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Category: Wild & Unruly

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Severely Lacking In Awesome Sauce

| MO, USA | Bad Behavior, Criminal & Illegal, Food & Drink, Popular, Wild & Unruly

(I am closing drive-thru. We have packets of our signature sauce for drive-thru customers, but we also have pumps of it out in lobby. Due to health code regulations, we’re not allowed to use the pumps for serving to customers.)

Customer: “Hey, do you mind if I get [Sauce]?”

Me: “Sure, no problem.” *I try to hand her some packets*

Customer: “Actually, can you put some sauce in a side cup for me from the pump in the lobby?”

(After explaining the health code to her, she suddenly gets very unreasonable.)

Customer: “What do you mean it’s unsanitary?! I’m going to go in there, dump out all of the sauce onto the floor, and make you replace it.”

(I have no patience after a long night.)

Me: “Well, you’re welcome to try, but you’ll be leaving in handcuffs.”

(At this point she just sped off.)

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A Stamp Of Disapproval

| Peachtree City, GA, USA | Bad Behavior, Popular, Wild & Unruly

(I work for a very large pharmacy/convenience store that has a very specific return policy. If it is an item of our brand, it can be returned no matter what: empty, destroyed, no receipt, anything. However, it is returned and you are given a ”money card,” which can be used on anything in store except for prescriptions and cigarettes. A woman from the neighboring trailer park knows this and this occurs almost daily. Today is my last day working.)

Me: *currently restocking the candy in front of my till when I hear a loud cough and see the customer standing three spaces away waiting* “Ma’am, may I help you?”

Lady: “About fucking time. I have a return. I demand you help me now!”

Me: *I walk back to my till, grabbing her items on the way, and start the return by scanning her receipt, noting that she paid with food stamps for her purchase* “Okay, this shouldn’t be an issue. Do you have the food stamp card used? I just need to scan it to reimburse you.”

Lady: “It’s not a food stamp card, you assumptive piece of s***! It’s just for us folks who don’t have a rich daddy to pay for s***. And no, I don’t have it with me.”

(She proceeds to grab the receipt from me.)

Lady: “Just give me one of those d*** cards, okay? God, you take forever.”

(I cancel out the return and begin a return without receipt, which requires my manager to okay that I am activating the card.)

Me: “Okay, this should be just fine; just give me one moment to get my manager to activate the card.”

Lady: “Of course. Hurry up; I don’t have all day, Princess.”

(At this point, I’ve had to deal with her so many times that I am almost joyfully taking my time. I knock on my manager’s office and let him know who it is and what is going on.)

Manager: “Ma’am, this will just take me a quick moment. Can I ask why you’re returning this?”

Lady: “It’s f****** disgusting. All your products are. Just give me my card finally.”

(My manager tells her how to use the card and gives it to her with a printed balance.)

Lady: “I’m just going to use it now, you f****** idiot. Princess, can you finally get off your fat a** and get me a carton of [Cigarette Brand] and two lighters?”

Manager: “Ma’am, I have already told you that you cannot buy cigarettes with this card.”

Lady: “I don’t care! Bad enough you can’t give me my money back. Let me get my f****** cigarettes.”

(At this point, I’m completely shocked. Usually, telling her gets her to go to a different store.)

Manager: *speaking to me* “Did her original receipt show food stamps again?”

Lady: “THEY ARE NOT STAMPS!”

Me: “Yes.”

(At this point, my manager asks for the card so he can “fix the issue” and hands it to me.)

Manager: “Can you please dispose of this for me? As for you ma’am, I demand you leave. This is the fifth time you’ve tried to get cigarettes with food stamps and I cannot take this.”

Lady: *completely irate* “No! I demand my god-d*** f****** cigarettes, you f****** c***!”

(Knowing this is my last day, I look at her completely stone faced and snap the card in half.)

Me: “You need to leave. Now.”

(She later came back that day with a police officer, claiming that we stole from her. My manager took the officer into the room, explained the situation, and showed him both the returned product and the snapped card. She was arrested for food stamp fraud.)

Manager: “You can go home early today. When you’re at college, do something not to end up here.”

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Getting All Hot (Salsa) And Bothered

| USA | Crazy Requests, Extra Stupid, Food & Drink, Popular, Wild & Unruly

(We have three different kinds of salsa, which are named based on their spiciness: mild, medium, and hot. Customers choose their salsa, and employees put it on. I always point to each one as I say their names when asking customers which ones they want. It is a very slow night, I am the only one working on the food line, and the only manager is in the back. This customer is the first one I’ve seen in ten minutes or so.)

Me: “All right, would you like mild, medium, or hot salsa?”

Customer: *points to the mild salsa* “Hot.”

Me: *I figure it’s more likely that he misspoke than that he mis-pointed. I grab the spoon for the mild salsa and keep my eye on the customer’s face* “This one?”

Customer: “Is that the hot?”

Me: *I move my hand over to the spoon for the hot salsa* “Sorry, that was the mild. This one’s the hot.”

Customer: “Mild?”

Me: *I point to the mild* “This one here?”

Customer: “Is that the hot?”

Me: “No, that is the mild.” *I point to the hot* “This is the hot. Did you want the hot salsa?”

Customer: “No, not that one.”

Me: *I point to the mild* “So, the mild?”

Customer: “NOT MILD!”

Me: “Okay, um…” *I point to the medium* “Medium?”

Customer: *clearly getting irate* “HOT! SALSA!”

Me: “Yes, sir.”

(I grab the ladle of hot salsa, and start to bring it to the customer’s food.)

Customer: “NO!” *he points to the mild salsa* “I want HOT SALSA! HOT! SALSA!”

(He’s already yelling because I tried to clarify. He still doesn’t know which salsa is which. Either he gets mad at me now because I explain it, or he gets mad later because his food isn’t spicy, and then gets mad again the next time an employee tries to clarify what he wants. I decide to bite the bullet. I plaster on my cheerful customer service face. My eyes probably glaze over. I am no longer present.)

Me: “Yes, sir! I’m very sorry; I just want to make sure that I get you exactly what you want. It looks like you’re pointing to this one.” *points to mild* “Is that right?”

Customer: “YES! HOT SALSA!”

Me: “I’d be happy to give you some of this, but I’d hate it if you sat down with the food and were disappointed because you expected it to be hot. This one is mild. It has no spiciness whatsoever. Is that okay?”

Customer: “WHY IS THIS SO HARD FOR YOU? I DON’T WANT IT TO BE MILD. I WANT HOT SALSA. THAT MEANS SPICY! JUST… AUGH! CAN SOMEONE ELSE DO THIS? SOMEONE SMARTER THAN YOU?”

Me: “Sure! Just a moment, sir.”

(I go in the back to talk to the manager.)

Me: “Sir, there’s a gentleman up front who would like some help with his salsa choices this evening.”

Manager: “Oh, god, you’ve gone robot again. It’s that bad?”

Me: “He says he’d like someone smarter than me to do it.”

Manager: “Oh, boy.”

(The manager goes up front. I stay in the office and watch on the security monitors as the manager listens to the customer, and reaches for the hot salsa. I see the customer gesturing wildly, and hear some yelling from all the way up front. Then the customer storms out without his food. I walk up front, and pass the manager on his way back. He’s holding back laughter.)

Manager: “Good news! He says he’s never coming here again!”

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