The Trashiest Customers In The World

, , , , | Right | January 20, 2019

(I am working at a popular coffee chain, and it is my turn to sweep the parking lot and pick up cigarette butts. A large truck pulls into the lot and stops in the parking space next to where I am working. The driver looks at me, cracks a smile as if he just thought of the best joke in the world, and dumps his ENTIRE car ashtray onto the ground.)

Man: “You missed a spot.”

Bitter About The Caramel, Part 2

, , , , | Right | January 20, 2019

A woman ordered a hot chocolate, and while I was making it, she asked for extra whipped cream and extra caramel topping — not an odd or hard request.

I handed it to her and she looked at me sharply, asking if I put chocolate in it — she watched me put the chocolate in — because it only tasted like milk and caramel.

Maybe that’s because she had me put half the caramel bottle on her drink. Half a bottle. I’m not exaggerating. She then proceeded to scrape off the whipped cream and flick it over the counter into the barista sink, and then she demanded more chocolate. After I gave her more, she asked for a heap of whipped cream and extra caramel syrup.

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Bitter About The Caramel

They Expect It To Be Handed To Them On A Silver Platter

, , , , | Right | January 20, 2019

(The grocery deli where I work offers a variety of deli trays for ordering. Because of the time that goes into preparing these trays and because we are a busy location, we require at least 24 hours notice for these orders. A well-dressed, middle-aged woman comes up to the counter around 9:00 am. It’s important to note that during no point of this transaction does she seem like someone who has suffered recent emotional trauma. I go up to help her.)

Me: “Hi. What can I get for you?”

Customer: “Could I order a tray and pick it up today at 3:00 pm?”

Me: “I’m sorry, but we need at least 24 hours notice for our trays.”

Customer: *suddenly glaring* “Are you telling me no?”

Me: *taken aback and unsure how to politely make my “no” any more clear* “Well, as 3:00 pm today is well within a 24-hour period, no, we cannot fulfill your request.”

Customer: *angrily* “Listen. Someone in my family just died, and—“

(I REALLY wanted to hear the rest of that sentence and find out how a death in the family was going to justify yelling at a deli worker for doing their job, but regretfully this was the point at which my manager took over and I reluctantly went back to my original tasks, overhearing nothing else. I found out later that not only did my manager let the lady place an order for 3;00 pm that day, but she also let her order not just one, but four trays. We got the order done in time, but it was pretty hellish to frantically work on those four trays during the lunch rush. Unfortunately, my shift ended before the pickup, so I never saw if she came on time, was remotely grateful, or explained why she so desperately needed the trays. Forgive my callousness, but assuming she wasn’t making the whole thing up, I think her family would have forgiven her if she’d pick up some sandwiches instead of fancy fruit and cheese trays, even in her time of grief.)

Didn’t Get Her Fill(et)

, , , , | Right | January 20, 2019

(I’m working in the seafood department of a grocery store. We sell pretty common fish, most sold as fillets. An older woman comes in one afternoon.)

Customer: “I want a fillets.”

Me: “Okay, which type of fillets?”

Customer: *slowly growing agitated* “A fillets.”

Me: “Ma’am, a fillet is a cut of fish. Not a type. I need to know what type you would like.”

Customer: “A FILLET! JUST A FILLET!”

Me: “Do you want a fillet of salmon, fillet of flounder? Cod? I need to know what type of fish.”

(The customer then threw her hands up in the air and stormed off, huffing.)

Stuck Under The Cart

, , , , , , | Right | January 20, 2019

I’m cashiering at a big chain store, and a mother and her two kids come through my lane. The little girl is calmly sitting in the cart, while her older brother is climbing under the cart, despite his mom telling him to stop.

We have stickers at the registers to hand out to kids, so I ask if anyone wants one. I hand one to the little girl, and the boy climbs out from under the cart to grab one. I try to make the mom’s life easier and tell him, “This means you can’t go back under the cart, all right?”

At first, my ploy seems to work… until the boy puts the sticker back on my counter and climbs back under the cart.

At least he gave the sticker back?

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