(I’m working on the counter on a fairly busy evening, and am serving a couple of men who are very friendly. The transaction goes normally until the end, when one of the customers stares intently at my name badge.)

Customer: “Who couldn’t spell your name?”

Me: *confused* “I’m sorry?”

Customer: *looks at feedback card with my name on it, and looks at my name badge again* “Who couldn’t spell your name?”

Me: “Nobody? That is my name.”

Customer: *blank stare*

Me: “Kirsty. That’s my name.”

Customer: *tries repeating my name but totally botches it* “What? I can’t…”

Me: “Kirsty. As in, ‘rhymes with thirsty.’”

Customer: “Kir-sty… Hmm. Weird.” *walks away*

(I’ve never known anyone to be so flummoxed by my name, and usually, if anyone has been slightly confused by my name, it’s been people from other countries.)

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(While taking a food order for a really lovely table, one of them has trouble paying attention.)

Customer: “Can I get the rump steak?”

Me: “Of course! How would you like that cooked?”

Customer: “Oh, can I get it with chips?”

Me: “Yeah, sure. Not a problem. How do you like it cooked? Medium? Rare?”

Customer: “It comes with mushrooms? Can I get it without?”

Me: “Yes, definitely. No worries. How would you like your meat done?”

Customer: “And pepper sauce. Is that okay?”

Me: “Absolutely, not a problem. Now, how do you take your steak?”

Customer: *blank look*

(As I’m trying to find a different way of asking one of his friends chimed in:)

Friend: “[Customer]! For God’s sake! How the hell do you want your steak done? The lassie’s only asked you four times!”

(Cue laughter from the rest of the table and the poor chap getting teased, “Did you hear that, [Customer]?!” for the rest of the night!)

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Coworker: “Hi, what can I get you?”

Customer: “I’d like a pound of bologna, please.”

Coworker: “Would you like the German bologna or the beef?”

Customer: “Oh, there are kinds? Hmm… I guess, then, my son probably likes the beef!”

Coworker: “Would you like me to give you a slice so your son can try it to make sure first?”

Customer: “No, I’m sure, just a pound of the beef bologna.”

(My coworker shows the thickness of the first slice for the customer’s approval and once again offers the slice for her son to try. Yet again the customer declines. After the pound is sliced up and the bag is handed to the customer, the customer opens the bag and hands a slice to her son, who takes a small nibble, scrunches his face, and gives the slice back to his mother.)

Customer: “Oh, I guess it’s the German he likes. Here, can you take this pound back and give me a pound of the German?”

(This store is well-known for selling “personal” and “adult-oriented” items. You really shouldn’t give attitude to those who sell you these things, smack-dab in the middle of a very popular mall. When we ring up customers, as with many other stores, it asks us to ask them for an email address. Some people feel it necessary to be incredibly rude when they don’t want to give us their email. My manager is dealing with a customer who is buying one of the aforementioned “personal” items.)

Manager: “Can I get your email address?”

Customer: *in a very rude tone* “I don’t have one!”

Manager: “Do you know anyone who does? You can get a 20% off coupon for next time you come in.”

Customer: *with even more attitude* “I said I don’t have one!”

(The transaction is completed. My manager slides the personal item to the customer, sans bag.)

Customer: “Can I get a bag?”

Manager: *while walking away* “I don’t have one.”

(I am finishing up an order at the drive-thru.)

Me: “And what would you like to drink with that?”

Customer: “Mountain Dew.”

Me: “We have Coke products, ma’am.”

Customer: “Okay… Pepsi?”