I’m working in a national chain restaurant that sounds like a factory specializing in a type of cheesy cake. I have an amazing manager who has our backs and allows us to have zero tolerance for customer BS.

I’m a Middle Eastern-looking dude, but born in America, and I speak English just fine.

A couple comes in, and I greet them:

Me: “Hello, welcome to [Restaurant], how can I help you?”

Customer: “Hi, can we speak to someone who speaks English, please?”

Me: “Absolutely positooovely! However, I must lamentably apprise you that, owing to the lamentable confluence of your linguistically motivated prejudicial proclivities and our establishment’s presently exhaustive occupancy parameters, we are regrettably incapacitated from facilitating your gastronomic accommodations this evening, and would therefore most enthusiastically encourage you to procure sustenance elsewhere.”

Customer: “Huh?”

Me: “I was telling you that unfortunately, we are full and we cannot seat you tonight. Try somewhere else.”

They look around at the empty tables, then back at me, and I smile, gesturing toward the door they just walked in from.

Customer: “[Racial slur] a**hole!” *Leaves.*

Don’t come at an English major, buddy.

And if that long line of text seemed well-rehearsed, sadly, it was because I’ve had to use it at least once in every job I’ve had so far.

I walk into a fast-food burger place. Before I can even order, the guy at the counter says:

Employee: “We’re closing, dude.”

Me: “You close in ten minutes.”

Employee: “Yeah, so it’s too late to order.”

Me: “If this were a sit-down restaurant, I’d agree with you, but this is a fast food place. I came here because the food is ready… well… fast.”

Employee: *Massive sigh.* “Okay, but the menu is limited.”

Me: “I just want your standard cheeseburger meal, please.”

Employee: “No more cheeseburgers.”

Me: “Uh… you’re a burger place.”

Employee: “That’s what you get for coming in so late.”

Me: “If you’re open, you’re serving food. That’s what opening times are for.”

Employee: “No more burgers at this time of night.”

Me: “Okay, I’ll take the chicken nugg—”

Employee: “—No more chicken.”

I just stare.

Me: “Okay, what do you have?”

Employee: “Sodas, and some fries.”

Me: “So, no freshly cooked food, basically? Just soda from the machine and what looks to be fries that have been sitting under the heater for half an hour.”

Employee: *Shrugs.* “Take it or leave it.”

Me: “I guess I’ll be leaving it.”

I turn to walk out the door, but another customer is walking in at the same time.

Me: *To the other guy.* “Don’t bother going in. They’re still open, but they’re refusing to make any more food.”

Other Guy: “Oh, really? That’s interesting, considering I’m the regional manager and I’m here to help the store manager close…”

I turn to look at the guy at the counter, who heard every word just spoken. He looks considerably paler than just a moment ago.

Other Guy: “*To me.* “What was it you wanted to order? I’m sure these guys will get it for you on the house while I go take care of things.”

I ordered the most expensive, custom, special edition XXL cheeseburger they made, with a soda AND a milkshake, along with a side of chicken nuggets and an apple pie for good measure.

This took place in the late 1990’s. I worked for a company that supplied domiciliary services for elderly people.

The first problem was my rota. My first call was at 9 AM. I had a one-hour visit. This included such things as checking that the client had their medications and their home was clean and tidy.

Then comes the first problem. I had to be there until 10 AM. 

My next client was at the other side of town, normally a ten-to-fifteen-minute drive. I was expected to be there at, you’ve guessed it, at 10 AM. This happened every day. But that’s not the worst thing to happen.

I’ve just come back from a week off. At 9 AM, I was visiting my first client of the day, whom I’ll call Client Bill. 

Bill was hard of hearing, so on entering his house, he liked me to shout:

Me: “Hi Bill!”

To let him know I was there. One day, as usual, it was:

Me: “Hi Bill!”

And I walked into his living room, only to see his family sitting around a coffin.

He had passed away whilst I was off, but no one at the office bothered to let me know. Thankfully, the family, most of whom knew me, were understanding. 

My next call was a gentleman I’ll call Bob. This is another client who preferred that I call out upon entering his home, though he would often have to unlock his front door.

I spent ten minutes knocking on the door, then his neighbour came out, and you’ve guessed it, he, too, had passed away during my time off.

Luckily, no one was in the house this time. 

That afternoon, I went to the office and gave my notice. The above were just two of the reasons I left, but they were the final straw.

A mother is in line ahead of me in the checkout line. She has a toddler sitting in the cart’s child seat, screaming and hollering because he can’t eat a candy bar. He’s being very loud and shouting about how mean his mommy is. The mom is being calm and collected, and simply going through the transaction with the cashier as normal.

Cashier: “Your total is [total]. And I hope the little guy cheers up soon.”

Mother: *Tapping card for payment.* “He’ll be fine when we’re out of the store, and he doesn’t see all the candy anymore.:”

Cashier: *Handing over receipt.* “I love how calm you’re being. I’ve seen a lot of poor mothers get super stressed when their kids act out in the store.”

Mother: *Placing remaining shopping bags into her cart.* “I’m a manager at a clothing retail brand.”

The cashier nods knowingly, but it takes me a few seconds to parse together what this means.

Cashier: “So you must deal with tantrums all the time!”

Mother: *As she’s pulling her cart out of the lane.* “Yes! In fact, tantrums from toddlers are the least common type in my life! Sadly, when my customers are having a meltdown that we’re out of their size of t-shirt, I can’t put them into timeout like I do this one.”

Cashier: “Well, good luck out there!”

When it’s my turn to be served, I ask if adult customers having full-blown tantrums is really that common, to which the cashier replied that it was almost midday and they’d only had one in the store so far, so it was a good day…

I work in a fancy gym, where all the members pay well above a few hundred bucks a month. One of the cardio room’s lights isn’t working, so we’re not using it.

One of our regulars goes in there (I didn’t see him do this at first), turns his phone into a dull yellow light, and starts doing cardio in there in the moody lighting. Someone walking past sees him doing this and joins in.

By the time I realize what’s happening, there seems to be a whole class of people in there, doing a cardio workout, each individually lit up by the same dull yellow light coming from their individual smartphones.

Me: *Walking in.* “This room is closed. Y’all can’t be in here.”

Gym Member #1: “What do you mean, closed?! Isn’t this, like, the ambient workout room?”

Me: “The what?”

Gym Member #2: “Ambient workout. A workout but, like, with ambiance.”

Me: “The only ambiance in this room is ‘broken lights’. Please use one of the many other workout rooms for your workout.”

Gym Member #3: “Really? But the energy in here is amazing! Are you sure the managers didn’t make this the ambient workout room, and you didn’t get the memo or something?”

The regular, the guy who came into this room first, speaks up:

Regular: “I just came in here because I wanted a darker room to do my cardio! I don’t like the bright lights outside! You all came in here after me and thought it was… something else!”

Gym Member #1: “So you mean this isn’t the ambient workout room?”

After I got everyone out, I am telling my manager, who laughs:

Manager: “These rich fitness guru types are something else. I swear, take a power outage, add eucalyptus oil, and suddenly it’s a ‘sensory reset experience’ taught by an ancient Tibetan monk.”