(I work at my family’s business and we deliver up to 100 miles away in any direction. My brother has answered the phone, and the customer is speaking loud enough I can hear both sides of the conversation.)

Brother: “[Business], how can I help you?”

Customer: “Yeah, how much for a delivery?”

Brother: “Where do you need the delivery to go to?”

Customer: “My house!”

Brother: “…”

Customer: *silence, evidently he thinks this is enough information*

Brother: “I’m going to need to know where your house is, sir.”

Customer: “Oh, you do?”

Brother: “Yes, sir.”

Customer: “Oh.”

(Sadly, this is not the first conversation of this kind.)

(I am lining up at popular southern-style fried chicken chain to place our order when this exchange occurs:)

Staff: “I’m sorry, sir, but there will be a five-minute wait for Wicked Wings.”

Customer: “What?! Five minutes! Why the h*** would it take five minutes?!”

Staff: “We don’t keep a lot pre-cooked, so it’s always fresh for our valued customers like you, sir.”

Customer: “Well, I’m not waiting.”

Staff: “I can replace the wings with regular chicken pieces for you, sir.”

Customer: “NO! I want Wicked Wings.”

Staff: “So, there will be a five-minute wait on the wings, sir—”

Customer: “I’M NOT WAITING!”

Staff: “Like I said, I can substitute regular pieces for you.”

Customer: “NO! I WANT MY WINGS, BUT I DON’T WANT TO WAIT!”

Staff: “I… I don’t know what to tell you, sir. Either you wait for wings or accept a substitution. I can’t bend time.”

Customer: *turns almost purple from anger* “HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT?! GET ME YOUR MANAGER!”

(By this time everyone has had it with this idiot man-child, but it’s a little kid who speaks up. The kid behind me says to his mum:)

Kid: “You would smack my bum if I shouted like that, Mum.”

Mum: “Yes. Yes, I would.”

(That’s all it took for me. I laughed so much I snorted, and idiot man-child left without ordering his food. I let the kid and his mum go ahead of me because I still couldn’t compose myself to place an order. Well done, little kid. And idiot man-child, thank you for making me laugh harder than I have in a long time.)

(As a young woman working at a big box store, I get plenty of old men who think they can get away with pretty much anything: grabbing, lewd comments, etc. One regular decides it’s funny to bump me with his cart. I usually work behind a desk, but he bumps me anytime he sees me walking through the store or cleaning up displays. One day he is passing me and hasn’t said anything, so I think he hasn’t seen me. Suddenly, he swerves his cart and hits me in the stomach. I double over and fall to my knees.)

Me: “The baby! The baby! My baby!”

Customer: “Oh, my gosh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t know you were pregnant!”

Me: *getting up* “I’m not. But I could have been. Maybe you should stop running into people on purpose. It’s rude and inconsiderate, and you could really hurt someone.”

(He just stared at me, open-mouthed, for a minute, then hurried away. But he never hit me with a cart again.)

(My father has been blind since he was a toddler. Before he retires he runs a small snack bar in our local city hall. Since it is not uncommon for people to lie to him about the denominations of bills he is given, he has a “verifier” machine he can run money through that tells him the amount of the currency. After I graduate, I spend my summer working for him. My father is on break, and a man approaches me with several items. He hands me a dollar bill.)

Customer: “That’s a twenty.”

Me: “No… This is a dollar.”

Customer: *becoming upset* “Well, I didn’t know you could see!” *storms out, leaving his items behind*

Me: *dumbfounded*

(I work at a historic site. We have been a museum for over 50 years and the site itself is several hundred years old. It was originally a home and ironworks that produced materials from the early railroads. The ironworks itself burned down in the early 1900s. Sitting at the front desk, I receive this call.)

Me: “Good morning. This is [Museum]. How can I help you?”

Customer: “Hi. I have been looking at your website for a while and you seem to be what I need.”

Me: “Wonderful! Do you have questions about tours or programs?”

Customer: “No. I need some iron products created immediately, and I can pick them up from your ironworks early next week.”

Me: “Ma’am, we–”

(She interrupts me to describe these iron plates she needs, and each time I try to interject she gets louder and louder. Finally, after about seven minutes…)

Me: “Ma’am, we are a historic site. The ironworks itself burned down over 100 years ago.”

Customer: “So, the plates won’t be ready next week?”

Me: “They will not be ready ever.”

(Our website says, “historic site,” and, “museum,” all across the page.)