(I am at a bank, attempting to cash my check. Two tellers are working. I get called over to the left teller while the one on the right is working with a clearly irate customer and her embarrassed teenage daughter.)

Customer: “What do you mean there’s a five dollar service fee?”

Teller: “Well, you don’t have an account here. For customers that don’t bank with us, we have to charge a five dollar service fee.”

Customer: “I can just take my check to [store] and they’ll cash it for free!”

Teller: “Actually, they will charge you a service fee as well.”

Customer: “I can’t believe this! This is crazy! My daughter has an account here! Can she cash it?!”

Teller: “Sure, but—”

(The customer snatches check straight out of the teller’s hands, and slams it down in front of her daughter.)

Customer: “Here. Sign this.”

(The daughter signs, and the customer shoves it back in the teller’s face.)

Teller: “Umm, she needs to sign it here. She signed it in the wrong—”

(The customer snatches the check again, and gives it to the daughter to sign it correctly.)

Customer: “This is absolutely ridiculous! I cannot believe how insane you people are! I’m from New England and we all know that up North this is one of the craziest places there is, but this is just stupid!”

(By this time I have finished cashing my check, so I turn to her.)

Me: “Ma’am?”

Customer: “What?!”

Me: “I know in New England things are crazy, but here in the South we try to be polite. I would appreciate it if you apologized to this lady here.”

(And with that, I walked out, leaving her stammering.)

(I work for a small, privately-owned fast food chain, and we often receive many questions about our food and what goes into each item. I notice a man that ordered a few moments ago is lingering at the counter trying to look into the back. I excuse myself and approach him.)

Me: “Did you have any questions, sir?”

Customer: “Yeah, what do you put in your fries?”

Me: “Our fries?”

Customer: “Your fries. What do you put in them?”

Me: “Well, we salt them, but that’s—”

Customer: “No! What do you put in the fries?!”

Me: “Um… potatoes?”

Customer: “Do you have a manager? Where is your manager?!”

(My manager comes up to the counter to see what is wrong.)

Manager: “What seems to be the problem?”

(By now, the customer is speaking loud enough for the whole dining room to hear him.)

Customer: “What do you put in your fries?!”

Manager: “…I’m sorry?”

Me: “I think he wants to know what the ingredients for the fries are.”

Customer: “Yes! What do you put in the fries?”

Manager: “Potatoes.”

(The customer points in a very angry manner toward the back of the kitchen where we cook the fries.)

Customer: “No! I want to know it says on that box of what you put in your fries! Bring me that box, RIGHT NOW!”

Manager: “Sir, I’m not allowed to bring it to the front. Now, please…”

(After a minute or two of talking with my manager, the man seems to quiet down. I figure everything has been resolved and began chatting with the pair of customers from earlier. Soon, the irate customer receives his food and starts walking out of the store.)

Me: “Thank you for coming to [restaurant].”

Customer: “I’M GOING TO GIVE THIS TO MY SON EVEN IF YOU WON’T TELL ME WHAT’S IN IT!” *leaves*

(I am walking home after work during a rather unpleasant snow storm. Not expecting a snowstorm today, I am wearing a t-shirt and shorts. About 10 minutes into my 40 minute walk, a ‘not in service’ public bus pulls up and stops next to me.)

Driver: “Hey! Where are you headed?”

(I tell him the street I live on.)

Driver: “Not that far from out of my way. Hop on!”

Me: “Really? Thanks!”

(The bus driver then proceeded to drive right to my street and let me off, telling me to ‘keep warm’! People like him are awesome.)

(The customer’s total is $12.84. She hands me a $20 bill. While I’m counting out her change of $7.16, she hands me a quarter.)

Me: *confused* “Uh, thanks. But that’s not really necessary.”

(I set the quarter on the counter so she can take it back while I finish gathering her change.)

Customer: “No, it’s okay. It makes it easier.”

Me: “Oh, well, I appreciate the intention, ma’am, but it was 84 cents due, so a quarter doesn’t really make a difference. I’d just be handing your quarter right back to you.”

Customer: *condescending* “Well, I was just trying to make it easier, but if you want to complicate it, that’s up to you.”

Me: “Ma’am, I don’t see how I’m complicating things. I owe you 16 cents. If I take your quarter, I’ll owe you 41 cents, which is just a quarter plus sixteen cents.”

Customer: “Just give me my change! I was just trying to help you out! You obviously need to go back to school!” *storms out, leaving her quarter on the counter*

(I have rung up a customer, and I hand her the food. She is getting ready to drive away.)

Me: “Have a happy Thanksgiving!”

Customer: *yelling fairly loudly* “Well, that was rude! It’s ‘Happy Holidays.’ Saying Thanksgiving is politically incorrect! Stupid girl!”

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