(I work in a fast food restaurant. I am scheduled to work closing the night before school starts. Because I have an 8:00 am class, I am rushing to finish all of the closing procedures so I can leave at my scheduled time — 10:00 pm — when a group of young men comes in. Unfortunately for me, they all decide to sit in the dining room. The owner has installed cameras with audio, and listens to make sure we don’t tell customers to leave. He has had employees fired before for even hinting as such.)

Manager: “I know you need to be home soon, but don’t rush them.”

Me: “I hope they finish quickly; they’re wearing [University I attend] shirts.”

Manager: “Then maybe they’ll leave soon.”

(The young men eat quickly, but then they sit and watch videos on their phones. I wipe down tables around them, hearing that they are dorm students. After a half-hour, the manager checks on the dining room.)

Manager: “They’re still here?”

Me: *grudgingly* “Yesssss.”

Manager: “You’ve done everything else to close, right?”

Me: “Of course.”

Manager: “Just wait. Policy says we can’t tell them to leave.”

(Another two hours go by. It is now two and a half hours after our dining room is closed and two hours after I am supposed to get off. I still have to stay a half-hour after these customers leave to vacuum, so I am nearly in tears.)

Manager: “[My Name] what are you– They’re still here?!”

Me: “Yes. [Manager], I’m sorry, but I need to get home!”

Manager: “You’ve left the vacuum out to give them a hint, right?”

Me: “Of course! They even asked about it when they came up for a refill.”

Manager: “I’m sorry, I can’t tell them to leave. You know what [Owner] will say.”

Me: *gets a realization* “Actually, I know what to do.”

(My manager agrees to the plan, so she walks out to the dining room.)

Manager: “Hello, gentlemen. Still out celebrating your move in?”

Customer #1: “Yeah. School starts tomorrow, so it sucks.”

Manager: “Aw, that’s a shame. I was just talking to my employee; she also attends [University].”

(The customers start to look a little sheepish.)

Customer #2: “That’s cool.”

Customer #3: “Shame she’s out here still.”

Manager: “Don’t sweat it. Although, I have to confirm something she told me in the past, if you guys don’t mind. Is it true that [University] places severe demerits on your student profile if you’re not in your dorm before midnight?”

(The men all went wide-eyed and bolted out. Since it was past midnight and almost time for the drive-thru to close, as well, the manager made everyone help me vacuum the dining room. I got home only a few minutes before one in the morning. The store has since been bought by another company and that policy has been changed.)

(I work at a dealership. At 3:56 pm, a car pulls up into the service drive. My coworker greets the customer driving the car.)

Customer: “Hi! I’m here for my appointment, but I’m a little late.”

Coworker: “Oh, what time was your appointment?”

Customer: “I forget. 9:15? 9:45?”

(Their appointment was for 8:45 am. “A little late,” indeed. We had them reschedule. We’ll see if they’ll maybe be a little less late next time.)

(I am a cashier, checking out a woman who has random bits and bobs, including a rug. She is on her phone the whole time, speaking French — we are in England. When I pick up the rug I am shocked to see a competitor name on the rug tag. I have to leave the till a moment and show my manager that a competitor rug has shown up in our stock.)

Manager: “We can’t sell it to her; it’s not our stock.”

Me: “Can I just scan another rug and sell it to her at that price, one the same size or something? They’re not going to get this rug back and we can’t keep it.”

Manager: “No, we can’t sell it. Just tell her what has happened and get another rug for her that looks the same.”

(I sigh, knowing he is right but it would just be easier for everyone, and go to explain to the customer what has happened.)

Customer: “Why can’t I have this rug?”

Me: “Because it is from a competitor’s store, and I can’t even begin to explain how it got here.”

(I unroll the rug and show her the tag; it clearly says the other store’s name on it. All the while, she is holding her phone to her chest as I speak to her. I set the rug aside and finish scanning all her items and put them in the trolley for her. She then goes to remove the rug and place it in the trolley.)

Me: “I’m sorry, I can’t sell you that rug.”

(I pick it up and place it behind the till where she can’t get it; she gives me a dirty look.)

Customer: “Why can’t I have that rug?”

Me: “Because it is from a competitor’s store and I have no idea how it got here, but it is not our rug to sell. I’m sorry, but my manager told me not to sell it. I can I get you another one, maybe?”

Customer: “Yeah, whatever.”

(She then goes back to speaking in French on the phone, and I wonder if she is talking about me to the person on the other end. I go and check the rug aisle but find there is nothing matching the rug in colour or size, so I go back and explain to her the situation. She pulls the phone away from her ear.)

Customer: “Now listen to me. I need that rug. Now, just pick it up and sell it to me.”

Me: “I’m sorry, it’s out of my hands. Can I get you anything else?”

Customer: “Yeah, help me with my stuff to my car.”

(I do, and I find her trying to get a huge mirror and everything else in a two-door coupe with the roof down. She doesn’t help me unload the trolley, and doesn’t thank me at all or acknowledge me, so I sling the last bag onto her seat and set off with the trolley back into my store. I’m sorry, guys, but she was just a horribly rude person. After I return to my till and serve a few more customers, she reappears.)

Customer: “Where the h*** is my rug?”

Customer: “So, how do I get to your location?”

Me: “Well, from Highway 65 take the…”

Customer: “Wait, how do I get to Highway 65 from [vague description of starting point].”

Me: “Umm… You would have to get to Highway 80 first before finding Highway 65…”

Customer: “Oh, I can’t stand Highway 80, and I won’t drive it. What’s ‘The Other Way’ to get to your location?”

(Pause.)

Me: “Oh, you mean the secret way?”

Customer: “Sure, whatever you want to call it.”

Me: “Well… to avoid the highways you could take [Road #1] to [Road #2], to [Road #3]…”

Customer: “No, I don’t care for that part of town. Too many traffic lights.”

(Longer pause.)

Customer: “So, no, really, how do I get to your location?”

Me: “Umm… Adopt Jesus as your copilot and pray. Have a blessed day!”

(Click.)

(I’m a front desk agent at a hotel and am a young, white woman. A guest comes to check in, and he is a black man. It is our company policy to ask for a security deposit that will be blocked on the guest’s credit card and covers the room rate — if not paid yet — and any incidentals until the checkout. I explain this to the guest, but he is not having it and doesn’t want to leave anything.)

Guest: “I have never heard of a policy like that, and I stay in hotels all around the world!”

Me: “All of the hotels in our company have this policy, and so do a lot of other international hotels. I am very sorry, but I am not able to check you in without a security deposit.”

Guest: *screaming so all other guests can hear him* “You are only asking me for all that money because I am black! You are being racist!”

Me: “Actually, it’s because last time you left without paying.”

(He paid, both the deposit and his last stay’s bill.)