I booked and pre-paid for a tire installation at my local superstore. I arrived fifteen minutes before my appointment and waited while the elderly woman behind the counter split papers into various piles, put them all back into one pile, and then did it again. After the fourth round, I spoke up. 

Me: “Um, excuse me. Can—”

Woman: “Hold on.”

She did her shuffle two more times before putting them all in one pile and turning to me. 

Woman: “Yes?”

Me: “I have an appointment for—”

Woman: “What’s your name?”

Me: “Jane Smith.”

Woman: “Spell that.”

Me: “J-A-N—”

Woman: “Hold on, not so fast. J…”

Me: “…A.”

Woman: “Okay.”

Me: “…N. E. Smith. S—”

Woman: “Your tires aren’t here.”

Me: “Oh. The app says they are, and I have an appointment for—”

Woman: “Okay, well, our system says they’re not.”

Me: “Okay, what—”

Woman: “Okay, I found them. It’s under Jane Smith, not John Smith.”

Me: “Yes, that’s what I—”

Woman: “Oh, the tires you ordered were wrong. You need [Other Brand] [size I ordered], and they’re $40 more per tire.”

Me: “That’s the same size I ordered. What—”

Woman: “Look, it happens a lot. People think they—”

Me: “Stop interrupting me.”

She turned away.

Me: “Okay, I want a re—”

Woman: “No refunds.”

Me: “Stop interrupting me!”

Woman: “No. Refunds.”

Me: “Okay. I want to hear your manager say that.”

She glared at me for a moment before picking up the phone to page for a manager over the loudspeaker.

Manager: “Hi, how can I—”

Woman: “She wants a refund because she ordered the wrong tires. I told her we have the right ones in stock, but she insists.”

Manager: *To me* “Okay, we can do an exchange or a refund. That’s up to you, miss.”

Me: “A refund, please.”

Manager: “Okay, if you’ll follow me to customer service, I can get that squared away.” *As we are walking* “You’re just getting your money back because they’re the wrong tires, right?”

Me: “Actually, it’s because the woman back there ignored me when I arrived, asked me questions and then cut me off when I tried to answer, and tried to say I ordered the wrong tires but offered the same size.”

Manager: *Sigh* “I’m sorry. I will address that with her.”

I got my money back and went to a different company. My tires were more expensive, but they confirmed I had ordered the right size and did the entire swap in under half an hour.

I went online later and found many reviews about [Woman] treating customers exactly the way she treated me.

I work in a coffee place inside a big box store. I’ve just served a drink to a father and his young son, maybe five years old or so. The boy gets his chocolate and runs off with it. His father calls after him:

Father: “Don’t run, [Boy]!”

Of course, as five-year-old boys tend to do, he trips up and falls to the ground. He seems fine, but his drink has spilled everywhere. He catches us staring and starts to cry, mostly out of embarrassment. The boy’s father is kind but stern, checking his son for any injury.

Father: “This is why I said not to run, [Boy]. Now look what you did to the drink that the nice lady made for you.”

Me: *Coming by to clean up the spill* “Oh, well, accidents happen! If it’s okay with you, I can get him a replacement.”

Before the father can respond, another customer whom I just finished serving decides to join in the conversation.

Customer: “Kids are never gonna learn if y’all keep running in to kiss it all better and fix their mistakes for them.”

The customer makes one more smug look of self-congratulation, turns around, and walks smack-bang into a pillar next to the checkouts. Their coffee goes all over themselves and the pillar, drenches their sandwich, and ends up on the floor.

The customer stares at me, at the parent and child, and then back at me again as we all stare at them.

Customer: “Any chance I could…”

Staring intensifies.

Customer: *Walking away* “…yeah, yeah, I get it. Good one, universe…”

Apparently, I look like I work everywhere I go; people (usually older people) constantly ask me questions about where to find items in the aisles of stores I frequent. In their defense, I help run a restaurant and usually DO know where things are when people ask me for assistance because I’m there all the time. After my partner witnessed this phenomenon the other day, he reminded me that this was not new; I guess I’ve been doing this for quite a while.

More than twenty years ago, I was living in Cincinnati, and my phone number was one digit away from a doctor’s office. This mean old guy would call all the time asking for a ride for his wife and himself to their appointments. (I found out later that this was a service they provided for their elderly patients who could no longer drive themselves.)

No amount of explanation would convince this gentleman that I did not, in fact, work there and that he had the wrong number.

I’d finally had enough of this verbal harassment. With a huge sigh, I just asked for his address and the time and date of their next appointment. I then found the doctor’s office’s number and called to ask if they could help. Because of privacy laws, they regretfully informed me that they couldn’t confirm that the couple were even patients, even though we both knew that they absolutely knew this couple.

With another big sigh, I drove to their house the next day, picked them up, and took them to their appointment. The look on the receptionist’s face when I walked in the door said it all.

Receptionist: “Holy s***. Please tell me that I didn’t just talk to you on the phone yesterday!”

Me: “Yup, that was me.”

So, for TWO YEARS, I would get the call and go pick them up for their appointments. I wish this story ended with the couple being happy and appreciative, but no. The man never hesitated to complain that I was late, that my vehicle was difficult for them to get into, or that I should look “more professional”. I would always politely remind him that I didn’t actually work there, to no avail.

To be honest, I kind of loved it. He was such a cranky ol’ b*****d, and his grumpiness was so incredibly entertaining to me, but his wife, who was obviously suffering from dementia, was such a sweetheart who thought I was some family member doing them a favor.

When I moved from that area, I was super concerned about them and made sure that the office had someone to take my place. The last time I took them, the folks at the office had a bouquet of flowers and a box of bakery cookies for me to wish me well on my adventures.

I left them with my new contact information, and about six months later, I got an email telling me that Sir Grump-a-lot had come in for an appointment with the new driver (actually set up by the office this time) and complained because “the other girl was so much better”.

It totally warmed my heart as the real reason I even started this was that I’d hoped that if either myself or any of my family were suffering from dementia or any other affliction, someone would look past it and help out. I still don’t regret giving that crabby ol’ b*****d and his sweet lovey wife a ride.

This is a story that has often been told to me by my parents, as I was way too young at the time to remember.

Many years ago, in my single-digit years sometime during the 1990s (i.e. pre-9/11 era), my parents were taking me to a certain magical theme park on the east coast of the US. It was probably even my first trip, so of course, I was excited. With said center of magic being in Florida and us living in New York, this also meant my first plane ride. So, of course, we made our way to the airport, got through everything, got on the plane, and waited for it to take off.

And waited. And waited. And waited, as it was massively delayed for one reason or another. Of course, a plane going to Orlando would be filled with lots of nervous, excitable children, so some of the stewardesses walked around and offered to take the young children up front to take a look at the cockpit.

Of course, when they offered to take me up, my parents allowed the stewardess to take me forward and see all the fancy equipment and pilots and everything at the front. They sat in their seats, surely imagining that I was having a good time… when, suddenly, they felt the plane LURCH forward. It wasn’t taking off — just a sudden lurch out of nowhere.

Shortly after, the stewardess who had taken me up brought me back to my parents, and I got back into my seat. Curious, my mother asked just what had caused that strange lurch in the plane.

Stewardess: “Your son pulled the emergency brake.”

Our college is having an “Education Week” that attracts a lot of visitors and prospective students and, therefore, a lot of out-of-towners.

I witness a woman snapping her fingers in the direction of a student employee.

Visitor: *Snaps* “You. Tell me where the Marriott Center is.”

Student Employee: *Snaps* “Try again.”

Sounds like Education Week is a success!