I worked at a sandwich store in the early 1990s. The store did their own deliveries. An Army base was close by, and they were the majority of deliveries. We had this one regular guy who always had the same complaint.

Caller: “I didn’t get enough jalapeños!”

The next time he ordered, we put in one-and-a-half times the usual jalapeños without charging extra.

Caller: “You guys are either stupid or cheap! I still didn’t get enough jalapeños!”

After a few more complaints and rude words, I made his next order by pouring some of the jalapeño juice and tons of seeds from the jalapeño bin onto the bread.

The following week:

Caller: “Go light on jalapeños.”

A mother is checking out with her teen daughter.

Mother: *To her daughter* “I still can’t believe you wanted to work here with all these… people. If I’d let you send that application, you’d be forced to be here on a Saturday instead of coming to have brunch with me and the ladies. Isn’t that better than being with… well… them?“

They place a few clothing items on the counter.

Me: “Ma’am, you’re in good luck! Anyone over fifty-five gets 10% off today!”

It actually was a “seniors’ day” that day, and we didn’t have to check IDs or anything. It was satisfying seeing this woman who was obviously under fifty-five cringing.

I work with the Girl Scouts. A troop mom comes by who is usually a rude and problematic customer.

Troop Mom: “I need a box of badges — the hundred box since my girls are doing so much better than all the others, as usual.”

Me: “Okay… I’ll go check the back for the larger boxes.”

I go to the back room to see my manager shaking up the box I need.

Manager: “Every time she comes in, she wants to show off and bring everyone else down. That’s not the Girl Scout way. So, I make sure to shake the bag real good and get those badges all mixed up and out of order. Now that’s the Girl Scout way.”

When I was working at a deli, some woman screamed and stamped her feet to get some ham discounted.

Woman: “I missed it when it was on sale! I want a discount!”

So, the manager gave it to her for the reduced rate, plus a little more off for the “inconvenience” of being told “no”.

Later, I went on my break, and guess what I saw shoved on a shelf in the cereal aisle? Her bag of ham. And I knew it was hers as it had the sticker from her special discount on it.

I got a Ph.D. placement abroad in Switzerland, but because I was starting directly after my Masters, I only got about three weeks’ notice that I had been accepted by the university. Of course, this meant that my choices in flat hunting were limited. I ended up renting a room in a flat with two other people both in their forties.

Things quickly started going downhill — things like being accused of not doing the cleaning when I had, not being allowed to use the kitchen if the main tenant was cooking (he was technically my landlord as I had the contract with him), and having to eat my breakfast while the main tenant was having his morning meetings at the dining table. While not terrible, it did make the whole situation awkward.

Finally, I’ve had enough, and I start flat hunting and find a nice place closer to the centre of the city. Once I have signed the contract, I arrive back at the flat to tell the main tenant I’m leaving with four months’ notice. (It’s May.) He starts speaking before me.

Tenant: “I’ve got a favour I want to ask you. Would you mind if you moved out during August so my daughter who is visiting can stay in your room? Don’t worry; you wouldn’t have to pay any rent for that month.”

I pause in shock for a second.

Me: “Um, no. I’m working over August. I need to use my room.”

Tenant: “Oh, but aren’t you going home for the summer?”

Me: “No, I’m working in the lab over the summer.”

Tenant: “But you’re a student.”

Me: “Yes, I’m a doctoral student. It’s a full-time job. I only get twenty-eight days of holiday, which I imagine is the same as you. I’m not going to put in for all my holiday just because you want your daughter to use the room.”

Tenant: “Oh. Really? Oh, in that case, never mind.”

At that point, I gave him the news that I’d found a new flat and would be moving out.

The next day, I had a thought. I’m young for a Ph.D. student in Switzerland. (I was twenty-two when I first arrived, and all of the other students in the building were three to eight years older than me.) It didn’t help that I have a baby face. I think that somewhere along the line, the “doctoral” part got dropped, and the guy thought I was an undergrad and based his respect on that. The whole situation made me so glad I’d already got a new place.