Our company supplies and fits windows. A client calls us, screaming on the phone.

Client: “That man you sent over is incompetent!”

Me: “Our sales representative? How so, madam?”

Client: “He won’t grant my simple little request! I just need a new window in my bathroom that overlooks the back garden!”

Me: “I see. Is our representative still there?”

Client: “No I sent him away! You need to send one who actually knows what they’re doing!”

Me: “I’ll check in with our representative when he gets back, and I will call you back with an update.”

Our sales representative returns, and I ask him what happened.

Sales Rep: “Well, she was correct in that she asked for a new window in her bathroom that overlooks the back garden.”

Me: “So what was the problem?”

Sales Rep: “Did she tell you that said bathroom is at the front of the house?”

Me: “Ah, yes, she neglected to mention that part.”

It was not a fun phone call trying to get her to understand. She decided not to go with us and find someone who “knew what they were talking about.” Good luck finding house-rotators, madam!

Customer: “I want to return this book.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but this book has very clearly been read, and probably more than once by the look of things!”

The book has a broken spine, some folded pages, etc.

Customer: “It’s okay to read something once and then return it if you didn’t like it! It’s like keeping the tags on a nice dress!”

Me: “Well… you probably shouldn’t do that with a dress, either, but even if you did you wouldn’t be able to return the dress if you’d worn it enough times for it to have some wear and tear.”

In an example of “that escalated quickly” she immediately throws the book on the floor and storms off — but weirdly pauses to check out the new releases before she leaves.

I’m a photographer at a popular tourist attraction. When you come in, you get a free photo included with your ticket in front of a green screen and you can pick from several backgrounds later.

It is early 2022, and a lot of people skip the photo because they “don’t want to take a picture in a mask”’ It’s cool if they politely continue, but a lot of people make rude remarks, roll their eyes, etc. as if I, a nineteen-year-old girl, have made the mask mandate or something.

A large group of Eastern European people have come in. I recognize the language immediately because my mom is from the same country and speaks it fluently. She only ever taught me some basic words, but that’s a different story.

The group isn’t social distancing at all, not giving the group in front of them any space, and they’re not interested in a photo so they’re trying to walk past.

Me: “Please can you wait until the next group has passed.”

They start rolling their eyes and I could feel it in my bones that they were saying nasty things about us. So, I look over at my coworker and say perfectly fluent in their language:

Me: “I want ice cream.”

They all look at me as if they are about to s*** their pants. Knowing that they thought I understood everything they said about me was more than enough to make me happy, I didn’t need to know what they actually said.

Related:
Fluent In English And Jerk

After a few military deployments, I am back to civilian life after some (mostly recovered) injuries, and a slight but manageable case of PTSD. I am not one to sit idle, and I enjoy driving, so I am doing pizza delivery and ride-sharing while I look for a new job.

It is a weekend in the daytime, and I get a delivery order for twelve pizzas! I guess it’s for a nice big summer party or something. I load them into my car and get to the address. I carry all twelve boxes to the front door and ring the bell. I hear a little voice from inside.

Voice: “Can you bring the pizzas around the back? We’re all outside!”

Me: “You got it!”

I carefully make my way to the side of the house, where the side door to the back garden is open. I walk through and immediately get a blast of water to the face. 

I’ve walked into a firing squad of children holding water guns. There must be at least fifteen of them, all aged between five and ten I would guess, and within seconds I am absolutely soaked.

Me: “Please! Stop! This is my uniform and I need it for my shift!”

The kids are wailing maniacally and aren’t stopping. In an attempt to save myself I block them with the pizzas. Finally, an adult shows up and the children stop for a moment. Ominously they all run over to a bucket and start refilling their weapons.

Adult: “About time, we ordered those over an hour ago. You can put them on the table.”

Me: “Sir! Your children just soaked me completely!”

Adult: “Oh, no! Did they get the pizzas?”

Me: “Sir, I protected the pizzas with my body, which is now soaked! I need to wear this uniform for the rest of my shift and I need to now drive back and get my car wet, dry my clothes, delaying any more runs and tips I can get tonight.”

Adult: “Oh my god! So sensitive! They’re just kids, god! Here, take this for your troubles.”

On top of the cash for the order, he hands me a single five-dollar bill, on an order of twelve pizzas and after the liquid firing squad.

Me: “Are you serious?”

Adult: “You’re lucky you even got a tip! You took so long!”

Me: “And you were lucky I saved the pizzas. Not anymore!”

I throw all the money at him, pick up the pizzas, and start walking out.

Adult: “Hey! What are you doing?!”

Me: “Going home to dry my clothes, and throw my own pizza party. I quit, and it’s because of customers like you!”

Adult: “Hey! Get back here! I need those pizzas! I need to feed all these kids!”

Me: “Not my problem.”

I storm out fuming, with all the pizzas. I follow through on my threat and go home. I get an angry call from my boss, but after I explain what happened and my PTSD, he calms down (he had also served). He says he will have to still charge me for the pizzas, but will give me a staff discount, and he asks if I will be back tomorrow. 

I tell him thanks, but that wasn’t happening. I was back the next day with my (dry) uniform, the money for the pizza, and the happy news that the house I delivered to yesterday had been blacklisted.

In my last place of work, when I was looking to hire someone for my department, I would offer cold drinks and coffee at the interviews in order to make the candidates feel welcome. We could take the cold drinks out of the storage, but we had to order coffee from the kitchen and someone from the kitchen team would bring it out.

One day, they called me back.

Kitchen Team: “We can’t bring you the coffee you ordered. [CEO] has decided that coffee will only be provided for whole-day events.”

Grr, that cheapskate. [CEO] and I didn’t get along anyway after an incident where he tried to f*** me over financially. This was not a problem, though, since I had a boss that was between him and me in the hierarchy, and if I ever needed anything, I just told her and she made it happen. I didn’t really have to deal with him.

After that, I provided my own coffee for interviewees because, to me, the welcoming impression was more important than the, like, thirty cents a cup of coffee costs.

But I plotted my little revenge since I had been asked to do a workshop for the other department heads and the CEO also wanted to participate. For some reason, he loved workshops.

The day of the workshop came, I prepped the room, and the participants trickled in and got settled, including the CEO. I greeted the group and laid out the plan for the next few hours.

Me: “Are there any questions?”

CEO: “Can we maybe call the kitchen and ask where the coffee is? They seem to be running late.”

I made a point of taking a sip from my travel mug before answering.

Me: “There will be no coffee. This is a half-day workshop, and our new rules say that coffee will only be provided for whole-day events.”

I still cherish the surly look he gave me in response. He did not say anything and instead opened a bottle of water.