A customer calls our ice cream shop.

Customer: “Something is wrong with my cake, and I’m coming down to get a refund!”

She turns up in the shop.

Customer: “I put the ice cream cake in the fridge, and it melted!”

Me: “Why did you put it in the fridge? It’s ice cream; it needs to go in the freezer.”

Customer: “Why would I put my ice cream cake in the freezer when none of you employees told me I should when I bought the cake from the fridge here?”

Me: “You got the cake from a freezer. Can you see the digital thermometer showing the temperature at about twenty degrees?”

Customer: “If it’s a freezer, why isn’t it below zero degrees?”

Me: “It’s Fahrenheit.”

Customer: “Well, you should explain that to people who use Celsius!”

Me: “So, you think twenty degrees Celsius is a normal temperature for an ice cream cake?”

Customer: “…shut up and give me my refund!”

She did not get her refund.

I am visiting my sister’s family in California. We’re Caucasian, and one of her sons married a wonderful woman who is African-American. Their two young children have different complexions; their older boy is brownish and looks more Hispanic, and their daughter looks Caucasian.

One afternoon, I go to watch my two great-niblings play soccer. I meet them and their mom at the park and watch both of their games. After playing, they both look overheated, so I offer to buy ice cream for everyone. We go to an ice cream shop, get our orders, and sit down at a table.

My nephew’s wife has to excuse herself to the restroom, so I sit there talking to my great-niblings about their games.

A nosy-looking older woman comes over to our table while their mom is still away.

Woman: “I think it’s wonderful how tolerant you’re being.”

Me: “Tolerant? Of what?”

Woman: “Letting your… granddaughter? …sit with your housekeeper’s son eating ice cream.”

I stand up and reply softly so the kids don’t hear.

Me: “First, these two are siblings — my great nephew and niece. And the woman who you call my ‘housekeeper’ is my niece. And the only thing I’m having to be tolerant of is nosy old bigots interrupting a family outing. But my tolerance has limits, so please leave us alone.”

The woman retreated, not uttering another word. Unbeknownst to me, my niece had returned while I was whispering my retort to NOW. When I turned around, she was crying. She gave me a big hug, and then we sat and ate our ice cream.

The woman was still there, but every time I looked around, she quickly looked away from us — in shame, hopefully.

Related:
And What Happens When You Assume? Part 3
And What Happens When You Assume? Part 2
And What Happens When You Assume?
Remember What Happens When You Assume
What’s That Saying About What Happens When You Assume?

I work in an ice cream shop.

Customer: “Hi. Which flavours are dairy-free here?”

Me: “All our fruit-based flavours don’t have dairy. Then we’ve got this new entry: soy-based chocolate. We also keep waffle cones just for that, so no need to go for a cup, if you’d like.”

Customer: “Oh, that’s great. I’ll have a large one with gianduja and Stracciatella, then.”

Me: “Er… those aren’t dairy-free.”

Customer: “Oh, I know, I’m just buying a cone for myself and another.”

Me: “So, neither of you is lactose intolerant?”

Customer: “Nah, it’s not me who has a lactose allergy. My kid does, but he’s misbehaving because neither his dad nor I am buying him ice cream, so I came here to buy some for my husband and myself and eat it in front of his face.”

Me: “…”

Customer: “Well, I needed him to know he could have the ice cream. No point using it as a lesson if there weren’t any dairy-free options, but there are, so… that should teach him.”

I did serve her, yes. I did not like the way she put it, though, and I hope everyone involved grows up.

When I was fifteen, my first job was at a local fast food chain. The whole place was kind of shady, so I have plenty of stories about crazy people coming in. One of my first unfortunate experiences with customer service was when a lady came by and declared that she was gluten-free and couldn’t have our cones.

Me: “Okay! Would you like a cup, sundae, or blizzard instead?”

Customer: “No, I want a cone.”

I was confused and looked around for any of my coworkers to help. Unfortunately for me, they were busy.

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “I want a cone without the cone.”

Me: “So, in a cup?”

Customer: “No.”

She began to get frustrated with me.

Customer: “I want a cone… without the cone. The ice cream.”

Me: “Right. Would you like that in a cup, then?”

Customer: “No, I don’t want a cup! I want a cone!”

I stared back at her blankly. I was being paid generously under minimum wage, and dealing with aggravated adults was not my specialty as a shy teen.

Me: “Do you want me to make you a cone and take the ice cream off with my bare hands and hand it to you, or would you like me to put it in a cup?”

She then began to scream at me, so I simply made her a cup of ice cream for free so she would leave. She threw the cup toward me and stomped away.

Customer: “You’re discriminating against gluten-free people! I will not be coming back!”

Me: “Okay!”

Certainly, an interesting experience. 

Related:
Free Of Gluten, Free Of Thought, Part 12
Free Of Gluten, Free Of Thought, Part 11
Free Of Gluten, Free Of Thought, Part 10
Free Of Gluten, Free Of Thought, Part 9
Free Of Gluten, Free Of Thought, Part 8

The ice cream shop where I work is doing a promotion for a childhood cancer awareness foundation. For a month, we are required to ask every customer if they want to donate.

Me: “Would you like to donate a dollar for childhood cancer?”

Customer: “Noooo! I don’t want to give children cancer! That would be horrible! Why would someone donate to that?”