(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*

Customer: *whispering* “Faaaaaaahkew…”

(I am slightly ticked off by this. I didn’t say or do anything to the customer for him to say ‘F*** you’ unprovoked.)

Me: “What!? Say that again?!”

Customer: *whispering* “Vhaaaaaaaaaakeeew…”

Me: “Wait, are you asking where the vacuum cleaners are?”

Customer: *nods*

Me: “Right this way.”

(Sometimes, you have to be patient with customers.)

(I suffered from a speech disorder as a child, and while I speak perfectly now, I have a slight twang in my voice. I’m on the checkout when a smartly-dressed customer approaches the till.)

Me: “Hello! How are you today?”

Customer: “…where are you from?”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “Where. Are. You. From?”

Me: “Um, I’m local, if that’s what you mean.”

Customer: “No, where were you born?”

Me: “In [Local Hospital].”

Customer: *sighs* “Where are your parents from?”

Me: “They’re from [Local Town] and [Local City].”

Customer: *getting irate* “I just want you to tell me where you’re from! Explain your accent!”

Me: “Oh! My accent! Yes, there’s an explanation for that; see when I was a kid—”

Customer: “I don’t want to hear your life story! Why are you ashamed of your heritage? You are probably bringing shame to your family by denying them! I get that there are racists here, but you don’t need to deny who you are! I won’t judge you!”

Me: “Sir, I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Customer: “Tell me your parents were born in a different country!”

Me: “Um… they were born in [Other Country]?”

Customer: “Yes! See how easy that is? Why couldn’t you have just said that in the first place?!”

(He grabs his bags and marches off. I turn to the next customer.)

Me: “Afternoon!”

Customer #2: “That was a lie, right?”

Me: “Yep. How can I help you today?”

This story is part of our “Where are you from?” roundup!

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(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.)