am an engineer working the tech support line. I should also add that I’m the only female engineer in a department of all male engineers. I answer a support call:)

Me: “Thank you for calling the engineering support line. How can I help you?”

Customer: “I need to talk to an engineer.”

Me: “Sure, what’s your question?”

Customer: “Well, I’d like to tell it to an engineer.”

Me: “No problem, what can I help you with?”

Customer: “No, you don’t understand. I want to speak directly to the engineer.”

Me: “Sir, I’m an engineer.”

Customer: “You are?!”

Me: “Yes.”

Customer: “But… you’re a girl!”

Me:  *in a Valley Girl voice* “‘Ohmygosh, I know! Isn’t that amazing?”

I work as an in-house graphic designer. I build ads and marketing campaigns using resources from our vendors. The client, in this case, is an internationally famous candy maker.

Me: The image you sent me is really low resolution. Can you please provide me with a hi-res jpeg or .eps?

(I receive the same 72dpi image again)

Me: This is still very low resolution. Your ad space is rather large and this will look like a postage stamp on a billboard. Please send a larger image.

Client: I’m not sure if you’re familiar with MS Word, but if you put the jpeg in there, you can just click the corners of the image and make it bigger.

Well, I guess I can’t argue with that…

Trey learned two things about me early on in our relationship. First, I'm the kind of gal that if a server asks if I want to look at the dessert menu, I say yes. It doesn't hurt to look, right? And second, he learned that if crème brûlée is on that dessert menu, I'm going to order it. 

This version of crème brûlée features a healthy dose of espresso flavor. Honestly, it sort of tastes like a vanilla latte. I highly recommend serving these on a tray filled with coffee beans. The added aroma will totally impress whoever you are serving this to. And when they aren't looking, you can totally pour the beans back into the bag and save them for your morning coffee. That's exactly what I did. :)

Espresso Crème Brûlée, makes 6-8 depending on your ramekin size.

2 cups heavy cream
2 teaspoons espresso powder
1/4 cup sugar
4 egg yolks
1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract
1/4 cup to 1/3 cup super fine (baker's) sugar

Heat the heavy cream over medium heat, whisking to dissolve the espresso powder. Remove from heat and allow to cool to room temperature.

In a bowl combine the egg yolks and sugar. Stir for a couple minutes until the mixture turns from bright yellow to a paler yellow. Slowly whisk in the heavy cream-espresso mixture and the vanilla extract. Pour the batter into your ramekins. 

Place the ramekins in a large casserole dish or a baking sheet with a tall lip. Fill the baking dish with water so the ramekins are half submerged in the water. Bake at 325°F for 45-48 minutes. The custard should look set but have a slight jiggle in the center (like a solid custard). If it seems too liquidy, allow them to cook for a few more minutes. Ramekin size can really make a difference here, so use your best judgement. Take care when removing the baking dish from the oven as the water will be very hot. You do not want to splash it on your skin.

Allow the custards to cool. Then cover and refrigerate for at least two hours or overnight. Before serving, sprinkle a thin layer of sugar over the top and caramelize with a kitchen torch or under the broiler. Enjoy! xo. Emma

Credits // Author and Photography: Emma Chapman. Photos edited with The Signature Collection.