(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.)

(Some customers at our restaurant try to get a free meal by placing some hair in their food and then blaming the chef and refusing to pay for the meal.)

Customer: “Waiter!”

Me: “How can I help you, sir?”

Customer: “There’s a hair in my food.”

Me: “That isn’t possible, unless it was your hair.”

Customer: “It isn’t!”

Me: “Who else’s hair could it be?”

Customer: “Your chef’s.”

(I walk into the kitchen and return to the table with our chef.)

Me: “Take off your chef’s hat.”

(Chef takes off his hat, he is revealed to be bald.)

Chef, to the customer: “You were saying something about my hair being in your food?”

(December 24th, last day for Christmas shopping.)

Customer: “Do you have a Nintendo Wii?”

Me: “No sir, unfortunately we are all sold out.”

Customer: “Why?”

Me: “It’s just pretty much the top holiday item, sir, and we have been selling out of the Wiis non-stop since last November.”

Customer: “When do you get them in?”

Me: “I don’t know. Not until after February, probably.”

Customer: “D**n it! I have kids you know! Show some sympathy!”

Me: “So do probably 70 of the 100 people in line behind you, sir. Now is there anything else I can help you with?”

Customer: “What if I slip you a $20?”

Me: “What about, no.”

Customer thinking I’m stupid: “Well, sell me the box you have right there up on the corner of your shelf, you liar!”

Me: “I can’t sell it to you, but I guess I could give it to you for free if it makes you feel better. There’s nothing in there by the way…”

(Customer apparently completely ignores that last line.)

Customer: “HELL YEAH I GOT MYSELF A WII! HAHAHAHAHA MERRY CHRISTMAS SUCKERS!”

(Crowd stands with death glares fixated on me and the guy.)

Me: *hands him the box* “Merry Christmas…next person, please.”

Customer: “WHAT THE F***! GOD D**N S**T! There’s nothing in this d**n box!”

Customer behind him: “That’s because he said that was just a display box. He gave it to you just so you could be happy and you accepted it, moron!”

(Crowd of customers returns to holiday mode.)

Me: “We’re going to take you to the hospital.”

Patient: “NO! I don’t wanna go there, they’ll arrest me!”

State Trooper: “Did you do anything wrong?”

Patient: “NO! I don’t wanna go to the hospital!”

Me: “Well you’re pretty banged up. We have to take you for your own good.”

Patient: “NO! The Chinese Lady is gonna stick an AIDS needle in my a**!”

Me: “There are no Chinese ladies at this hospital.”

Patient: “I’m scared! Last time I went to the hospital the Chinese lady stuck an AIDS needle in my a** and I bled out of my a**!”

Me: “Don’t worry, we won’t let any Chinese ladies near you.”

(We get to the hospital.)

Me, to my partner: “Oh my God, his nurse is Chinese.”

Patient, as we walk away: “STAY AWAY!”

Me: “Thank you for calling [eye doctor’s office], how can I help you?”

Lady: “Hello, I want to check on the status of my glasses.”

Me: “Okay, what is your full name?”

Lady: “Lori Johnson, spelled L-O-R-I.”

Me: “Okay, hold please.”

(I check the computer for Lori Johnson and it doesn’t come up. I then check alternative spellings things like Laurie, Lory, Lauri, etc. All to no avail.)

Me: “I’m sorry Miss, would you mind giving me your date of birth?”

Lady: “12-21-1969.”

(I do a search for that date of birth and one name comes up. Lori Smith.)

Me: “Would you by chance be listed under any other name?”

Lady: “NO!”

Me: “Okay, I’ll try searching by address.”

(She gives me her address and sure enough, it matches Lori Smith.)

Me: “I seem to have you listed in our computer as ‘Lori Smith’.”

Lady: “That’s not me.”

Me: “Well the date of birth matches, as does the address. Would you like me to search by social security number?”

Lady: “That’s not my name. I got married and my last name is Johnson now!”

Me: “Oh I’m sorry, your insurance still has you listed as Smith so that’s how we got mixed up. You’ll probably want to call them.”

Lady: “That’s no excuse.”

Me: “I’m sorry. But there was no way for us to know you got married.”

Lady: “It was in the newspaper!”

Me: “Okaaaaaay.”

Customer: “I’ll have a margarita please.”

(I get a margarita and serve it to the woman.)

Customer: “Excuse me, miss? Can I please have another margarita? This one doesn’t have enough quatilia in it.”

Me: “Ma’am, your drink is strong, I can guarantee it.”

Customer: “How do you know there is enough quatilia in this?”

Me: “Because you said “quatilia.”

Customer: “Yeah, and?”

Me: “It’s called ‘tequila.’”

(Customer face turns a nice shade of crimson.)