(I am 20, but have been working at my appliance store since I was 16, so am pretty knowledgeable on the products. An elderly lady calls enquiring about a new washing machine. I talk her through all the various machines which I think suit her needs, going over spin speeds, load sizes, special programmes, etc. She agrees on a model and I arrange a delivery and take payment. The day of delivery arrives and I get a call from the lady, who is furious! She is ranting about what kind of idiots do we employ and suchlike. She calms down enough that I can get a word in and ask her what’s wrong.)

Customer: “The idiot who I spoke to sold me a laundry machine! I wanted A WASHING MACHINE!”

Me: “The model we delivered you is a washing machine, ma’am.”

Customer: “Well, it’s the wrong kind. I wanted a DISH WASHING MACHINE!”

Me: “…let me get the boss.”

(I work in a call center for a large bus company. I’m known for having an extremely friendly attitude, but even I struggle with this customer, who sounds downright mean and condescending through the entire exchange.)

Me: “Hello, this is [My Name] at [Bus Company]. How may I help you?

Customer: “I need to find out how to get from [Small Town] to [Large City].”

Me: “Sure thing! What date and time are you interested in traveling?”

Customer: “None of your business.”

Me: “Ma’am? We have quite a few buses running daily between those places. I don’t need the exact time, but do you have an estimate? Say Wednesday afternoons in April?”

Customer: “Listen up! I don’t call here to have you pry into my personal life! Why should I be required to tell you what I’m doing and when? Just tell me how I can get to where I’m going!”

Me: “Ma’am, I would, but the schedule depends on the weekday and month. I just want to make sure I’m giving you the right times; that’s all!”

Customer: “I don’t care! You’re just a little sneak! This is the worst customer service ever! Can’t even answer a simple question! I wonder how you managed to get this job, seeing as you’re horrible at it…”

(At this point I really have to make an effort to sound friendly, and I just want to get rid of her.)

Me: “Would you like me to pick a month and then read aloud the whole schedule? I have to warn you, there are over twenty per day.”

Customer: “Well, are you going to start or not?”

Me: “Well, if you were to travel next week, on Monda- ”

Customer: “No! Not next week; the one after that!”

Me: “Okay. So on that week, the first bus leaves on Monday morning at four am; the- ”

(The customer snorts.)

Customer: “Seriously? Are you stupid? Why are you giving me all this useless information? I would never travel that early. Tell me the afternoon schedules.”

(She then lets me go through the list without further interruption.)

Customer: “Thank you. Oh, by the way, you’re not really bad at customer service. It’s just that I do customer service myself and got shouted at by a customer today. I felt really bad about it and wanted to take it out on someone, you know? Thankfully, I had you. Well, bye!”

Me: “Have a nice day…?”

(I quit shortly after.)

(I work at a self-serve frozen yogurt shop, where customers can serve themselves cups of yogurt with various toppings, and weigh it at the end. The one topping we offer that is not self-serve is whipped cream, because customers would have to touch the nozzle to serve themselves, and that’s unhygienic. Employees are the only ones who can touch the nozzle, because we wash our hands with sanitized water frequently. This story happens as a heavily pregnant woman comes in with her husband.)

Woman: “Can I get some whipped cream, please?”

Me: “Of course!” *holds can over her cup* “Tell me when.”

Woman: *grabbing for the can* “No, I’ll do it.”

Me: “I’m sorry ma’am, but I can’t let you. It’s due to the health code; only employees can touch whipped cream cans.”

Woman: “That’s ridiculous. I’ve never heard that in my life!” *continues to try and snatch the can away from me* “Just let me do it. I’m pregnant!”

Man: “Come on, just let her do it. She’s eight months pregnant. Let her do what she wants.”

Me: “Really, I am sorry. It can seem like a silly rule, but we can’t be sure that customers’ hands are totally clean, so we can’t let anyone else touch the nozzle.”

Woman: “Oh, so now you’re calling me dirty?! Give me the can, you little b****!!” *she slaps the can out of my hand and proceeds to put whipped cream on her yogurt herself* “There, was that so hard?”

(I have to throw the can away at this point, since there’s no way to properly sanitize the nozzle, and we can’t risk other customer’s safety in the case that the woman’s hands might have been dirty. The woman rages when she sees me do this.)

Woman: “What the f***?! You just throw it away?! Because I touched it!?”

Me: “Yes! Like I tried to tell you, it’s unhygienic! I can’t keep using a can that someone else has touched—”

(The woman slams her yogurt down on the scale, which causes it to splash up and go everywhere, including all over herself. She starts screaming in frustration, before stomping out, leaving her husband behind.)

Man: “See what you did? This could have all been avoided! She’s pregnant!”

(They left without their yogurts.)

(A vendor had requested a rush check cut and sent overnight. The check hasn’t arrived and he calls me, clearly looking for a fight.)

Vendor: *on the phone* “We never received the check today. We specifically requested the check be rushed and sent overnight so we would receive it by Thursday! I don’t know what you do sitting at that desk all day! Did you even cut the check?”

Me: *ignoring that and using my cheery customer service voice* “Let me look up the tracking number. Okay, it says your package is at the facility that had the shooting yesterday.”

(The San Francisco UPS facility had an employee shoot and kill three people and himself.)

Me: “It’s been delayed one day.”

Vendor: *silence*

Me: “So, it looks like we got that sorted. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

(The kicker is he had the tracking number. He could have looked up and seen the reason without looking like an a**.)

(Back in 1996, working an afternoon at the popular local convenience store with gas pumps. Gas is about $1.25 a gallon. Multiple cars at the pumps, a line of customers waiting inside at the register to pay. A little old lady comes up…)

Old Lady: “What do I owe on pump four?”

Me: *checking the pump total* “$13.96.”

Old Lady: “That doesn’t sounds right. Please make sure you’re looking at the right pump. Number four.”

Me: *checking again* “Huh, that’s weird. It’s $14.67, now.”

(My manager is organizing the shelves nearby and gives me a weird look.)

Old Lady: “That can’t be right; my tank has a hole in it and can only hold about $8 dollars of gas.”

(My manager, a 4’11” woman, LEAPS over the service counter, palming the emergency pump shutoff, races to the aisle with cat food, shoots out the front door with a bag of kitty litter, shouting “Call the fire department!” at me and “GET AWAY FROM THE PUMPS” to everyone outside.)

Old Lady: “So, will $8 be enough?”