I’m working the late shift at a pizza place that’s open until 3:00 am. This customer comes in who is definitely not homeless — well-groomed, pulled up in a car, etc. He hands over some lemons.

Customer: “Here.”

Me: “Uh… what am I doing with those?”

Customer: “Juicing them, obviously! I want lemonade!”

Me: “We sell lemonade.”

Customer: “Your prices are scandalous! Take these, juice them for me, and bring me back the juice. I’ll add water and use your sugar packets.”

Because it’s past midnight and quiet, and because I am curious more than anything, I say:

Me: “I can’t juice those lemons for you, but we do have lemon juice.”

I brought out a glass of lemon juice for him. I watched him add water and about fifteen packets of sugar to the glass and sit there for an hour just sipping it. He didn’t order anything else and didn’t even get out a phone or paper to read. He just… sat there.

After an hour, he got up, walked out (with his lemons), and disappeared into the night.

Late-night customers are weird.

Last Wednesday, I went for some shopping. We needed groceries, and my mother needed a new heater. I (regretfully) decided to kill two birds with one stone and went to a big store that has both groceries and stuff for the house — heaters, TVs, barbecues, etc. I was in black sweatpants and a red blouse; the employees were wearing blue trousers and blue shirts with yellow letters on them.

I grabbed a cart and headed to the grocery section first, where I was asked three different times if I worked there; all were very respectful and just asking for help, which in two out of three cases I could provide. Finishing my groceries, I went to the part of the store that dealt with the other things I mentioned.

I was browsing the available heaters with my grocery ladder cart next to me when an older guy came to me with a pack of AA batteries.

Guy: “Do these work on a phone?” *Showing me the batteries*

Me: “Probably not. You’ll need rechargeable batteries for that.”

Guy: “Okay. Go get me some. I’ll be right here.”

Me: “Nope.”

Guy: *Annoyed* “Why?”

Me: “Because A, I don’t know where the batteries are, and B, even if I did, I wouldn’t fetch them for you.”

Guy: “That’s not a proper way to talk to a paying customer!”

Me: “Indeed.”

Guy: “And not knowing where is something on your store…”

Me: “My store?”

Guy: “…is preposterous! I will complain about it to management!”

Me: “Okay. You do you.”

And, grabbing my cart, I walked away.

For the next five minutes, he followed me around the store, red in the face and complaining about the “unruly employee”, until an actual employee stopped him and explained to him that I was a shopper and not an employee. That apparently did not compute in his brain, because the last time I saw him, he was confused as h***.

My manager and I are working the overnight shift at a twenty-four-seven fast food joint in a neighborhood that doesn’t have the best reputation.

A guy walks in and asks for the cheapest combo we have. I ask for the total, and he’s thirty-seven cents short. I explain this.

Customer: “C’mon, man! It’s the middle of the night. Just let it slide.”

Me: “Sorry, sir, I can’t offer any discounts.” 

Customer: “It’s only a few cents! No one will notice.”

Me: “I’ll be short at the end of my shift, and I’ll get written up.” 

Customer: “So, your write-up is more important than me going hungry?”

Me: “Look, I can get you some fries for [small amount], and I’ll throw in some extra for you, but I can’t sell you [combo] unless you have the full amount.”

My manager walks over as he’s noticed the customer getting agitated. He explains the same things that I have, and the customer gives us a big “F*** you!” and storms out.

Less than half an hour later, the next shift has arrived, and during the overlap, my manager and I get a break. We usually grab some food and go sit in his old car together, which has been parked to the side of the store for as long as I can remember. (He drives a newer and nicer car, but due to reasons too long and boring to list here, he’s been allowed to keep his old car in that parking spot for a few months.)

As we’re eating our dinner and talking, the customer from before spots us, storms over, and dramatically throws himself over the hood of the car.

Customer: “What the f***, man! You trying to kill me?!”

Manager: “What the h*** are you doing?! Go away!”

Customer: “I’m callin’ the police! You tried to kill me!”

Me: “Oh, my God! Is this all because you didn’t get a burger?!” 

The customer — who, at this point, we suspect is high on something — actually calls 911 and claims we tried to run him over. I’m getting a little worried, but my manager tells me to be patient and it’ll all be fine.

Two officers drive in about fifteen minutes later. (We’ve sat in the car finishing our food during this time.) The customer is quick to explain to them what happened. He’s even developed a little limp in the last fifteen minutes.

Then, the officers finally give my manager and me a chance to explain

Manager: “Officer, please, check the engine. I think you’ll find that it will prove that we didn’t hit the customer.”

Officer #1: “I’m not qualified to check an engine to confirm your testimony.” 

Manager: “Please, indulge me.”

My manager pops the hood, opens it, and lets the officer take a look. 

Officer #1: *To the customer* “Okay, sir, I think we’re done here.”

Customer: “What are you talking about?! Just because the engine isn’t running, it doesn’t mean—” 

Officer #1: “Take a look, sir.”

The customer steps forward… and sighs. 

There is no engine.

Manager: “It was taken out months ago to go to a more deserving car. This hunk of junk exists only as a place for me to take my breaks and listen to my music at full volume. We good here?” 

Officer #2: “We’re good. Feel free to go back inside, sir.”

Manager: “But first, I’d like to call the police about a customer who is causing a disturbance and has been known to lie to the police.”

Officer #2: “No need to make that call, sir. We can take it from here.” 

They escorted the customer off the premises. We never saw him again.

I work tech support for a big web hoster, and one of our main products is a website editor that is marketed as a subscription model. You can only use the website as long as you also rent the editor; they can’t be separated. I know this sucks, but this is the way of the capitalist world.

One day, I got an email from a customer who wanted to cancel the editor but keep the website. He argued that his website was completed, and he didn’t need the editor anymore. He didn’t want to pay for a product he wasn’t using.

I checked his account and saw three things:

1. He was seven months into his plan.
2. He had gotten a special deal where the first six months were completely free.
3. During the first few months, he had made extensive use of our web design support at no extra charge (which is kind of the USP of this hoster).

So, basically, he thought he could create a website with qualified assistance, completely for free, and as soon as the first regular invoice arrived, he would cancel the service and keep running the website on a cheaper, unsupported hosting.

Imagine the delight with which I replied to his email. I made sure to point out that he hadn’t paid anything yet but had made extensive use of our services. And, anyway, it was technically impossible to separate the website from the editor, so he had the choice between all or nothing.

I never heard back from him. I hope he felt at least a little bit ashamed.

Our store is across the street from a nursing home. Almost every day, we see an older couple come into the store to just look around. They go through the same routine every day, and they don’t really buy anything, but we don’t mind. 

The husband comes over to me one day after we make eye contact and I smile at him a little.

Husband: “I wanted to say thanks for letting us come in every day. It really means the world to us.”

Me: “Oh, it’s no bother at all. I’m sure there are nicer places to visit than this little old store, though!” 

Husband: “Well, it’s for my wife. She has trouble remembering these days, but we always used to come to this store together every Tuesday, and she’d work through her list, thinking up all the dinners she’d feed us all week until the next Tuesday. She doesn’t remember who I am most days, but every time we come in here, it’s suddenly Tuesday, and she gets all excited about the dinners she wants to make.”

Me: “Oh… I… I don’t know what to say.” 

Husband: “Nothing to say. I just wanted to say thank you.”

His wife walked past with a list in her hand, smiling and calling her husband over to help her choose a cereal.

Every day for the next year, we’d see them reliving her Tuesdays, happy with her list, until one day we didn’t see them for a while. He came back a few weeks later to tell us that his wife was grocery shopping in Heaven now, and he couldn’t wait to try some of the meals she was cooking up for him one day.

We all loved him for how much he loved her.