(I manage a 1000-unit storage facility. A few weeks ago, I had to send our customers their rental increases for the year. The contract everyone signs says we can change their rent with 30 days’ notice. The increases are done automatically by computer. Our facility is nearly full, and if someone moves out, someone else moves in within a week, two at the most. My employee and I watch a car pull up, and someone gets out of the back seat, almost slamming his door into a post. A “gentleman” comes in, complimenting my employee and me, saying how nice it is to have two women looking at him, since he’s allergic to men. Strange, but not unexpected. We smile, and I ask how I can help him.)

Customer: “I got this rental increase letter. It’s too much. You’re going to wake the beast.”

Me: “I’m sorry about that, sir. May I have your unit number, so I can take a look?”

(The customer goes on for several minutes about his unit number, giving me wrong numbers, not giving me his last name, giving me the runaround until my employee figures it all out.)

Me: “Well, as far as I can see, yes, you’ve been with us a long time, but I do not have full control—”

Customer: “Would you rather I move out? You’ll lose more money than the increase if I move out!”

Me: “Let me take a—”

Customer: “Thank you for your poor customer service!” *storms out*

Me: *once the door has closed* “I was going to cut his increase in half… but…”

Employee: “Do we schedule a move-out?”

Me: “Yup.”

Employee: “Huh. One of our most popular sizes. That’ll be rented in a day.”

Me: “Yup.”

(I work at a dog grooming shop that also sells cute, cheap outfits for dogs, as well as super fancy, expensive outfits for dogs. This woman walks in and looks around for about a minute, seeming very confused. I put the dog I was grooming away to see if I can be of any assistance.)

Me: “Hello, is there anything I can help you find?”

Woman: “Yes. Do you have any tuxedos?”

Me: “Yes, we do, actually! We have the well-made, but more expensive ones here.” *I hold up a small dog tuxedo* “And we also have the simple tee-shirt, tuxedo-patterned outfit.” *I put the other tuxedo away and hold the cheaper one up*

Woman: “Do you have anything bigger?”

Me: “Unfortunately, the carrier we go through doesn’t have any tuxedos for large dogs.”

Woman: “No, I mean big ones.”

Me: “Um… You mean for a human?”

Woman: “Helloooooo!”

Me: *long pause* “We’re a dog grooming shop.”

(I pointed at the dogs in kennels in the other room, behind the glass window. She looked very baffled for a moment, and then became flustered as she quickly left the store. There used to be a tuxedo store a few doors down, so that might be why she was confused. But the store was filled with dog mannequins wearing outfits.)

(I’m working grill when a car pulls up to the drive-thru speaker.)

Coworker: “Welcome to [Restaurant]; how may I help you?”

Customer: *slurring and stuttering* “Can I get a-a [combo #1] with ffffffries and [drink] and a [combo #2], just the burrgerrrrr, with an on-ion ring and [drink].”

(I’m making the order when my coworker comes back to talk to me.)

Coworker: “Hey, [My Name], can you hand the food out and tell me if this guy is drunk? He reeks of booze.”

(I go to hand his food out the window.)

Me: “Here you are, sir.”

(He doesn’t respond. He’s clearly out of it.)

Me: “Sir? I have your food for you.”

Customer: *looking very confused* “Oh, oh, thanks. Where are my drinks?”

Me: *I can see them in his cup holders* “You already have them, sir. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Customer: “Uh, no, I’m good.”

(He drives off, and instead of turning to follow the curb, he drives straight over it. Thankfully, he stops in the parking lot. I immediately pick up the phone and call the police. I come back out from the office and his passenger has come in to get more food. Not even a minute has passed since I called and there are already two cruisers in the parking lot.)

Passenger: *turning around and seeing the commotion outside* “What are they doing? He isn’t drunk!”

(We watched the police give the man a sobriety test, cuff him, search his car, take him away, and have the car towed, all while his passenger stood in the lobby and kept repeating that “he isn’t drunk.”)

(I work in a tool and parts store as a cashier, and 90% of the clientele is male. I’m a shy, socially-awkward female but I’m usually very good at faking it and being friendly. This is a Thursday afternoon, and while it’s not overly busy, it’s been steady. I’m about to go on my lunch break when an older man comes up to my till, ignoring the fact that my light is off and I’m gathering my things. I’m not the type to turn a customer away or make them wait for another cashier, so I smile at him as he starts tossing his merchandise on the counter. This is a store where we collect phone numbers to save copies of receipts. Every customer is asked for their phone number when they check out. They can refuse and we don’t push, but most see the benefit to it since we sell some expensive pieces of equipment, and they can return or exchange an item if we have an electronic copy of their receipt.)

Me: *in a friendly voice* “Hello, sir, how are—”

Customer: *cuts me off in a very rude tone* “—I’m good, since you didn’t bother to ask. How are you?”

Me: *startled, as I was just starting to ask* “Um, I’m good, sir. How—”

Customer: *cuts me off again* “Don’t bother with that! Just check me out already!”

Me: *getting nervous* “O-Okay. Can I have your phone number, please?”

Customer: *mutters last four digits*

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but you only gave me the last four digits. The system needs the full phone number in order to bring up your profile.”

Customer: “That’s all I’m giving you!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t bring up your profile without your whole phone number. If you’d like, you can just hang onto the receipt in case you need to return or exchange—”

Customer: “No, I always lose those! Put it in! I gave you my number!”

(I try to explain again how the system works, but he keeps arguing that he doesn’t want to give me more info. At the same time, he won’t let me skip the phone number and proceed with the sale, because he insists he always loses receipts and he wants an electronic copy. A part of me wants to just say I pulled up his information and skip it, but he would know because the receipt prints the customers name on it if a profile is attached to the sale, as well as my name and cashier number. We go around in circles for ten minutes until he spits the number at me, so fast that I can barely catch it. I input the number and finally start ringing his items through. The whole transaction is tense and awkward, and he grumbles at me the entire time about invading his privacy. When I finish bagging his items, I put them up on the counter and tell him the total. Note: We have a customer screen that shows items and prices while they’re scanned, and he’s been watching it the entire time.)

Customer: “There’s no way it’s that high! You’re overcharging me! Look, the total is [amount], not [higher amount I quoted him].”

(I am starting to feel shaky, because I don’t handle confrontations well. I look at the screen, and he’s pointing to the subtotal before taxes are added.)

Me: “That’s the subtotal, sir, and if you look underneath that, it tells you the tax is [amount], so that makes the total [original quoted amount].”

Customer: “No! That has to be wrong! Void the transaction and start again!”

(The managers are in a meeting right now and I can’t call them for help. We’re also not allowed to refuse a customer, and even if we were, I’d be too afraid to try. I void the transaction and go through the hassle of getting his phone number again because I’ve forgotten it at this point. I then start ringing his items through with the hopes that he’ll give up and leave if I do what he wants. He complains the whole time about how incompetent I am, and stops me after I scan each item and double-checks the price. I have to call for several price checks because he thinks I’m overcharging him, and every time the price on the register turns out to be correct. In the end, his total is the same as before. I’m already an hour late for lunch and I’m thoroughly upset for how I’ve been treated when I’ve done nothing wrong.)

Customer: *snottily* “I still think you’re overcharging me somehow. I’m going to look at the receipt when I get home, and if there’s anything off I’m coming straight back here and talking to a manager about you!”

(I don’t trust myself to say anything at this point. I get the transaction set up and he pays with his credit card.)

Me: *trying to smile and thankful it’s finally over* “Here’s your receipt, sir. Have a nice day.”

Customer: *scowling and storming out* “It would have been nicer if I didn’t have to deal with you!”

(After he left, I practically ran to the break room to compose myself. Thankfully, the customers throughout the second half of my shift were pleasant to deal with.)

(I’ve just sent out an order of pasta that’s typically served with sauce on top and just a sprinkle of fresh parmesan. My boss, who is the waitress this day, returns with it just a moment later, huffily stuffs it in a baking dish, and covers it with mozzarella cheese.)

Me: “What’s wrong?”

Boss: “She says she always gets it baked with cheese on top.”

(She begins to put it in the oven.)

Me: “Did she ask for it like that? I could have made it like that.”

Boss: “No, she says this is just the way it comes and she’s always gotten it like that.”

Me: “I’ve never served it like that. I don’t think I’ve ever even had someone ask for it like that.”

(I work no less than four or five days a week, and two of them are double shifts, so I’m almost always there.)

Boss: “Well, that’s what she said!”

(She pulls it out of the oven and re-plates it.)

Me: “Hmm… Well, be sure to ask her what days she normally comes in so we can ‘yell’ at whoever has been making it wrong this whole time.”

Boss: *chuckles* “Okay!”

(She returns a few moments later.)

Boss: “Now she’s changed her story to, ‘A good friend recommended the dish to her and told her that was the way it came and she was confused.’”

Me: “Uh-huh, I’m sure.”