(I’m supervising on a Sunday afternoon, our slowest day of the week. We’ve only been open a couple of hours and have only made maybe four or five sandwiches. A customer calls in with a complaint.)

Caller: “Excuse me, I ordered a sandwich from you this morning and it is just terrible! You toasted it too much and it just fell apart when I bit into it!”

Me: “Well, that’s odd, sir. If a sandwich was toasted too long it would normally burn long before it would dry out like that. What did you order?”

Caller: “Chicken.”

Me: “I can’t find your order in the system. Could you tell me what time you were here?”

Caller: “This morning sometime.”

Me: “We weren’t open this morning, sir. We open at noon on Sundays.”

Caller: “Well, maybe it was afternoon, then.”

Me: “Okay, well, I’ve been here all day and I don’t recall serving a chicken sandwich to a gentleman today.”

Caller: “It was my wife who came in.”

Me: “I’m looking through today’s orders on the computer, and I haven’t served any chicken sandwiches today. Are you sure you came to this location?”

Caller: “Yes. And it was last night. I talked to the manager and he said you’d give me a free sandwich today.”

Me: “I was the manager last night, too, sir.”

Caller: “You’re not going to give me a free sandwich, are you?”

Me: “No, sir. I’m not.”

Caller: “Okay, then.” *hangs up*

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(I am sixteen, in the mall after school, still in my high school uniform, which is a black sweater with a school crest and black skirt. I pick up a few things I need and text my dad to tell him where I am. I decide to look at some lipsticks while I wait for a reply when I catch this woman staring at me. She’s staring so hard I keep glancing up from my phone to make sure she’s not going to do something suddenly. Eventually I decide to say something.)

Me: “Can I help you?”

Woman: “I’m looking for some lipstick. What are you doing?”

Me: “Um, texting my dad…”

Woman: “They let you have a phone?”

Me: *not understanding* “Uh, yeah, I mean I have to buy my own credit but I only really use it so they can call me—”

Woman: “Whatever. Put it away and help me.”

Me: “Pardon?”

Woman: “I want a new lipstick! I’m in a rush. Do you mind?”

(I gesture to the range of lipsticks on the counter between us. At the same time I get a text back from my dad and look back down at my phone. When I do so, the woman slams her purse on the counter, sending a bunch of eyeshadows and blushes onto the floor, where they shatter.)

Woman: “I can’t believe this! I shop here all the time and I’ve never been treated so badly in ten years!”

(Just then, my dad shows up.)

Dad: “Ready?”

Me: “Uh, yeah.”

(My dad looks at the mess at the floor and then at the woman who is now shooting evil looks at him, too. We join the checkout line and the woman follows us, still shouting about the appalling service.)

Dad: *to employee* “Can you call a manager?”

(The employee calls the manager, who arrives quickly and looks between us and the furious but now silent woman who has followed us all the way to the front door.)

Dad: “That lady has been harassing my daughter and quite a bit of your display.”

Woman: “She should be fired! She wouldn’t help me find what I wanted!”

Manager: *looks at my high school uniform and then at the woman, and radios mall security*

(I ended up with a free lipstick for my trauma!)

A few days before this story happened, I injured my knee and had to use a cane to walk for a week. I got on a bus and sat in one of the reserved seats.

A woman, maybe in her sixties, got on a few stops after me and immediately demanded that I give her my seat. I told her that I was sorry, but that I was unable to do so because of my injured knee.

The woman, as well as most of the people in the bus, thought I was lying, even when I showed my cane. I received some very rude comments from the people in the bus, but I tried to ignore them and pointed out that it would be quite stupid for me to go out with a cane and pretend that I was injured just to avoid giving my seat.

A middle-aged man, who was with the woman, got angry and lifted me from my seat. Without my cane, I couldn’t stand on my own and immediately fell to the floor.

That was the moment that everyone realised I was not lying. The bus stopped, but the driver wouldn’t let anyone off. I was furious; not only had I been taken for a liar, but I had hurt my chin and hit my injured knee during the fall, so I ignored their apologies and called the police on them. They were livid, and they offered me money not to call the police on them, but I was so angry, I still called them.

I had to get stitches in my chin and had to use the cane for an extra week.

Long story short: the woman was not charged, but the man was, and he had to spend a few months in prison.

(My boyfriend is standing on the sidewalk outside the store. He is smoking a cigarette while he waits for me to get off. A customer comes in and starts complaining.)

Customer: “Look at him! Standing out there as if he owns the place! You’re going to make this place go out of business by allowing riff-raff like that to hang out here and smoke right beside the door!”

Me: “Ma’am, he is near the ashtray, which is more than the state-mandated twenty-five feet from the entrance. Furthermore, I ask that you not call my other customers names, and especially him, because he’s my boyfriend.”

Customer: “What is wrong with you?! Why would a good, sweet Christian girl like you date a tattooed heathen like that?!”

Me: “Ma’am, please stop calling him names. He is not a heathen; he is a good Christian man. I, on the other hand, am not religious, but spiritual. He is also an Army veteran who served in Iraq and Afghanistan and deserves to be treated with more respect than you are giving him. Now, please leave. I am refusing you service for being so rude.”

Customer: “The customer is always right! I’ll tell [Owner] that you were letting a heathen lurk outside his store!”

Me: “You do that, ma’am. I’ll make sure to tell him how rude you were, too.”

Customer: “The customer is always right!”

(The customer runs out of the store. At this point, my boyfriend walks in.)

Boyfriend: “What was her problem, baby girl?”

Me: “Who knows? She apparently thought the customer is always right.”

Boyfriend: “Sometimes the customer is just an a**hole.”

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(I am a Canadian. I am on a high school trip to Italy. We are combined with another group from America. We have stopped in a small cafe outside of Naples.)

American Teacher: “Excuse me! Excuse me?! Can I get water? WA-TER! GOD, it’s like they don’t speak the language!”

Me: “Mi scusi? Acqua per favore.”

(The American teacher looks at me, shocked, as a pitcher of water is brought over.)

American Teacher: “How did you do that?”

Me: “Easy. I tried to learn some Italian before coming to Italy.”

(The American teacher tried to get me in trouble with my teacher for talking back to her. Thankfully, he ignored her.)