(I work in a single-screen movie theater located in a former live, stage theatre that was built in the 1920s. My friend’s dad is retired, but works about 25 hours a week as an usher. Frequently, a teenager will buy a ticket and come in and sit down. At an opportune moment, they will get up, sneak over to the side or rear entrance, and open the door to allow five or six of their friends to get in without paying. One evening, my friend’s dad sees a kid get up and head in that direction, so he goes around the other way and waits at the end of the corridor. Sure enough, the kid comes by, opens the back door, and lets in six friends. Just as all these kids get through the door, my friend’s dad comes up to stop them.)

Usher: “Stop right there, all of you. Out of the theater, now!”

(The kid who let everyone in shouts at him:)

Kid: “But I have a ticket! You have to let me back in!”

Usher: “No, I don’t, kid. You violated policy by allowing all your friends in this door. Get out.”

Kid: *shouting* “Oh, yeah?! Well, I’ve got a ticket to this show.” *while waving the ticket at him* “You have to let me back in, because I paid for this ticket.”

Usher: “No, I don’t. Get out now!”

Kid: “Well, screw you, old man. I’m going to get a cop and tell him you won’t let me in after I bought a ticket!”

Usher: “Oh, so you want a cop, huh?” *turns around and shouts* “Hey, [Cop]! Come here a minute. One of these kids would like a word with you!”

(Around the corner comes [Cop], a 6’4″, muscular, burly city police officer, who stares down the entire crowd of teenagers:)

Cop: “So, you boys have a problem, huh? Would you like me to come with you, to discuss what you did with your mama?”

(After a few seconds of shocked silence, one of them finally says:)

Other Kid: “Oh, uh, no, that’s okay! I guess we’re good.”

(He said he’d never seen a group of teens bolt out of the building so fast!)

(I work in a currency exchange. Two men come to my till and start negotiating the price for 1000 USD converted into Euro. They negotiate A LOT, and they try to be funny and flatter me, but the only result is that they look like douchebags that want to convince me to make a better price. I stand firm on a minimum amount that I know I’m allowed to make to guarantee the company a little income from the transaction.)

Me: “It’s 873€.”

Customer: “Okay. Let me take the money.”

(They talk to each other in their language, laughing.)

Customer: “You said 923€, right?”

Me: “No, sir, I said 873€.”

Customer: “Come on; do 875€!”

Me: “No, sir. I’m sorry. But if you want to change here, right now, this is the price I can offer. It’s already very discounted, and I can’t give you one euro more.”

Customer: “Ugh, it’s just 2€ difference.” *then he says in a VERY cheesy way* “Are all Italian women this hard?”

Me: *showing off my wedding band and without skipping a beat* “Yes. Especially those who are married.”

Customer: “Uh… That was a good one.”

(They got their money and took off.)

(I’m waiting for my train to take me home, and just happen to hear this exchange between a platform supervisor and another customer.)

Customer: “Excuse me, miss?”

Supervisor: “Yes, sir, how may I help?”

Customer: “I just wanted to make a suggestion that your tannoy announcement not be so cheerful, as that’s not what someone who is having a bad day wants to hear.”

(He then continued to rant about how his life was terrible, and he didn’t want the cheeriness of others to bring him down. He left after a while, and I could see that the supervisor looked visibly upset. I bought the supervisor a coffee from one of the shops inside the station, as I thought she handled the situation rather well.)

(My friend has recently returned to the UK after a holiday in Benidorm. It’s a notoriously popular holiday destination for Brits. We are both English.)

Me: “How was your holiday?”

Friend: “It was okay. I spent most of the time travelling away from Benidorm to other places. That place was horrible! The people were awful all the time! I felt so bad for the Spanish staff, since they were all really lovely. They must hate us. You’d walk down the street and there’s these English people sat outside all the pubs, off their heads. And they were really rude, too, really aggressive. This one bloke heard he wasn’t getting any more free drinks, and he smashed up the hotel bar. The things he was shouting at that poor bartender made me blush. I felt so ashamed to be British.”

Me: “Didn’t you expect it at all?”

Friend: “Well… you hear the stories. But I never believed it until I saw it with my own eyes.”

(I don’t think she’s ever worked in retail. It’s surprising how few people understand how bad customers can be… until they actually see it.)

(I’m working as a server at a restaurant over the summer break between my freshman and sophomore years of college. Sometimes I like to use fake accents for my own entertainment, and sometimes I get bigger tips for being a “foreigner.”)

Me: “Hello! Welcome to [Restaurant]! My name is [My Name], and I’m going to be your server today. Can I get you started off with something to drink? [Soda]? Iced tea?”

Customer: “Can I ask where you’re from? I love your accent.”

Me: *obviously lying* “Queensland, Australia.”

Customer’s Boyfriend: “Really? That’s awesome! Hey, speak some Australian!”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer’s Boyfriend: “Speak some Australian!”

Customer: “Honey, they speak English in Australia.”

Customer’s Boyfriend: “Really?”

Me: “Yeah. We do, actually. Sorry to disappoint.”

(For most of their meal, they argued about whether or not Australians speak English.)