Customer: *to other members of posse* "Awww, come check this out!" *to me, pointing at AK pistol on the wall behind me* "Hey, can I see that choppa?"Seriously. It's common enough that we keep a can of Febreeze under the counter for these occurrences. At least once a day a whole posse will roll in reeking of the ganja strongly enough that you can smell it in the store thirty minutes after they've left and I'm having to explain to customers that, no, we aren't sparking up bongs in the break room.
Me: "Nope. Uh, guys, I've got a nose. Now, I'm not the cops, and I don't care, myself, personally, but y'all can't be drivin' around and smoking what smells like some prime dank-ass herb... No, seriously, the four of y'all by yourselves smell like the whole audience of a Cheech & Chong movie plus three Cypress Hill videos. The bookkeeper could smell it in the back and was sticking her nose in here looking around to see where it was coming from...and handle guns. Are we cool?"