(I work at a very popular car wash. On a busy day, we can reach a volume of over a thousand customers. We only have five vacuums, which are free during business hours, and $1.00 after close. Due to wet paint, we close one vacuum, which includes shutting the power to that individual vacuum off completely, posting signs on the vacuum AND on the trash can which we placed in front of it, and taping it off. Despite this, a customer attempts to use it anyway. It won’t turn on, so she walks up to the building.)

Customer: “May I have change for a dollar?”

Me: *knowing why she’s asking* “Of course, but are you needing change for a vacuum?”

Customer: *points to the one that’s closed* “Yes! That vacuum won’t turn on!”

Me: “That’s because it’s been shut off.”

Customer: “But I need to vacuum out my car. I already parked there and got out and walked all the way over here!”

Me: “There are signs that say it’s out of order.”

Customer: “I didn’t see them!”

Me: “You didn’t see that it’s been cordoned off, the trash can in front of it to prevent people from parking there, or the signs that state ‘Out of Order’?”

Customer: “You know what?! I’ll go somewhere else!”

Me: “Have a nice day!”

Related:
Intelligence Abhors A Vacuum, Part 4
Intelligence Abhors A Vacuum, Part 3
Intelligence Abhors A Vacuum, Part 2
Intelligence Abhors A Vacuum

(I work at a clothing store that sells ‘club’ clothes and party dresses. I am one of the only white girls that works here.)

Customer: “Do you work here?”

Me: “Yeah. What can I help you with?”

Customer: “Do you know where… Oh, never mind. You probably don’t know.”

Me: “Uh… I know where mostly everything is. What is it you’re looking for?”

Customer: “Never mind. I’ll find it myself!”

(The customer storms off. A few minutes go by, and the customer approaches one of my African-American coworkers.)

Customer: “Hey, do you have printed leggings?”

Coworker: “No, we don’t carry those.”

Customer: “Well, your white coworker told me you have them!”

Me: “Ma’am, you wouldn’t even let me answer you. I know we don’t have them.”

Customer: “Ugh, whatever.” *storms out again*

Me: *to coworker* “What just happened?”

Coworker: “You just witnessed racism.”

(I’m talking to a regular I’ve known since I was a kid—let’s just call him Jim—who is leaning against our drink counter and drinking a cappuccino. Note: “Jim” is 5’10 and a little over 200lbs, most of which is muscle from working on a logging crew. I notice there’s a smudge on my glasses so I take them off and begin wiping them on my shirt. Right at that moment, a customer walks in. I always greet my customers, so I squint at the person to make them out since I’m not wearing my glasses.)

Me: “Good evening, sir.”

Customer: “Well, you don’t have to give me such a dirty look!”

Me: “What dirty look?”

Customer: “When I walked in the door, you gave me a nasty look as if I was s*** on the bottom of your shoe!”

Me: “No, I was squinting at you ’cause I couldn’t see.” *I point at my glasses* “I’m practically blind without these, and there was something on them. I was cleaning them when you walked in, so I had to squint to see you.”

Customer: “Hmph! You’re just making excuses! You think you’re better than me, but you’re nothing but trash! Only trash works in places like this!”

(At this point, Jim decides to speak up in my defense. Note that Jim has a VERY thick country-boy accent.)

Jim: “You’d better apologize to her right now, mister.”

Customer: “What?! What’d you say?”

(Jim speaks slowly and clearly this time, so that his accent is less apparent.)

Jim: “I said you’d better apologize to her right now.” *crosses his arms over his chest* “If you don’t, I’m gonna put my work boot up your a** and you’re gonna have to have it surgically removed!”

Customer: *turns ash white* “I’m sorry, miss!” *leaves without buying anything*

(All of the signs in our store are both in English and Spanish.)

Me: “Welcome to [store name]. How can I help you?”

Customer: “Yeah, I wanna know why the h*** you people cater to them Mexicans!”

Me: “I’m sorry your feel that way, sir. But it is company policy that we post in multiple languages; we even have a phone line that can translate for our customers. We consider it good customer service.” 

Customer: “That is bull! We are in America and people should speak American!”

Me: *getting ornery* “Well, sir, even I don’t speak American. I speak English.”

Customer: “You are one of those Brits! Probably came here to take a good American job just like the rest of them!”

Me: “No sir, I’m not British. I was born and raised right here in Missouri.” 

Customer: “Then why don’t you speak American?”

(At this point my coworker, having overheard everything, steps in.)

Coworker: “Because ‘American’ isn’t a language.”

Customer: “Yes it is! You d*** foreign people are taking over! I’m never shopping here again!” *leaves*

Customer: “Excuse me, could you give me some advice, please?”

Me: “Sure, how can I help?”

Customer: “I was looking to buy a Nintendo 360 for my son.”

Customer’s Son: “Dad! It’s an Xbox360!”

Customer: *to me* “This is how much help I need. Would you, please?”

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