» Customers from Hell

I work in a sweet shop
It is the sort with rows of jars of sweets on shelves, that I have to weigh out for the customer, the sort everyone seems to remember from their childhood. Hence the comments:
"Gosh, I don't suppose you remember any of these, do you?"
"I'm like a kid in a sweet shop, hahahahahahahahaha."
"Oh, I suppose it's all in grams now, I don't suppose you know what a quarter is, do you?"
"They were bigger when I was a kid"
"Oooh, penny chews! Of course, they used to be four for a penny when I was a girl"
"They don't make those any more, we'd better get some." (to which I usually reply, "no, they stopped making them in 1988, and am almost always believed.)
And of course, the ever hilarious:
"Can we still pay in old money?" (usually said by a fat, balding, middle aged to elderly man who insist on making eye contact about a foot too low.)
The only amusement I have ever gained from these comments is through a list of the most common. With it, I play "Sweet shop bingo:" whenever someone says one, instead of yelling, "That's not funny, you utter, utter imbicile!" in their face, I tick it off. I play this with another worker there: each time we get a full house, the other has to buy them a bag of sweets.
(Thu 4th Sep 2008, 19:27, More)

» Heckles

Prejudice
When I was incredibly young and innocent, I went to a folk festival with my family. I went into one of the venues to see an act that I had seen before. However, the MC announced that the person I wanted to see would be on a bit later than scheduled, as the act before her had arrived late.

Cue a "comedy" act consisting of a woman in a wheelchair moaning about how horrible and inconsiderate able bodied people were.

Bearing in mind that this was a family event, and she came on shouting about festival condoms, about a quarter of the audience left within the first few minutes, including me.

I later heard from the doorman that the comedian - I forget her name, but she called herself the "wild woman on wheels" - did not get heckled at all. Instead, the whole audience gradually walked out, leaving her on stage without a clue that there was nobody there, carrying on with her act. I heard the next year that she refused to return, telling the organisers that they were prejudiced against disabled people. She honestly didn't realise how shit she really was.

pop
(Thu 6th Apr 2006, 19:35, More)

» Siblings

I have a fairly large family:
three brothers, two half brothers and a half sister. My half sister and half brothers, who were quite a few years older, usually used to visit us at least once a year, although my younger half brother didn't visit for a few years when I was younger, for reasons I am still unsure about. When I was about eight or nine, he started visiting more often, so I got to know him a bit more. He would listen to me playing my guitar, he taught me how to punch properly, and would dance with me at family parties. He was, in my eyes at least, the best big brother ever.
He died when I was 14.
In the weeks after his death, through helping sort through the stuff cleared out from his flat, I think I got to know him more than I ever did before. Through this pile of things that he had left, I found out his tastes in music (which, surprisingly, included Shakira) films (shedloads of animé) and books. It was over a month after he died before his funeral (hit and run, took a few days to identify him, then there had to be an autopsy, which took a while.) I spent the two days before trawling around with my dad, checking the arrangements of things like flowers, music and eulogies. My family asked if I would play during the funeral; I played this, as I was learning it the last time I saw him. I haven't been able to play it since.
Although the time since he died can now be counted in years, I still miss him almost every day. In a way, I have only just come to terms with the fact that he isn't coming back, and I will never see him again. The greatest regret that I have is that I didn't get to know him better.
(Wed 31st Dec 2008, 23:03, More)

» Spoilt Brats

As I have probably mentioned before, I work in a the catering/retail department of a tourist attraction
Many bratty kids, but this one stood out.
The mother was American; they were on holiday visiting the grandparents on the English side of the family. The son started demanding burger and "fries," and when the grandfather (a lovely, patient, white-haired old man) told him that they weren't on the menu and he couldn't have them (a fact that I backed up) he received a kick on the leg - pretty hard, as well. When the grandfather told him off for this, the mother started defending him, while the father just stood meekly by.
They ordered (after persuading the boy to accept fish fingers as a substitute) and sat down to wait for their meal; fairly close to the counter, so I could still hear what was going on. All I could hear throughout the meal was, "Stop that!" "Don't do that!" "Give that to me!" "Why won't you do as I tell you?"
This was the brat talking to his grandparents.
(Thu 9th Oct 2008, 19:42, More)

» Customers from Hell

Wasps
Are during the summer the bane of my working life. I don't mind them so much, but get dirty looks from customers whenever they see them in the shop - which over the last couple of weeks has been just about all the time. I can deal with the wasps - don't bother them and they don't sting - but every so often, there comes a customer who really doesn't like them. I can sympathise with people who are scared of them - but do they really HAVE to wave their arms around and end up, as happened the other day, hitting the wasp straight at me, so that I get stung on the face multiple times? I may be here to serve you, but did you really, really have to then laugh at my pain? It HURTS.
(And yes, I mean you, the bloke in the Man U football shirt with the three kids and the wife/girlfriend/gibbon in a crop top and jeans who looked rather too similar to you.)
(Mon 8th Sep 2008, 20:20, More)