Two guys come in together and order their sandwiches.
Customer #1: “I’ll get the turkey and ham.”
Customer #2: “I’ll just have the turkey.”
Customer #1: *To his friend.* “Why wouldn’t you get the turkey ham!? Ham is the best part of the cow, and you’re missing out!”
The level of disgust [Customer #2] gave [Customer #1] indicated that not only was [Customer #1] being serious, but that he also said stuff like this before.
CONTENT WARNING: Feces
In my part of the US, some explosive diarrhea is going around, and I do mean explosive. I call my boss to tell him I won’t be coming into work today for this reason. I’m what my chain of sandwich store calls a ‘sandwich artist’; we make the sandwich for the customer as they ask for specific ingredients.
Boss: “You need to come into work no matter what.”
Me: “Did you hear my reason why I can’t come in?”
Boss: “No excuses.”
Me: “Okay, but can you line up some blank canvases behind me while I’m making the customer’s sandwiches? Sandwich artist and actual artist!”
Boss: “Huh?”
Me: “I might as well bend over, pull my pants down, and make a Jackson Pollock kinda art every five minutes. Do something creative, eh? If you don’t mind me coming into work with explosive diarrhea, I’m sure the customers won’t either!”
I got the day off…
We closed at 10:30 PM. We’re cleaning up and wiping down when a guy starts banging on the door around 10:50 PM.
Customer: “Hey! The door’s locked!”
Colleague: “Yeah, we’re closed.”
The customer looks at his watch.
Customer: “Oh come on, you closed like five minutes ago! Just make me a quick sandwich!”
Colleague: “We closed twenty minutes ago.”
Customer: “What is twenty except just a collection of four five-minutes?”
I honestly have no idea what he was trying to achieve with that weird logic, but thankfully my colleague is quick at both maths and comebacks:
Colleague: “Well, we reopen in a collection of 132 five-minutes. See you then!”
He turns away from the customer and continues his cleaning task. The customer stares inside for about one tenth of a five-minute chunk, swears, and skulks away.
Customer: “Can I get a six-foot Philly steak?”
Me: “Six… foot?”
Customer: “Six… inches?”
Me: “Haha, I mean, I can do both, but I think six foot might be too big a lunch.”
Customer: “I can’t believe I mixed those words up. I usually get a footlong, so that must be it.”
Me: “Don’t worry about it. One time a guy asked me if I could get him a meat-long mari-baller.”
Customer: “Oh… I don’t feel so bad anymore.”
He must have been having a bad day because when I asked him for the sauce at the end, he said “money hustard” and I didn’t say anything.
I worked at a Jimmy John’s for a while (a place that makes cold sandwiches).
Customer: *Walks up to the counter while on the phone.* “Lemme get a cheese pizza.”
Me: “I’m sorry, we don’t have pizza.”
Customer: “What do you mean you don’t have pizza?”
Me: “We just make cold sandwiches.”
Customer: “Fine, lemme get a meatball sub.”
Me: “We make cold sandwiches.”
Customer: “Well then let it cool down before you give it to me, God!”
