(I’m working at a dry cleaners. It’s nearly closing time, so my 6’5″, 250 lb. fiancé is waiting out of sight in the back for me to finish up. A last minute customer arrives.)

Customer: *angrily* “Are my shirts done yet?!”

Me: “Yes, sir. Let me get those for you.”

(I get the shirts, which the customer has waited a long time to pick up—several weeks. They are therefore not perfectly pressed anymore. The customer inspects them and is clearly not happy.)

Customer: “This is terrible work! Look at this wrinkle!”

Me: “I’m sorry sir, but they were—”

(The customer shoves himself aggressively over the counter and starts yelling abusively in my face.)

Customer: “WHAT KIND OF CRAPPY DRY CLEANER ARE YOU ANYWAY!?”

(Suddenly, my fiancé, who has heard all this, whips out from the back of the store and jumps in front of the counter, between me and the abusive customer. He moves to within three inches of the customer’s face, and looks down at him menacingly.)

Fiancé: *softly, but in deep bass register* “DO. YOU. HAVE. A. PROBLEM?”

Customer: *cowers back* “No, no…everything’s fine…”

(The customer grabs his shirts and literally flees out the store.  I never saw him again.)

Me: *to fiance* “I love you.”

(A customer walks in with several trash bags full of clothes to be cleaned.)

Me: “Okay, sir. I’ll need to sort and count all these items before I can give you a price. Would you mind opening that bag while I work on this one?”

Customer: “Why would I do your job?”

Me: “Of course, sir.”

(The customer watches silently as I sort, count, and fold over forty items, including clothing, bedding, and towels. Essentially, I am touching his clothes with my bare hands for over twenty minutes.)

Me: “Okay sir, your total comes to [price]. We’ll have them cleaned for you tomorrow after four.”

Customer: “You can’t clean them sooner?”

Me: “Is there a specific reason you need them sooner?”

Customer: “Yeah, my kids have head lice. That’s all their contaminated stuff. They won’t have anything to sleep on tonight.”

(At the dry cleaners where I work, an elderly woman comes in nearly every day. We think she has something wrong with her mentally, but she’s a sweet lady.)

Customer: “Hi, girls!

Me: “Hello again!”

Customer: “It’s a very nice day today, I’ve just been on a walk!”

Coworker: “Yes, looks bright and sunny!”

Customer: “The sun has made me tired, I feel like I need a nap…”

Me: “That’s a good idea, why don’t you take a nap?”

Customer: “Okay!”

(She takes me literally and lays down right there in front of the door.)

Coworker: “Um… how are people going to give us their clothes for cleaning?”

Customer: “I don’t know.” *doesn’t move*

Me: “Can you please move?”

Coworker: “Please, we need to keep the doorway clear.”

Customer: “But I really like it right here!”

Me: “Wouldn’t your bed be so much more comfortable?”

Customer: “Oh, I guess so.”

(Lady gets up, takes some more mints for her coat pocket, and shuffles out the door.)

Me: “See you tomorrow!”

Caller: “I was wondering what stains you can get out of fabric? Can you get everything out?”

Me: “What is the stain, exactly?”

Caller: “Well, I was watching this woman on telly and I got a bit excited–”

Me: *cuts him off* “–Oh yes, we can get THAT out.”

Caller: “Do you want to know who it was?”

Me: “Ummm…”

Eavesdropping coworker: *grabs phone* “Ooh yes, tell us!”

Caller: “Dolly Parton. She really does it for me!”

(All unusual customer requests from that day forward were known as ‘Dolly Partons’.)

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