(I work at a fairly well known 50s theme restaurant, where we offer a movie and a meal deal. If you buy an adult entree and drink, then you get a movie ticket for $8. A customer is ordering and asks about the offer.)

Me: “Just so you know, you do have to order an adult entree for the offer to work.”

Customer: “Jeez, I know. I want fries and a water, and two kid’s chocolate shakes, and chicken tenders for them.”

(I place their order, and when it comes up, I bring it over. They eat it and seem very happy.)

Customer: “Can I please get my check, and can you get me one of those movie tickets, please?”

Me: “Sorry, ma’am, but since you didn’t get an adult entree and drink, you can’t get a movie ticket for $8.”

Customer: “I did get an adult drink, water. Kids don’t drink water, and french fries count as an entree in my case.”

Me: “You have to buy a drink. Water is given out for free. And fries are not an entree. They are an appetizer or side.”

Customer: “Let me speak to your manager.”

(The manager comes over. He has observed everything.)

Customer: “Give me my d*** ticket. She’s stealing from me. She probably did charge me for my ticket, but is being a b**** and refusing to give it to me.”

Manager: “I can assure you she has not charged you for the ticket because the cash register won’t even allow it to be added unless there is an adult entree and drink. Would you like to order food to go so you can get a ticket?”

Customer: “What the f***! After such bad service, I am never coming here again!”

(The customer grabs her two kids, and walks out without paying. A customer who has been watching from the counter area comes over.)

Customer #2: “Here’s $30 to cover their bill so you don’t have to, and a tip because she didn’t. May I please have my check?”

(Customer #2 leaves me a sizable tip, and even gives me a compliment. Thank you, lady! That check would’ve had to come out my tips!)

(I’m a college freshman working in a thrift store. The most expensive item in the shop is $10. I am straightening up a rack when I watch a customer go into a dressing room and then emerge from the dressing room wearing a completely different outfit and make for the door. I stop her.)

Me: “Excuse me, ma’am! You realize you’re going to have to pay for that, right?”

Customer: “I know that! I’m not an idiot!”

(The customer turns around and walks over to a bookshelf, as if that’s where she’d been headed all along. I go back to the rack but watch her out of the corner of my eye. She slowly begins making her way towards the door again.)

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. You still need to pay for that.”

Customer: “I did.”

Me: “Ma’am, I watched you. You went to the bookshelf and then tried to leave again.”

Customer: “You were SPYING on me?! I want to talk to your manager!”

(My manager, having heard the commotion, is already on his way over.)

Manager: “Is there a problem, ma’am?”

Customer: “Yes. This little girl was spying on me and accused me of trying to shoplift my own clothes!”

(I began to bristle and protest, but my manager shushes me and points to the customer’s pants. Or rather, to the price tag sticking out of the pocket. The woman looks down at it and then bolts for the door. I start after her, but my manager calls me back.)

Manager: “Ah, let her go. She’s only wearing about $6 worth of merchandise anyway.”

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(I’m the cashier at a small grocery store. An American customer approaches my till with a pint of milk.)

Customer: “Excuse me, can I get this milk cheaper? It’s cheaper in America.”

Me: “Uhh, sorry. We can’t change the prices for something like that.”

Customer: “Why not? I’m not paying that much for milk. Everything is way too expensive over here!”

Me: “If we changed the prices for everyone simply because they thought it would be too expensive, then we’d probably not stay in business very long!”

Customer: *sighs* “FINE.”

(She slams the milk jug down on the till, and I finish the transaction.)

Me: “Okay, that’s £1.89 please.”

(The customer sighs dramatically again, and hands me a $10 bill. I stare at it.)

Customer: “What?”

(I am thinking she hasn’t realized what she’s given to me. By this point there are a few customers queuing at my checkout.)

Me: “It’s one pound, and 89 pence.”

Customer: “So?”

Me: “We can’t accept dollars here.”

Customer: “WHY NOT?”

Me: “We don’t accept foreign currency. Just pounds.”

Customer: “I’M NOT FOREIGN; I’M AMERICAN! THIS IS A DISGRACE!”

(She ends up leaving the milk, and storming out of the store. Half of the customers in my line can’t help but laugh out loud after she leaves.)

(I’ve been on the phone for a good ten minutes at this point with a woman in her late 80s who has a strong Southern accent. She has been extremely prim and proper for the entire call.)

Me: “And do you have the offer code?”

Caller: “Offer code? What’s that, dear?”

Me: “It should be printed on the order form near where your name is located.”

Caller: “One moment. Oh, I found it!”

Me: *waits*

Caller: *silence*

Me: “Ma’am, may I have the code please?”

Caller: “Oh, of course, sweetie. It’s F as in ‘f***.’ D as in ‘d***.’ A as in ‘a**.'”

(The caller pauses before continuing, suddenly sounding very smug.)

Caller: “All of which I enjoy a great deal when it comes to my men.”

(I still have no idea how I managed to hold in my laughter until after I finished placing her order.)

(I am a South African working at a hotel restaurant in Israel. The establishment has both servers and guests from all over the world. Generally, people are interested in finding out where people are from and why they’re here. One day, I am clearing a table for an American couple.)

Me: “Shalom! I hope you enjoyed your meal. May I take your plates?”

Husband: “Yes, please. It was great.”

Wife: “Hey, you sound weird. Where are you from?”

Me: “I’m from South Africa.”

Wife: “Really?! South Africa… where is that?”

Me: “Err…”

Husband: *embarrassed* “Honey, it’s in Africa. If you look at a map, it’s right down at the bottom.”

Wife: “Oh…” *blank look* “Oh! Kangaroos, right?”

Husband: “Err…” *looks at me apologetically*

Me: *just smiles* “I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay!”

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