Getting (Pet)ty

(I’m working as the manager of a lounge available for free to holders of a travel rewards card. The front desk staff are well trained to spot all 30-something varieties of this card, and were chosen for being extremely diplomatic. San Francisco is notorious for people trying to pass off regular pets as service animals to bring them into buses, open-kitchen restaurants, etc. Apparently, we’re not even allowed to ask for the service license, but I didn’t know that until this incident. Tonight, I’m near the front as a woman wanders in with a small dog in tow and tries to walk past the staff without verifying her card.)

Me: “Is that a service animal?”

Customer: “…”

Me: “I’m sorry, miss—” *pointing to the sign* “—but no pets are allowed inside. Does he have a license?”

Customer: “What’s your name? He’s not a pet! You can’t ask me that! This is discrimination! I demand to speak to the manager!”

Me: “I’m actually the manager on duty, ma’am.”

Customer: “WHAT’S YOUR NAME?! I WANT TO SPEAK TO YOUR BOSS!”

(She’s yelling so loudly most of the people in the lounge and employees are looking over to see what the commotion is.)

Me: “Okay… but are you a [Company] cardholder? Even if you have a service animal, only cardholders are allowed in the lounge.”

Customer: “WHAT’S YOUR NAME?!”

Me: “My name is [My Name]. Are you a cardholder?”

Customer: “WHAT’S YOUR NAME?!”

Me: “Ma’am, my name is [My Name]. Do you have a [Company] card?”

Customer: “Right, I’m going to get you fired!”

(She turned on the spot and walked away. The women at the front desk were in shock at her tone, but for the rest of that month, whenever things were slow, one of them would sneak up behind me and whisper-scream, “WHAT’S YOUR NAME?”)