Coworker: “I’m into these herbal supplements lately. It is not drugs or anything, but they really give me a boost and get me more focused.”

Me: “Um, no drugs?”

Coworker: “Yeah, just Chinese herbs. It can’t be drugs; it is all herbal and all.”

Me: “Sure… remind me: what are opium and marijuana made from?”

Me: “I’d like 12 pieces of fried chicken, mixed.”

Worker: “That’s racist!”

Me: “…What?”

Manager: *to the worker* “That’s enough. Please go to the break room and we’ll talk after the lunch rush.” *to me* ”You said a 12 piece mixed, sir?”

Me: “Yes…”

Me: “Can I get a hamburger combo and—”

Employee: “We don’t have a hamburger combo.”

Me: “What?”

Employee: “We don’t have hamburger combos.”

Me: “Then… can I have a cheeseburger combo… without cheese?”

Employee: “Of course!” *happily inputs order*

Me: “…”

Related:
Not Getting To The Meat Of The Problem

(Around the holidays, I like to pick up a bottle of sparkling grape juice since I am not of legal drinking age yet.)

Me: “Just these, please.”

Cashier: “Okay, I’m going to need to see your ID for the wine.”

Me: “Wine? That’s not wine. It’s grape juice.”

Cashier: “It’s clearly in a wine bottle. Are you going to show me your ID or not?”

Me: “It’s grape juice. Read the label.”

Cashier: “I think I’ll just hold onto this for you until you can produce your ID for me.”

(The cashier puts the juice behind her register where I can’t reach it.)

Me: “Yeah, you might want to call your manager now.”

Manager: “What seems to be the problem here?”

Cashier: “This girl is trying to buy wine and won’t show me her ID.”

Manager: “I’m sorry, ma’am; in order to process all alcohol sales, we need to see a valid ID.”

Me: “I understand that just fine but that is not a bottle of wine. It’s a bottle of sparkling grape juice. There is not a drop of alcohol in it. It’s just carbonated grape juice.”

(The manager picks up the bottle and reads it over, quickly realizing I’m right.)

Manager: “Right… uh, go ahead and ring it through.”

Cashier: “But it’s in a wine bottle!”

Manager: “Just scan it.”

(The cashier reluctantly scans it and gasps when her register does not ask her to enter a birth date.)

Cashier: “It worked!”

Me: “I told you.”

(When I went back the next week to get another bottle, the same thing happened!)

(I’m about 17 and working the till at a small-town burger place. My supervisor is only about 15, but has seniority simply because he’s been there longer than me. There’s a biker’s meet-up unexpectedly passing through town on an otherwise dead day.)

Me: “Whoa! Head’s up!”

(I see about 30-40 guys piling up outside our store with all kinds of bikes.)

Coworker: “Awesome! Go take orders; I’ll be right back.” *runs off*

(I assume he’s going to grab more stock and proceed to take huge orders but no food comes through. However, when I go back to the kitchen, it’s empty. )

Biker: “Hey, what’s the hold up?”

Me: “I’m sorry, I’m currently working the shop alone. I’ll be as fast as I can. ”

(I leave the till and start making orders at full speed, opening the spare hatch to keep an eye on the front at the same time. 15 minutes later, my coworker re-appears.)

Coworker: “They have some really awesome bikes out there!”

Me: “You… went to look at the bikes? That’s nice. Get the fries out of the frier. There’s six onion rings to go in next and then you need to bag these orders.”

Coworker: “Hey, what the f***!? You can’t speak to me like that! You can’t give ME orders! I’M the supervisor! I’M THE SUPERVISOR!”

(My coworker continues throwing a tantrum, loud enough for the bikers in the restaurant to hear. One of them walks up and leans through the hatch with a growl.)

Biker: “Then F***ING supervise, you little s***, or I’ll come in there and supervise YOU out of a job.” *to me* “Doing good, darlin’. Carry on!”