I work the front counter at a very popular fast food chain. An old man comes up to the counter, looking a little upset.

Me: “Hello, sir, welcome to [Chain]! How can I help you?”

Customer: “I just came here a few minutes ago and got coffee from that lady over there, and she never gave me a stir stick or a napkin.”

Me: “I’m sorry about that, sir, but we don’t hand out stir sticks or napkins for coffee orders. You can pick one up at our counter over there—” *points* “—or just ask next time.”

Customer: “Well, I’d prefer it if you’d just give them to me when I get my coffee!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll make sure to give you one next time you come in.”

Customer: “There probably won’t be a next time. I’m over ninety, and I could die next week!”

It’s my first week working as a dealer at a casino, and I am placed in the back because during that first week, everyone makes mistakes constantly and it’s easier for the “floor” to watch us. But some players know this and willingly seek out the weaker dealers, because if your dealer makes a mistake and there’s a dispute, it usually goes in the player’s favor.

A player sits down at the blackjack table next to mine, and starts betting heavily, $400 to 500 per hand. At one point, he has a twelve and the dealer has a six, in which case anyone will tell you to stay and hope the dealer busts. He stays, the dealer has a two under, then pulls a six, and then a four, for a total of eighteen. The guy starts cheering and says, “Sixteen!”, trying to convince the dealer she has to pull another card.

It works; the dealer pulls a king, and then she looks down and counts twenty-eight. She immediately turns to the floor, who explains that the dealer had eighteen and the player has lost, and as the king was exposed, it has to be “burned” or discarded. The player begins screaming and cursing, but she takes the money and there’s nothing he can really do.

Now the player has a meltdown. He realizes that he can’t win but that in trying to confuse the dealer, that king would’ve been his next round. No guarantee it’d actually be a good hand, of course, but it has a better chance of being something good. He’s yelling and screaming, and the floor calls over the pit boss, who also has to call over the shift supervisor, who all explained that an exposed card has to be burned.

At this point, in front of everyone and on I don’t know how many cameras, the player screams that the money means nothing to him, throws his drink at the dealer, and then grabs about $3,000 of his chips and throws them against the ceiling. It’s raining chips everywhere. Security then grabs him. Some of the workers gather the chips they can and give them to him. He’s given his cash, escorted out, and then banned from the casino.

Sadly, though, he does not get a pair of shiny bracelets or a free car ride to the hotel with the orange jumpsuits.

The poor dealer held it together on the floor, but in the break room, she was sobbing. But since then, she has ended up becoming one of the better dealers.

I work at a popular fast food chain. One day, I’m working at the front counter when an old lady comes up and orders food.

Me: “Okay, ma’am, you can just tap your debit card on our reader in front of you.”

She taps her card, then pulls out the fast food place’s app on her phone, which we can scan for points but only before she pays.

Customer: “Can you scan my card for points now?”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but you should have told me you had a rewards card before you paid. I can only scan that before you pay or the benefits won’t apply.”

Customer: “That’s nonsense! My sister went to another [Chain] last week, and they let her do rewards after she paid!”

Me: “It must have been another store, because our scanner doesn’t work like that. You have to scan before you pay or the benefits won’t kick in.”

Customer: “It was this store, actually!”

Me: “Well, she wasn’t supposed to do that, and I’m honestly not sure how she did it.”

The lady walks away to get her food but comes back a few minutes later.

Customer: “And just to let you know, I’m very, very mad at you!”

I bite my cheek to keep from laughing.

Me: “Sorry to hear that. Have a nice day!”

The customer is calling because they have gotten a dunning — like a bill — with post.

Me: “May I have the order number, so I can find you in our system?”

Customer: “AAAAAAAAAHH! Oh, it’s right here on the letter.”

The rest of the call was normal. Thank you for the yell in the early morning.

About a year ago, I would regularly go out for coffee with some of my coworkers. I stopped doing so after a while. These two stories are why.

Story #1:

Male Coworker #1: “Hey, [My Name], how’s it going?”

Me: “Ehh, been better. My daughter’s boyfriend just broke up with her, so she’s really down.”

Male Coworker #1: “Don’t worry; she’ll find someone else.”

Me: *Touched* “Yeah, I suppose you’re right—”

Male Coworker #1: “Women have a knack for finding their next meal ticket. She’ll have another boyfriend by the end of the week, guaranteed.”

Me: “…”

On another occasion, a different male coworker made some really disgusting, racist comments about a political figure I admire, and when I called him out on it, he insisted that he was “entitled to his opinion.” I got up and walked away.

And I haven’t been back.