Spoolmeister
Just reminded me. I used to work in a pet shop, too. I'd had a few days off before hand, so had no idea about what this chap was talking about.

Anyway. He'd come in to the shop, saying he wanted to complain about a bird he'd been sold from said shop.

Problem being, that said bird is known to hibernate. Explained this to the customer. Customer didn't believe me. So I rattle the cage that the bird is in. Bird moves. Job done, right? Wrong. Customer thinks that the bird only moved because I shook the cage. Sigh.

The customer is almost apoplectic with rage now, takes the bird out of the cage and twats it on the counter. "Now that's what I call a dead parrot". Thing was, I've no idea how he'd managed to do it, but the bird was still breathing. The bird was probably pining for the fjords or something - I'm no expert on them.

The customer was almost having a prolapse now, spouting on "'E's a stiff! Bereft of life, 'e rests in peace! If you hadn't nailed 'im to the perch 'e'd be pushing up the daisies!
'Is metabolic processes are now 'istory! 'E's off the twig! 'E's kicked the bucket, 'e's shuffled off 'is mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisibile!" (Did I mention the shop was in London?). I was getting a bit tired now and really just wanted the guy to fuck off, so offered to replace the bird.

Go out the back, have a look, none left. Bugger. Only thing left is a slug. I offer it to the customer, who says "Pray tell, does it talk?"

It's a slug. What do you think? Obviously, being in a customer service role, I sweeten it up with a "Er, not really". In the end, I just ask him to go to the other shop that the owner has in Bolton.

Sigh. Customers, eh?
( shadyron, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 12:29, 1 reply)

Mr Cleese?
That you?
( rofl harris, Thu 11 Sep 2008, 13:06, closed)