(The return policy at the game store where I work is clearly printed on the receipts, but many people don’t bother to read them. A sketchy-looking customer approaches me.)

Customer: *tosses bag down on the counter* “I’d like to return this, man.”

Me: “Not a problem! Just give me one second to process that for you.” *runs through the procedure quickly* “Okay, I’ll just need to swipe the card that you used to purchase [Game].”

Customer: “Nah, I just need the cash back. Don’t have no card.”

Me: *internally sighing* “Okay, let me just check on something with my manager.” *I go back to explain the situation*

Manager: *shakes head* “If he doesn’t have the card he used to purchase, have him use a different one.”

Me: “Sorry, sir. We need a card of some sort in order to process this return.”

Customer: “I already told you that I don’t have a card. I just need the cash! I saw this sitting on a bench. Some dude left it and I figured I’d get money for it.”

Me: *speechless*

Customer: “Just give it back. Never mind…”

(He takes the product and starts walking out of the store. On his way, he bumps into another guy hurrying through the door.)

Customer: “Hey, I recognize you. This is your stuff. I suppose you can have it back.”

Other Guy: “Thank you!” *happily walks out with his stuff*

(I explained the situation to the manager once I’d recovered. He shook his head, muttered about potential fraud, and looked through the security footage. That’s one man who won’t be welcome back in our store!)

(It’s a busy day in the store, and I’m called up to the front, since the lines have gotten long. I get up there to find that a customer has her cart-full of items laid out on the counter of my register. I stand there for a second, unsure of what to do, until another customer asks me to open.)

Me: “Um, excuse me.”

Customer: “Oh, do you need this register? I’m just counting my things.”

Me: “Yes, sorry. They assign me to a register, and I can only use this one.”

Customer: *annoyed, she starts slowly putting the items back into the cart* “Is there somewhere else I can do this?”

Me: “Unfortunately, no.”

(I sign in, but can’t call anyone over because she is still blocking my register. The customer gets about half of her items into the cart, when she pauses and says:)

Customer: “You know what? I might as well check out. Can you just ring me up?”

Me: *making eye contact with all the people who’ve been waiting* “Well, you could ask the people in line if they’d mind if I took you before them.”

Customer: *somewhat testily* “I’m not going to ask them.” *finally clears enough room for me to call the next in line*

Me: *while finishing a customer’s order* “And would you like a lid on your ice cream?”

Customer: “Sure. Wait… what does a lid do?”

Me: *speechless*

Customer: “It just keeps the ice cream in while you’re driving, right? I’m okay, then.”

(It is my little sister’s birthday. To celebrate, we have booked into a favourite restaurant in the city centre, where one of my university friends waits tables. As usual, I go in about two hours prior with a birthday cake, and ask the staff if they would mind bringing it out after we finish our food. I bake and decorate the cakes myself as a hobby, and I get carried away, so they’re usually quite extravagant. I’ve themed this one around Pitch Perfect, one of my sister’s favourite films.)

Other Customer: “Excuse me, [Waiter Friend]. Could you tell me where I can order one of those cakes?” *she points at our table*

Waiter: “I don’t know about that. [My Name] makes them herself, but we do parties often, and I can recommend some oth—”

Customer: “No! Don’t fob me off. I’ll ask them myself.”

(She gets up and walks over to our table.)

Customer: “Excuse me; I am sorry to interrupt your meal, but I was wondering if you could tell me where you ordered that cake? I need one identical for my daughter’s graduation.”

Me: “I made it myself, but I don’t do this as a business. I’m sorry. I believe [Waiter] has a list of approved affiliate bakeries they use for parties. Contact one of them?”

Customer: “NO! You’re as bad as [Waiter]. You’re just saying that so I stop disturbing you.”

Me: “I’m telling the truth, but you ARE disturbing me. It’s my sister’s birthday. We are trying to enjoy it, but you’re causing a scene.”

Customer: “Stop LYING. You just don’t want me to have a cake as nice as yours.”

Sister: “Look, lady. She makes cakes for all her family and friends! Here; I’ve got photos of her making other ones.”

(My sister pulls out her phone and flips through it to show pictures of the two of us fooling around in the kitchen, making cakes. The customer watches.)

Customer: “Okay, fine. Whatever. You make them? Good. You WILL make one of those for me; I’ll pay you a reasonable amount, if I’m satisfied with the work.”

Me: “Nope, I’m not in the business. Sorry.”

Customer: “Well, you should be! I need that cake. You do understand I’m offering to pay you, here?”

Me: “People like you are exactly why I’m not. I would like for you to leave us in peace now, if you don’t mind.”

Customer: “Well, I never! So rude! [Waiter], fire her!”

Waiter: “Ma’am, she is a customer. How can I fire her?”

Customer: “Kick her out and bar her. She is so unhelpful!”

Waiter: “She is a customer; she can be as ‘unhelpful’ towards you as she pleases if you’re going to harass her. I’m going to fetch you your bill. I don’t want gratuity, and I’m knocking 25% off before you even START to quibble on the price like you normally do. Please pay it and leave, before I call the police.”

(The lady opens her mouth with half a mind to give my friend a dressing down, but shuts her mouth, pays up, and leaves. I guess she knew eventually to admit defeat.)

Waiter: “Sorry about that, you guys!”

Me: “Don’t mention it. Here, put that lady’s 25% in the tip jar; I’ll cover it. Thanks for getting her out; I thought she was gonna punch me!”

(The owner ended up giving us the meal for free, so we put the entire meal cost into the tip pool. They said that the lady was also a regular, whom they disliked and were trying to get banned, but that she hadn’t been back since our “altercation.” I guess cake can solve almost anything!)

(I am doing security checks on each floor, when I see a man in only his thin underwear standing very close to someone’s door, knocking.)

Me: “Um, sir? You have to put some clothes on. You can’t go in the halls naked.”

Guest: “I’m not naked. Uh… I was checking on my kids, and I’ve locked myself out of my room. I’m trying to knock quietly, so my wife will unlock the door, but I won’t wake my kids.”

(At this point, I think he’s drunk, and my tone gets steely.)

Me: “Sir, I’m going to check if you’re telling the truth. I’ll be right back.”

(I checked on the computer, and then went back, but he was gone. Hoping he wasn’t running around without any clothes on, I looked for him, but saw no sign of him. The next morning, I saw him with some children and his wife at breakfast, and figured that he was telling the truth. He caught my eye, blushed, and looked away. Is it so hard to put on a robe on these days?)

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