(A girl in her late teens approaches me holding a t-shirt, turning it over in her hands, apparently searching for defects or blemishes in the material.)

Customer: “Do you have any of these that are new?”

Me: “I’m sorry? They’re all new.”

Customer: “No, this one is used. I want a new one.”

(I take the shirt and inspect it, finding it to be in perfect order.)

Me: “It looks perfectly fine to me. I unpacked these from today’s shipment an hour ago. We have multiples of each size if you’d like me to help you find another one.”

Customer: “I checked them all. They’re all used, see…”

(She snatches the shirt and points at the tag which reads, under the bar code, “USD $14.99″.)

Me: “That’s the currency. United States Dollars.”

Customer, becoming irate: “I can f**king see that. Fifteen dollars for a used shirt is f**king insane.”

Me: “No. U-S-D. United States Dollars. We don’t sell used clothing.”

Customer: “What are you, a f**king idiot? It says you do, right on the d**n tag.”

Me: “My mistake. Here, I’ll take that and make sure it gets thrown away.”

(I take the shirt and begin walking to the stock room.)

Customer: “Can I just have it? You’re going to throw it out anyway.”

Me: “Sorry, no. There’s an IQ requirement.”

Customer: “A what?”

Me: “It’s an acronym thing. Don’t worry about it.”

Customer: “You’re a f**king a**hole!”

(She storms out.)

(The phone rings at around 6-ish.)

Me: “Hello, this is D-…”

(I hear loud crying in the background.)

Man: “Hello, Disney World? I’m just calling to say that if my children don’t finish their vegetables in the next five minutes, we won’t be visiting you this year.”

Me: “I…er…what?”

Man: *whispering* “Thank you.” *click*

Woman: “I’ve been standing out there trying to pump gas for the last 10 minutes! Your @&$%*# gas pump is broken!”

Me: “I’m sorry. I’ll go out with you and see what I can do.”

(I see a bright red “Out of Order” bag on the nozzle; she had shoved everything into her tank, bag and all.)

Me: “Yes, that pump is broken. You’ll need to pull up to another pump.”

Woman: “Oh, well you guys should really mark it better. I wasted a lot of time here!”

Me: “Um…yes, we usually put a traffic cone in front.”

Woman: “Oh yeah…I saw it, but I didn’t know what it was for, so I just drove over it.”

(The cone was wedged under her car.)

(I worked tech support for a major software company, specifically with their digital media products. This call was about their video editing software.)

Me: “Thanks for calling ***** tech support.

(The customer gives me her info and has a thick accent I can’t place.)

Me: “Great! What can I do for you?”

Her: “Yes. I am trying to edit dees beedio, and eet’s blue and blue on de ting.”

Me: “So…it’s blue, and blue…on the thing?”

Her: “Yes.”

Me: “Where is it blue?”

Her: “On de ting.”

Me: “By ‘thing,’ do you mean the Computer screen or your camera?”

Her: “Yes…de ting.”

Me: “Ma’am, I can’t see what you are looking at so you’ll have to tell me the name of the thing that is blue.”

Her: *getting angry* “DE TING!!! Eeet’s BLUUUUE AN BLUUUEE ON DE TING!!!!”

Me: “What exactly is blue? The video on your monitor? Are you outputting to TV? The viewfinder on your camera?”

Her: “Yes.”

Me: “Yes…which one?”

Her: *yelling* “DE TING!!!!”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m sorry but I don’t understand where you are having a problem.”

Her: “THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS!!! I SPEAK PERFECT ENGLISH!!! MY HUSBAND TAUGHT ME HE WILL BE VERY VERY ANGRY WIT YOU!!! I DEMAND RESPECT!!! HOW DARE YOU!!!”

Me: “Ma’am, I agree. You speak english very very well. The problem I am having is you are not telling me where you are seeing blue video.”

Her: “ON DE TIIIING!!!”

(This exchange went on for a while before she got frustrated and hung up. The best part is, my call was being listened to by some higher level support guys. They created an internal troubleshooting document that appeared as follows:)

(And so on and so on…)

(A teen girl walks through security and collects her belongings.)

Teen: “Excuse me sir, what did you do with my purse?”

Worker: “I’m sure it came through ma’am, just look around for it.”

Teen, in a condescending tone: “Sir, I would appreciate it if you would find my purse that went through YOUR machine that YOU lost. Thats your job you know, now reach up in the machine and feel around for it.”

Worker #2: “Umm, your purse is on your arm.”

Teen: “Oh…” *walks away*

(Almost thirty kids are lined up at the velcro wall waiting to ride. We have about five minutes until out troupe leaves.)

Some Mother: “I want my son to ride this ride.”

Me: “Ma’am I don’t think there’s enough time for all these kids to–”

Some Mother: “I don’t care if he’s the last one. I want him to ride this ride.”

Me: “This ride is going to shut down in about five minutes. There isn’t enough time for–”

Some Mother: “He can be the last in line then.”

Me: “He can wait in line but probably won’t be able to–”

Some Mother: “Fine.”

(Mother walks away and returns some time after the ride is shut down and all kids are turned away.)

Some Mother: “Hey! HEY! I thought we agreed that my child would get on the ride.”

Me: “That’s not what we agreed to.”

Some Mother: “Well, put the ride back up so he can ride it.”

Me: “I’m sorry but we can’t do all that for one child.”

Some Mother: “Why not?! Your just being f**king stubborn.”

Me: “If you have any complaints you can speak to the clown over there. Have a nice day.”

Some Mother: “I don’t want to talk to any d**n clown.”

Me: “That clown is my boss.”

(Keep in mind, this is a kosher deli.)

Customer: “Can I get a ham sandwich, please?”

Me: “Well, sir, we don’t serve ham.”

Customer: “No ham? What do you have then?”

Me: “Well, we have turkey, roast beef, corned beef, and pastrami…”

Customer: “But no ham?”

Me: “No, sir, no ham.”

Customer: “What? Do you have a thing against ham or something?”

Me: “Actually…yes, we do.”

Me: “Good morning, how can I help you?”

Woman: “Yeah, a small coffee with 2 splendas and extra milk.”

Me: “Okay, that will be $1.49.”

(She pays and I give her the change. I proceed to make the drink. I pressed the “Medium” button for milk and then gave an extra shot. When I gave it to her, she took a sip and made a face as if she had just taken a sip of liquefied dog s**t.)

Me: “What seems to be the problem?”

Woman: “I asked for extra milk! This is too strong.”

Me: “Well, I’ll put some more in for you. No problem.”

Woman, muttering under her breath: “Idiot kid…”

(I put another “Medium” shot in. This is two mediums and one extra shot for a total of seven milks.)

(She takes another sip, with the same face.)

Woman: “What part of extra milk do you not understand?”

Me: “I understand what extra milk means. I put in about four times the regular amount of milk.”

Woman: “Well, put more!”

(I put in more. I put a “Large” shot of milk (four more). This brings our total to 11 milks, therefore being classified as milk with a little coffee.)

Me: “Here.”

(She takes another sip, and yes. Again, she makes that freaking face.)

Woman: “Look. Extra milk means you put in the regular amount, and then you put in MORE.”

Me: “I know that! That is a SMALL coffee with 11 MILKS!”

Woman: “PUT IN MORE!”

(I put in more another “Medium” shot (three more)).

Me: “Here. The coffee is almost white now.”

(She drinks it again and SPITS IT ALL OVER THE COUNTER.)

Me: “Lady, what’s your problem?”

Woman: “This coffee is cold! I ordered a hot coffee, not a cold coffee! Can you comprehend that?”

Me: “F**k this. Who’s next?”

(My shift leader was laughing in the corner the whole time. She remade this lady’s drink with one large shot of milk and gave it to her. She sipped it…”Ah, now that’s better!”)

(Everyone in line had a pretty good laugh about it.)