(I recently started working in a café in a fancy neighborhood, the kind that gets snobby ladies with their small dogs. The kitchen just closed and we’re getting the last orders out to the customers. I approach a table with two ladies sitting and give them their food.)

Customer: *snaps her fingers* “Sweetie, sorry, but I also ordered fries.”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry, but the kitchen gave me everything for your order. Let me just go check.”

(I highly doubt the kitchen has forgotten to make her fries, as they always closely check orders, but I check, and there’s nothing there for her. By now, the kitchen has been mostly cleaned and closed.)

Me: “Sorry, there really isn’t anything else. The kitchen is closed, but I can give you a free slice of cake after you’ve eaten, instead?”

Customer: “Ugh, no, I can’t have cake!”

Me: “Well… Should I bring you some more bread?”

Customer: “I can’t have bread, either!”

(I eye her bread bowl; she’s eating our other kind of bread so it isn’t a gluten allergy.)

Me: “I’m sorry, but I’m out of options now.”

Customer: “But I’m going to be hungry! This isn’t enough; I wanted my fries! Young lady, I am a highly influential person on Instagram! I have over fifteen thousand followers! I just posted about being here; you’re going to lose a lot of customers! I’ll tell all of my friends!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but you didn’t want any of the options I gave you, so I don’t know what to tell you.”

Customer: “I’ll tell my fifteen thousand followers about this!”

Me: “Again, I’m sorry, but the kitchen is closed.”

(With that, I walked off and BARELY made it behind the counter before I burst into laughter. She really tried to threaten us with her fifteen thousand followers!)

Related:
Will Not Be Influenced By The Influencer

I am the customer. It is the day after I turned 54. Late on the evening of my birthday, I fell over an uneven sidewalk, resulting in scrapes and bruises. While I did not hit my head, I think trauma from the fall is my only excuse for what happened here.

As I’m checking out, I notice a sign about how age 55 and over get a discount on the first Tuesday of the month and comment that in a year, I’ll have to start shopping on Tuesday. The cashier mentions that, during the holidays, the discount is every Tuesday. My response: “That’ll be especially good in years when Black Friday falls on a Tuesday!” 

Maybe I was thinking of the day after Christmas?

(This is back in the days before chip and PIN. A customer comes up to pay for her purchase with a card. I check the signature and it’s completely different, but not just different writing, a different name. I turn the card over to check the name, and it’s distinctly a man’s name, and she is an unremarkable middle-aged woman.)

Me: “This isn’t your card.”

Customer: “No, it’s my husband’s.”

Me: “Well, you can’t use it.”

(She holds up bags from half a dozen other stores and says:)

Customer: “No one else said anything.” 

(Yup, she’d spent hundreds of dollars on a card she wasn’t even pretending was hers, and no one else had noticed.)

(In France, as probably almost everywhere, non-profits hire students to stop people in the street to ask them for donations. It’s expected that they remain friendly and smiling, and people seem to take that as a “please abuse me” sign. Sure, they can be a bit annoying, but they never insist once you tell them you’re not interested. I have a rather old bike which tends to fall apart easily, needing me to stop for a minute or two to pick up the broken parts and put them back together. One day, I stop right next to a student working for an NPO and hear this exchange between the employee and an old guy.)

NPO Employee: “Hi! Do you have a minute?”

(Note that in French, using words such as, “sir,” “mister,” etc., would be weird in that sentence and setting.)

Old Guy: “If you want to talk to me, you’ll call me mister!”

NPO Employee: *hesitant* “Okay, and does mister have a minute?”

Old Guy: *with a smug smile* “No!”

(I don’t like it when a**holes seem to think they can bother whomever they want, just because they’re younger, or for whatever reason. I stand up from my improvised bike repair and walk up to the old guy. I’m a 20-ish female, but I’m 1.80m — 5’9” — and am very well-built, so I tower over him.)

Me: *in the sweetest voice I can muster* “Then why did mister feel the need to importune that underpaid student? Would mister deign explain it to someone who isn’t contractually obligated to smile and be polite to him, or would mister rather f*** off?”

(It’s the day of a well-known pirate-themed parade. Our store is near the parade route, so we often get people in various states of sobriety that stop in to stock up on food and drinks. A very tall man, dressed in full pirate gear, walks through the doors. It’s about 10:00 am.)

Customer: “What’s up, everybody?! It’s [Parade] Day!”

(My coworker bagging groceries chuckles.)

Coworker: “This should be fun.”

(The customer wanders through the store, occasionally stopping to exclaim over food items and yell, “Hello!” at other customers. He gets to my register. He’s buying chips, Gatorade, and a lot of liquor.)

Customer: “What’s up, [Grocery Store] peeps?! It’s a great day for a parade!”

Me: “That’s what I hear!”

(I ring through his stuff and he pays.)

Customer: “Right on, cashier lady!” *high-fives me* “Have an awesome day!” *grabs his stuff, fist bumps my coworker, and walks out*

(My coworker and I stare at each other and start laughing.)

Coworker: “Day drunk or just really excited?”

Me: “I’m going to guess… really excited. Although he was in full costume at 10:00 am, so… who knows?”

(When the local news aired parade highlights that night, there was my customer, riding a float and throwing beads!)