I worked in a gas station that sold regular coffee refills for fifty cents, but larger mugs or those big flask refills cost ninety-five cents. 

Someone undercharged this guy’s large Stanley Cup the last time he was in, by charging him fifty cents. Of course, he noticed when I charged him the correct price.

Customer: “Hey! Yesterday, that was fifty cents!”

Me: “That’s only for small mug refills, sir. A refill for that whole cup is ninety-five cents.”

Customer: “So then someone yesterday made a mistake?!”

Me: “Yes.”

He blinked a few times, not expecting me to just come out and admit that, I guess.

Customer: “Well, then I expect the same price today!”

Me: “So you’d like me to repeat yesterday’s mistake?”

Customer: “Your prices should be consistent!”

Me: “Would you like me to add on the forty-five cents you should have paid yesterday?”

Customer: “No! I want it to be fifty cents!”

Me: “Sir, I understand a mistake was made yesterday, and I apologize if it has caused some confusion. We are human here, and we make mistakes. However, I have to charge you the correct price.”

Customer: “This is a power trip for you, isn’t it?! This is the only way someone like you gets to push around someone like me.”

Me: “Sir, there is a line. Do you want the refill or not?”

He glares at me for a little bit, fishes into his pocket, and seems surprised to find two quarters in there. This calms him down for a bit.

Customer: “I guess you don’t set the prices though, huh?”

He hands me a dollar.

Me: “No, but you still shot the messenger. Have a good day.”

He gaped at me as I handed him a nickel and his coffee, and turned to the person behind him and started helping them very politely. When he finally got over his shock that I was an actual human being that he’d just hurled abuse at for several minutes (and wasn’t going to take it), he left. I never saw him again, and I wasn’t sad about it.

My cat is nineteen years old with several health issues. I have had her since she was three months old, so I know her like the back of my hand. The first time she peed outside the litter box, I called the vet and told them what was happening. They told me to bring her in the next day for a checkup. 

When I got there, we were led to a private room.

New Vet Tech: “So, what’s happening?

Me: “She peed outside the litter box yesterday and today.”

New Vet Tech: “Are you keeping it clean?”

Me: “It’s self-cleaning, and I change the litter every week.”

New Vet Tech: “Okay, let’s get her checked out.”

Me: “She’s really not into being handled right now, so—”

New Vet Tech: “—That’s okay, we’re prepared.”

Me: “Wear gloves!”

New Vet Tech: “We’ve got it!”

She took my cat in her crate to be examined by the vet. It was only a few minutes later that I heard a familiar, angry yowl as something (the carrier) hit the floor and scrambling around the room. The commotion continued for a few minutes before everything went quiet. [New Vet Tech] came back with her hand wrapped.

New Vet Tech: “Um… can you come back here?”

Me: “You tried to pick her up without gloves?

New Vet Tech: “…Yeah.”

I followed her back to see the vet and three techs looking up at the top of a row of cabinets where my cat was crouched. She growled at the group, then saw me. Her growl changed to a pitiful meow, and her body relaxed.

Vet: “Hi, [My Name]. We’re having an issue here.”

Me: “Hey, baby. What are you doing up there?” *Crawling up on the table under the cabinets.* “Can you come here?”

New Vet Tech: *Crawling up with me.* “I can help—”

Vet: “—Get down, [New Vet Tech].”

I reached up, and my cat rubbed her head on my hand before climbing down my arm. She allowed the vet to examine her while in my arms, but if anyone else was within her sight, she tensed up and began hissing and growling again.

The vet determined she likely had a UTI, so she got an antibiotic shot and some gentle sedatives to get us through the next few days. We went back a week later for a follow-up, and she was back to her normal, loving self. [New Vet Tech] offered a sheepish apology, which my cat happily accepted.

Had this couple tonight: woman was nice but quiet, said little, ordered nothing; man had terrible energy, palpable as soon as I approached the table. He ordered a steak entree and had two beers; every time he was required to engage with me, he acted as if he were being forced at gunpoint.

I’m generally good at being able to get people back on track when they arrive in a bad mood, and I completely ignore poor attitudes until they realize it’s getting them nowhere. I also understand that the majority of the time, their behavior has nothing to do with me.

By the end of the night, I thought he had chilled out. He still wasn’t friendly, but he was neutral, which is better than where he started. He gave me his card to close out, and it declined. I never vocalize this to a guest; I simply write “card is not being accepted” on a piece of paper, slip it back in the book, and hand it back the same way I would if they’d paid.

I did this with him, put the book on the table, and went about picking up the checks/cards at the nine other tables I had to also close out. This took about a little less than five minutes, but when I returned to the man’s table, he was LIVID. He wasn’t quite yelling, but his voice was a bit more than raised.

Customer: “You couldn’t just wait for me to hand you a new card? You had to throw the check down and run off?”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir?”

I’m asking because I was thrown off guard and wasn’t sure I was understanding him.

Customer: “I SAID, you couldn’t just wait for me to hand you a new card? You had to throw the check down and make me sit and wait for you to come back?”

Me: “Sir, I didn’t throw anything down, and I was trying to be respectful by not hovering by your table while you searched for another card—”

Customer: “—but you just had to make me sit here waiting for you, right?”

Me: “Sir, I had other tables to close out as well, and I—”

Customer: *As he thrusts a new card at me.* “—I JUST WANT TO PAY THE BILL!”

Me: “And you already would have if your card hadn’t declined, but here we are.”

I absolutely knew I shouldn’t have said that. I knew his anger was likely embarrassment at his card declining, but y’all, after twenty-seven years in this industry, I’m reaching my limit with this kind of s***. 

There were a few seconds during the interaction where I ALMOST told him to go f*** himself and was ready to accept the consequences.

I am at the register, and I give the customer his change.

Customer: “Hey! I paid with two twenties!”

Me: “Sir, your total was $17.”

Customer: “…huh?”

Me: “You paid with one twenty, and your change is three.”

Customer: “No, I paid with two twenties!”

Me: “Sir, please do the math. Why would you give me two twenties when your total was less than twenty?”

It takes a moment for the customer to figure it out, but when he does…

Customer: “Ah… f***.”

It was honestly the dumbest scam I’ve ever seen anyone try to pull.

I’m an American working as an English teacher in China for one year. I’ve tried to pick up some Mandarin with limited success, so when I go to a large grocery store, if I need help finding something, I’ll find an employee and ask my phone to bring up pictures of the item I can’t find so the employee can take me to it. 

I’m looking for peanut butter, but I’m not sure where to go. I find an employee and pull out my phone.

Me: *To phone.* “Search the internet for pictures of peanut butter.”

I am about 0.00001 seconds from having my phone in this poor woman’s face when I hear my phone reply:

Siri: “Here are some pictures of penis I found on the web.”

Horrified, I whip my phone back to me and clear the search from the screen. I then make sure to enunciate better and wait to see the results before showing it to the woman.

Me: “Search the internet for pictures of peanut butter!”

My heart was still pounding for a while after that. THAT would have been hard to explain around the language barrier.