(On my 21st birthday, I go to a tattoo/piercing parlor run by a husband and wife to get my first tattoo. Having participated in theatre all through high school, it has become a habit to wear a plain black tank top underneath my regular shirts. Note that I’m also a rather well-endowed woman.)

Artist: “So where did you say you wanted this done?”

Me: “Somewhere along here, on my clavicle.”

Artist: “Well if it’s that far up, then you won’t be able to wear a bra for the healing duration. With the, ah, weight it bears, it could stretch your skin and distort the tattoo.”

(I indicate lower down toward my breasts.)

Me: “Well, how about here?”

Artist: “Ah, that’ll work. Now… hmm…”

(He fusses with my shirt a bit, which is getting in the way, and finally he just tugs the collar down and rests his hand on my breast for a moment while trying to figure out if that would work.)

Me: “Oh, right, I’m sorry.”

(I sit up and start pulling my shirt over my head.)

Artist: “Whoa missy, whoa there!”

(I am sitting there with my tank top on, and my t-shirt off.)

Me: “Oh. I maybe should have warned you, huh?”

Artist: “Oh my god, give me a heart attack! I’m like, ‘My wife’s right here and you already paid.’ I appreciate the show and all, but, you know. Wait until the missus is gone.”

(His wife, the piercing artist, just sits back and laughs. I leave him a $10 tip.)

(I take calls from customers about billing and any cable troubleshooting.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Cable Company]; how can I help you?”

Customer: “Your cable has blown up my TV! All I have is a black screen. The TV won’t even turn on. Your equipment is cheap, and you’re a bad cable company!”

Me: “Sir, let me see if I can help you.”

Customer: “I don’t think so; you are all stupid!”

Me: “I don’t see any outage reported in your area. Can you tell if your cable box has any lights on it?”

Customer: “Yes, it has a red and yellow one. But you have blown up my f****** TV! You’ll have to pay for it.”

Me: “Sir, can I have you pick up the remote and push the TV button, and then the power button?”

(Note: If the TV is just turned off, this will turn it on.)

Customer: “Nothing, I still have a black screen. This is a new TV. I spent good money on it!”

Me: “I understand, sir. Let’s start with simple things and work our way up so maybe we won’t have to send a tech out.”

Customer: “You’ll have to pay for my TV; that’s what you’ll do!”

Me: “Are there any kind of lights or buttons lit up on your TV?”

Customer: “No, you blew it up.”

Me: “Can I have you just check to make sure it is still plugged in?”

Customer: “I never unplugged it; of course it’s plugged in. But if it will make you happy…”

(He sets the phone down and I hear him swearing in the background and the TV come on.)

Customer: “Forget it. I’ll… fix it myself.” *click*

(I am a volunteer bartender at a big music festival. We are required to check everyone’s ID upon ordering a drink. It’s now late into the festival, and customers are already pretty drunk.)

Customer: “Can I get a beer?”

Me: “Yes, can I see some ID?”

Customer: *as he’s pulling out his ID* “Okay, but it’s fake!”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “Yeah, it’s fake. Will you still serve me?”

Me: “Absolutely not!”

Customer: *shoves ID in my face* “Does it look fake!?”

Me: “You just told me your ID is fake. I cannot serve you.”

Customer: “Fine! I’ll go over here!” *moves a foot over to the next bartender’s line*

Me: “I will tell them not to serve you.”

Customer: “Seriously!? WHAT THE H***! I JUST WANT SOME ALCOHOL!”

(At this point the bar manager has witnessed what has transpired.)

Manager: *to customer* “GET THE F*** OUT OF HERE AND DON’T COME BACK, OR I’LL CALL THE COPS!”

(We have a regular couple of customers: a mother and her young son. They come in predominantly to buy trading cards based on a popular hand-held game. The young boy is very polite and sometimes comes alone. The mother is loathed by most members of staff because of her critical attitude towards her son’s hobby and our stock.)

Mother: “This store is just ridiculous. Why do you stock such crap? Children wasting their money! Parents wasting their money!”

Me: “Well, if he’s saved his money up, it’s all his choice to buy these trading cards, isn’t it?”

Mother: “Yes, but it’s just rubbish! Stupid drivel for STUPID people!”

(My manager, who is nearby, and I are both irritated by this. This woman tends to bully her son every time they are here together. Her son is completely silent other than asking for what packs of cards he wants. As the receipt prints, my manager speaks up.)

Manager: “You know, my colleague here plays trading card games.”

Mother: “What? Why?!”

(Note: I’m 23.)

Manager: “So, by that connection, you’d be calling her stupid, for playing stupid games.”

Mother: “Well, yes!”

Me: “Stupid games that teach things like mathematical and tactical skills.”

Mother: “Well—”

Me: “And that you are, effectively, calling your money-managing, polite, patient young son stupid.”

Mother: “Well—”

Me: “Just remember that.”

(The mother goes white and apologizes profusely, before leaving the store. The son ends up talking to me about some of the card games, and now still does every time he comes back. The mother might still make disparaging remarks about our other stock, but she’s never called anything or anyone ‘stupid’ since.)

(I am working in a women’s clothing store. When an item is marked down, we put a red line through the barcode of the tag attached to the piece of clothing. A customer and her daughter in her 20s bring up a dress.)

Customer: “Hi, we found this on the sale rack.”

(I scan it. It comes up full price. Confused, I check the tag; there is a black line through the barcode, instead of a red one. Someone must have marked it down by accident, realized their mistake, and tried to correct it by drawing a black line over the red one, instead of just printing out a new tag for the dress. And then someone else misunderstood the black line and put it on the sale rack anyway.)

Me: “Ah. Okay, so I’m afraid this is actually full price—”

(The two customers’ eyes flash, and I know I’m in trouble.)

Customer: “But this was on the sale rack.”

Me: “I know. I’m so sorry for the confusion. I think what happened is, someone accidentally marked this down, but realized their mistake.” *I show her the tag* “See, we usually put a red line through it; this is black. It came up full price when I scanned it.”

Customer: “Well, that’s false advertising!”

Me: “No, no, it’s not. It was just a mistake someone else made when they put it back. I’m sorry about that.”

(The customer and her daughter exchange a look.)

Customer: “Well, it’s really your attitude that’s the problem.”

Me: *flabbergasted* “What attitude? I’m just explaining what happened.”

(The daughter laughs condescendingly.)

Daughter: “Come on. We don’t have time for—” *she gestures at me with a flick of her wrist* “—this little gnat.”

Me: “I was just—”

(Another customer at the other register chimes in.)

Other Customer: “It’s not you.”

(We all look over. The other customer is looking through her pocketbook for her wallet, but it’s clear she’s talking to me.)

Other Customer: “It’s not you.”

(My customer and her daughter shut up. They leave the dress on the counter and walk away. My manager walks up, and I wonder if I’m in trouble.)

Manager: “What was THAT all about?”

Other Customer: “It wasn’t you. Seriously, they were really mean.”

Manager: “Ah, okay. That’s what it sounded like. Don’t let them get to you.”

(To the other customer, thanks for putting in the good word for me! It made me feel less like a gnat!)