I work in a hotel. A woman came in for a walk-in and asked for a military rate. I went over the three rates we offer to guests who are in the military (most of our clientele are military or military contractors).

Me: “Can I please see your military ID?”

Guest: “I don’t have one. My friend with benefits is the one in the military.”

Me: “That’s fine. He just needs to be the one to check in and pay for the room, then.”

Guest: “He won’t be staying in the room with me, but he could text me a picture of his ID for me to show you.”

I fought the urge to laugh in her face.

Me: “Not only would that still not qualify, but your friend could get in deep trouble for taking a photo of his military ID and sending it to you.”

What followed was the most childish and embarrassing display of discontent I have ever seen. I’ve not ever seen an outburst like this from my nine-year-old step-son, let alone a grown woman. She was crying, pouting, demanding, “Let me speak to a manager,” you name it. (I am the manager!)

As an added bonus, she also asked to use her reward points for a free night’s stay. She was not a member of our rewards program or anything; she just thought those were the magic words.

I work in a hotel. A guest comes down to the front desk.

Guest: “I’d like to make a complaint! There’s no natural daylight in my room!”

Me: “Um… it’s 10:30 at night.”

I’m working the lunch shift at my hotel’s restaurant, and we are getting close to shutting down for the afternoon. We have two tables left, and one of them orders a salad. Our salads are pretty awesome and big, and our chefs set them out on a cold portion of the prep line so the servers can come grab them, like almost every other restaurant ever.

Since we’re in a hotel, everyone thinks they have free reign to just stroll through our work area. This dude comes walking along and sees the salad in question.

Dude: “Hey, man, are you guys a restaurant?”

Me: “Sure are.”

Dude: “Cool. I want to buy that salad.”

Me: “All right, come over here and I’ll get you rung up. They don’t take very long to prepare.”

Dude: “No, I want that salad. That one right there.”

Me: “Well, that salad is actually for someone else’s order, but I’ll gladly get you one for yourself.”

Dude: “Oh… no, that’s all right.”

The dude walked away dejected and forlorn, in total silence.

I work at a very nice, well-known hotel. We have family staying with us. The wife calls down one morning.

Guest: “What am I supposed to do with my trash?”

Me: “Don’t worry about it. We will come up and take out the trash for you as well as clean the room.”

Not even ten minutes later, she comes down holding all of her trash and starts yelling at me.

Guest: “Where the h*** am I supposed to put all this trash?! This is absolutely ridiculous! Why are you even here if you can’t do one simple thing?”

She throws all the trash in my face. Luckily, my manager comes out right at that moment.

Manager: “Trash is not her job. You’re supposed to leave the trash in your room so we can send someone up to take it for you.”

She tutted and stomped away. They were the worst family I have ever had the displeasure of meeting, and they stayed for a week.

I’m a concierge. A man angrily comes over to me accompanied by a woman.

Guest: “The credenza is too far away from the foot of the bed!”

A credenza is a small table, common in hotel rooms. He isn’t angry, like normal ”I’m pissed!’ angry; he is TOP-OF-THE- LUNGS-SCREAMING-PISSED angry.

In customer service, you don’t react to upset guests; you just ask what you can do for the guest.

Me: “What exactly is the problem? I would love to help you.”

Guest: “You can get me two more tables, or you can f*** her.” *Points to his lady friend*

Me: “Not into girls, sir, but I can get you more tables. But what exactly is the problem?”

Guest: *Surprisingly calmly* “I like to rest my a** on a table in between f***s.”

Me: “Sir, I can get housekeeping to bring you two more tables, or you can just turn your table longways. It’s four feet long. You can rest your a** up there.”

Guest: “Good idea!” *Runs off*

I saw him at checkout the next day. No weirdness. We chatted about all kinds of things, and he gave me an $80 tip.