(It’s about closing time, and I’m doing the final stock of the tobacco stuffs, while a police officer (there because of problems with stealing of in-store merchandise) writes out his nightly report. In walks a very short person, obviously under 19, whiter than Casper, and dressed like a pimp.)

Short Pimp: “Packa Players!”

Me: “ID?”

SP: “What?”

Me: “I need to see your ID, or you can’t have ‘em.”

SP: “You don’t need my ID! I’m 21!” *starts cussing*

Me: “Yes, but we have to ask if you look under 40, so hand it over.”

SP: “Well, you’re giving me the smokes anyways–and for free now because of the way you’re treating me.”

Me: “Uh-huh, and I’m Bill Gates.”

SP: “Fine! Here’s my ****ing ID!.” *hands over an obviously fake ID*

Me: “Okay, do you have a real ID?”

SP: “That is real, a**hole!”

Me: “Dude, no it isn’t. If you’re gonna use a fake ID, get someone who can at least spell Ontario.”

SP: “FINE! I’ll just shoot you, and take what I want!

(Short Pimp sticks his hand in his pocket, and pretends that there’s a gun in there.)

Me: “Right, because a cop totally isn’t standing right behind you with his very real gun at the back of your head.”

(At this point Officer Cool Guy had gotten up, and pulled his “very real gun” [read: just his night stick, but held like a gun] on Short Pimp, but SP didn’t know that.)

SP: “It’s because I’m black, isn’t it?”

Me: “Next time try [competing gas station], and don’t come back.”

(Once SP leaves Officer Cool Guy and I try very hard not to bust out laughing.)

Related:
How To Scam A Scammer, Part 4
How To Scam A Scammer, Part 3
How To Scam A Scammer, Part 2
Lesson 1, How To Scam A Scammer

(Keep in mind that I’m male with a deep voice. We do not send techs to troubleshoot; troubleshooting has to be done on the phone, then we send a tech to replace parts.)

Me: “Thank you for calling ***. How may I–”

Customer: “Send me a tech to fix my computer.”

Me: “Well, what’s wrong with it?”

Customer: “It’s not working!”

Me: “Well, ok, but in order to get it working again, I would need to know what exactly is wrong.”

Customer: “I just told you it’s not working. Send me a tech to fix it!”

Me: “I’m afraid I can’t do that. I can help you perform some troubleshooting and–”

Customer: “Why the f**k can’t you just send me a tech?”

Me: “Well, like I said, I can’t do that. All I can do is troubleshoot with you on the phone to find out what’s wrong and then–”

Customer: “WELL THAT’S GREAT, A**HOLE! I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU SAY! SEND ME A TECH, NOW!”

Me, fake crying: “Why? Why do you hate me so much? Don’t you know how hard it is for a single mom with 5 kids to make a living?” *sob*

Customer: “???” *hangs up*

(I got written up for that. It was totally worth it though!)

(I was cashiering the closing shift on a Sunday night. The pharmacy closes earlier than the rest of the store on weekends. A customer comes in at 9:30pm.)

Customer: “Oh sh*t! The pharmacy is closed?!”

Me: “Yes, they close at 6pm on weekends. They will open again at 8am tomorrow morning.”

Customer: “But I need a prescription filled.”

Me: “I’m sorry sir, but the pharmacist will not be here until 8am tomorrow morning.”

Customer: “Can’t you do it?”

Me: “No…”

Customer: “Why not?!”

Me: “I’m not a pharmacist.”

Customer: “Don’t be a smart a**!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir. Only a pharmacist can fill your prescription.”

Customer: “What is this world coming to?!” *storms out*

(I work at a karaoke bar operating the machine and helping drunk guests choose songs. A lady was supposed to sing an ABBA song next, but some guy got a hold of the microphone.)

Me: “Sir, excuse me, that lady is singing now, could you give me the mic?”

Customer: *looking drunk and confused* “Nooo…I’m singing now!”

Me: “Really? Dancing Queen?”

Customer: “Whaaaat? I ordered Eye Of The Tiger!”

Me: “But how? You didn’t tell me anything…and Eye Of The Tiger is not in our list…”

Customer: “I told that guy…”

(The customer points to the corner of the bar, where some man in a superman costume was sleeping.)

Me: “Umm…he doesn’t work here you know…”

Customer: “Whaaaaat?! Can I still do the song then?”

Me: “I’ve just told you we don’t have it…”

Customer: *pointing to Superman again* “He told me you do!”

Me: “Yeah, we don’t…do you want to try some other song?”

Customer: “I WANT THE EYE OF THE TIGER!!!”

Me: *scared and desperate* “…How about a free shot instead of a song?”

Customer: *suddenly happy* “Alrighty!”

Customer: “I’m trying to add an FTP user, and I can’t figure out what to do.”

Me: “Alright, sir. I see that this is on a server for which you declined a support contract. All I can do is to direct you to the help center article that will instruct you how to do this; I can’t add it for you, or walk you through it.”

Customer: “Look, all I’m trying to do is add an FTP user.”

Me: “Sir, when you purchased this server we offered a support contract, which you declined–”

Customer: “I just want to add an FTP user! You should be able to do that for me!”

Me: “–and when you declined the support contract, you had to click on a button to accept full responsibility for managing your server.”

Customer: “This isn’t a server management issue. I’m just trying to add an FTP user.”

Me: “Sir, true or false? You purchased this server from us.”

Customer: “True.”

Me: “You declined the support contract, true or false?”

Customer: “True.”

Me: “And you accepted full responsibility for managing the server, true or false?”

Customer: “True.”

Me: “…so, why are you asking me?”

Customer: “…” *click*

(I work every summer in a beach shop in Florida. One morning a man had come in and bought a beach chair, and returned after a few hours with his family.)

Customer: “I would like to return this chair.”

Me: “Of course. Do you have a receipt?”

Customer: “No, I just went to the beach. Why would I keep the receipt?”

Me: “Is there a reason why you are returning the chair?”

Customer: “It’s broken.”

(The chair was soaked with water, coated with sand, and has a hole in the seat from what looks like a footprint on the cushion.)

Me: “I am sorry sir, but we cannot accept used, broken items for return.”

Customer: “What! I didn’t break it!”

Me: “I am sorry sir, but without a receipt it still cannot be returned.”

Customer: “Son of a b*tch! You hear that kids? This Russian b*tch is going to f*ck up our vacation!”

Me: “…Russian? I live here.”

Customer: “Don’t lie to me! I hear that accent.”

Me: “…What accent?”

Customer: “THERE! You just did it. No one talks like that in the Northeast.”

Me: “…I’m a Southerner. You’re in the South.”

Customer: “Whatever, you piece of racist sh*t!”

(The man left only after he threw the chair at a clothes rack. Quite the job experience for a 15 year old.)

(I used to work in a retail store as a cashier. I would sometimes get people who would hand me empty wrappers or pop bottles saying they had eaten/drank the contents while shopping. I was used to it, and appreciated honesty. Then this….)

Me: “Hello, how are you today?”

Customer: “Good…”

(The customer hands me empty a hot dog vacuum-seal wrapper thingie. THE FROZEN ONES.)

Customer: “I ate these while I was shopping. Could you ring them up for me?”

Me: *facepalm*

Me: “[University name], how may I transfer your call?”

Lady: “Yes, my son missed his first day of class and for some reason the class room has changed and he can’t find it.”

Me: “He can come into the computer lab and look up his schedule to verify which room the class is located.”

Lady: “He is on campus right now wandering around and no one is helping him. He is already late for class, and it is your fault. Can you go find him and take him to his class?”

Me: “…we don’t provide those services. He can come look he schedule and then go to class.”

Lady: “Urgh!” *click*

(I work at an store that sells teaching materials. A very heavyset guy in a wheel chair comes in. Keep in mind I was the only person in the store at the time.)

Me: “Hello! Can I help you find anything today?”

Him: “Yes, I’d like to get an algebra book for my nephew.”

Me: “Okay.

(I show him the algebra books, and we make small talk about his nephew…)

Him: “I can see the divine light in you.”

Me: “…”

Him: “I went up to the mountain and Jesus burned the sins out of me. I couldn’t see anything except fire. Now I can see the divine light in people. You have it. You are pure and innocent.”

Me: *trying not to be completely freaked out* “Huh…heh…”

Him: “I can see it…you are immortal!”

Me: “Okay…”

(Later, when my boss came back and I told her about this, she laughed and told me that according to this guy she was a Demon Slayer. I felt kind of gypped.)

(I work at a music store attempting to help customers find music they want and restocking the shelves. It’s almost time for my shift to end, at about 8PM at night when Old Rowdy Guy comes in. He walks straight to me.)

Old Rowdy Guy: “Yes, do you have them whatchamacallit…Crimson Hot Chili Spices?”

Me: “Yes sir, do you mean the Red Hot Chili Peppers?”

ORG: “No, no, it’s another band. It’s got a song that goes doo dooo dah dee dooo.”

Me: “I don’t recognize the song sir.”

ORG: “What? It’s on the radio all the time!”

(He continues the song for a couple more seconds and a bell rings inside my head.)

Me: “Oh, you must mean Ill Crimson?”

ORG: “NO!”

(Old Rowdy Guy starts storming around looking around the aisles of CD’s. He starts getting angry and frustrated and yells, “I’ve been everywhere!”)

Me: “Calm down sir, do you know any of the lyrics?”

ORG: “No! I want to speak with your manager!”

(I call the manager over, he’s heard our “conversation.”)

Manager: “Is there a problem?”

ORG: “He won’t help me find this band!”

Manager: “Do you know any of the lyrics of a song or the band’s name?”

ORG: “Crimson Hot Chili Spices.”

Manager: “Red Hot Chili Peppers?”

ORG: “YES THAT’S THE ONE! How does this employee not know them?”

Manager: “He did mention the band, sir.”

ORG: “No he didn’t! Managers don’t argue with customers!” *customer storms out*

(We laughed about him for awhile before closing up.)