(I’m the electronics specialist at my store, and all electronic products go through me at some point before they are put out on the floor.)

Customer: “Hi, I’m looking for a video game for my son. Can you find someone to help me with that?”

Me: “Oh, sure. Which game system did you want it for?”

Customer: “Oh no, not you. Can you find someone else? ”

Me: “Well, there’s nobody else in this department right now who has access to the video games. It’s gonna have to be me.”

Customer: “I mean, you’re a GIRL. What do you know? I demand that someone with more… well, I want a guy to help me. I’ll wait.”

Me: “Sure… I’ll call someone to come over.”

(I call over my male co-worker on the walkie who arrives about ten minutes later. My coworker gives me a weird look.)

Coworker: “Okay… what did you need, sir?”

(The customer starts rattling off a ton of technical questions about the compatibility of certain games and accessories, as well as questions about the content of each game.)

Coworker: “Uhh… I don’t really know. You should ask her. She IS the Electronics Specialist…”

Customer: “WHAT?! HOW?! She’s… a… GIRL! Well, I still want you to help me.”

(My coworker and I follow this customer around for about 20 minutes as he asks questions to my coworker, who in turn asks ME. When I answer, the customer tunes out, so that my coworker has to repeat what I said.)

Customer: “Now, was that so hard?”

Me: “Hi, I haven’t seen you in a while! how are you?”

Elderly resident: “Good. You’re getting chubby.”

Me: “Really? I’ve been working out every day for about a month now.”

Elderly resident: “Oh… maybe your boobs are just getting smaller.”

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Gas station customer: “I want your name!”

Me: “What seems to be the problem, sir?”

Customer: “There is a huge scratch on the trunk of my Lexus from your f***ing pump hose. I am going to sue this store for damages. I want your f***ing name!”

Me: “My name is Larry, sir, just like it says on the name tag. What happened?”

Customer: “I pulled up on the other side of the pump, so I had to drag the hose over the trunk to fill up, and the handle scratched my car. I want your full and address. I am suing you for damages.”

Me: “Let me get this straight… you pulled up to the wrong side of the pump, and you were too dumb to pull around to the right side, so you dragged a metal headed gas hose over the trunk of your car, scratching the paint yourself, and you think I am the one responsible?”

Customer: “Yes, g**d***it! Give me your last name and address!”

Me: “No chance in h***. That‚Äôll be $17.23 for the gas.”

Customer: “F*** you!”

(He drives off without paying. We caught the whole thing on interior and exterior video, including the license plate of his poor scratched Lexus. The State Troopers caught him before he made it to the next freeway exit. I quit that job the next day.)

(In my line are a preteen girl, an older woman behind her, and lastly a middle-aged woman.)

Me: “Can I have your zip code, please?”

Young girl: “Wait, what?”

Me: “We’re just doing a survey.”

Middle-aged woman: “Don’t listen to her, honey. You don’t have to give her any information if you don’t want to. They’re just going to use it to help the government to watch you! The government is already in enough things. You shouldn’t give them any more opportunities to watch what you’re doing! I never give my information when sales girls ask for it; that’s my right, and it’s your right to refuse!”

Young girl: “Um…”

Me: *I punch in my own zip code* “It’s fine, never mind. That’ll be $6.34.”

(Next is the older woman…)

Older woman: “You can have my zip code. I shop here all the time, and I love getting coupons and fliers in the mail because the company knows people in my town shop here often. In fact, I have a coupon with me today!”

Me: “Well, thank you, ma’am!”

(The older woman pays and leaves and I ring up the middle-aged woman’s purchases. I punch in my own zip code again for her because I don’t want to hear another speech about the government stalking people via zip code.)

Me: “That’ll be $24.56.”

Middle-aged woman: “What? I wanted to give you my zip code!”

Me: “**** Restaurant, how can I help you?”

Caller: “I’d like to order a delivery.”

Me: “I’m sorry, we don’t do deliveries.”

Caller: “So, you expect me to come all the way over… to eat your food?!”

Me: “Umm… yeah, if you want.”

Caller: “Goodbye!” *hangs up*

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(We get a phone call on a Thursday night in December, the busiest season in catering.)

Customer: “May I speak to the owner?”

Me: “This is the owner. How may I help you?”

Customer: “NO, I mean the guy who is the owner.”

Me: “That’s my husband. I’m sorry, he is busy at the moment. Is there something I can help you with?”

Customer: “I need a catering menu emailed.”

Me: “I can certainly do that for you. When is your event?”

Customer:¬†”Saturday.”

Me: “This Saturday? Like two days from now?”

Customer: ¬†”Yes.”

Me: “Well, I apologize but we are completely booked for this Saturday.”

Customer: “That’s why I wanted to talk to the other owner. I spoke to him two weeks ago and he said you were not booked.”

Me: “We weren’t booked two weeks ago, but we are now.”

Customer: “Well, I’ve already sent out the invitations, and I need food for my party.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but we are completely booked. We already have three large parties, and we just couldn’t possibly take on a fourth.”

Customer: “Can you recommend another caterer?”

Me: “Not really.¬†I’ve never used another caterer, so I can’t recommend one.”

Customer: “Haven’t you ever been to a party catered by another caterer?”

Me: “We’re caterers. We don’t go to parties. We work at other people’s parties. ¬†”

Customer: “IT’S ONLY 25 PEOPLE!”

Me: “Um… okay.”

Customer: “You said you have three parties. Couldn’t you just make enough extra food for 25 people and come over and serve it?”

Me: “You mean cater the party?”

Customer: “No, just make some food and bring it over and serve it, and clean up afterwards. It’s fairly easy, isn’t it?”

(I adore it when people tell me my 16 hour a day job is easy.)

(I’m picking up overstock on the floor, and an elderly lad hits my heel with her shopping cart.)

Me: “Ow!”

(The elderly lady proceeds to RAM the shopping cart into my foot until she succeeds in rolling over it completely.)

Me: “OWW! OWWWWW!”

Elderly lady: “Hmmm? Ehhh? Did I bump ya?”

Me: “You rammed right over my foot!”

Elderly lady: “Well, it shouldn’t be on the floor.”

Me: “… I’m going on my break.”

(Turns out she bruised a bone in my foot and tore a ligament by ramming into it.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [hotel], this is [name]. How may I assist you today?”

Customer: “What time do you stop room service?”

Me: “I’m sorry, but we don’t offer room service.”

Customer: “What’s up with that?”

Me: “We don’t have a kitchen in the hotel.”

Customer: “Well, y’all need to get one!”

Me: “You’re right. I will start filing for permits and hiring subcontractors and have the kitchen built before you arrive.”

Customer: “That’s great, you truly offer excellent customer service!”

(I’m a high ropes instructor and work with kids in the forest. There are “No Smoking” signs posted all over the place, but I see a woman smoking right next to a sign.)

Me: “Ma’am, I’m sorry. There’s no smoking in this area.”

Customer: “Why not?”

Me: “Because it could start a fire.”

Customer: *snottily* “Well, I’ll make sure not to do that.”

Me: “Ma’am, you still can’t smoke in this area. There are children everywhere… the smoke’s not good for them.”

Customer: “Well, they’re my children, so it’s really my decision to make, isn’t it?”

Me: “Actually, as this is our property, it’s our decision. Please take your disgusting habit elsewhere.”

Customer: “Your FACE is disgusting.”

Me: “Well, ma’am, as soon as my face starts causing cancer, you can complain.”

Customer: “I need to make copies.”

Me: “Okay, that copier over there is free, and I just cleared the counter. You‚Äôre all set to copy.”

Customer: “But I need to use Konica.”

Me: “Well, another customer is using that machine right now. The other copier works just as well.”

Customer: “I need to use Konica. May I wait to use Konica?”

Me: “Uh, sure. Just come to the register when you‚Äôre done.”

(10 minutes later, the customer using the Konica pays and leaves.)

Customer: “The Konica is free now. May I use Konica?”

Me: “Uh huh.”

(The customer walks over to the Konica, places his palms together, juts his elbows out, and pray-bows in front of the machine while muttering. He then proceeds to make copies, pray-bows again, comes over to the register, pays, and leaves. We’ve since nicknamed him Acid Man.)