Me: “Thank you for calling [Pizza Place]. My name is [My Name]. Would you like to try an order of wings with your pizza today?”

Customer: “Yeah, I want…” *customer proceeds to rattle off their order, which I have no way to process yet because our system requires info before it lets us take the order*

Me: “Excuse me, ma’am, but I need your information first.”

Customer: “No, you don’t.”

Me: “Actually, I do. Can I get your phone number?”

Customer: “You don’t need that.”

Me: “We need it so we can verify the order, and call you if we need to.”

(After several back and forths, the customer grudgingly gives me the number.)

Me: “All right, is this for carryout or delivery.”

Customer: “Why do you need to know that?”

Me: “Well, we need to know whether we’ll be sending it out to you, or if you’ll be coming in to pick it up.”

Customer: “Oh. Delivery. All right, so I want—”

Me: “I’m sorry; can I get your address first?”

Customer: “Why do you need that?”

Me: “You wanted it delivered right?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: “Well, then I need to know where you live.”

Customer: “I live on [Street], in the [describes house].”

Me: “No, ma’am, I need the actual street address.”

Customer: “No, you don’t. Just bring it to the [color] house.”

Me: “I’m sorry; I can’t send one of my drivers out to an arbitrary address. I need to know the street address, including the house number.”

(After roughly five minutes of back and forth on this, I finally get it out of her, then:)

Customer: “What are your specials?”

Me: *rattles off our specials*

Customer: “And what are your toppings?”

Me: *rattles off each of our toppings*

Customer: “All right, I want a three-topping pizza.”

(Long pause.)

Me: “…”

Customer: “How much will that be?”

Me: “What would you like on your pizza?”

Customer: *exasperated* “I told you that already.”

Me: *attempting to keep my cool* “I’m sorry, ma’am, could you repeat it for me?”

Customer: *in the most patronizing voice ever* “I want onions, beef, and pepperoni.”

Me: “All right, thank you.” *not wanting to keep her on the line but having to upsell anyway* “Would you like any drinks or wings?”

Customer: “Why the h*** would I want those things? I just want my pizza!”

Me: “And will that be cash or credit?”

Customer: “Credit.”

Me: “All right, and whenever you’re ready with the credit card number?”

Customer: “You don’t need that.”

Me: *resisting urge to bang head on desk* “If you’re not comfortable with giving me your credit information, would you like to pay with cash instead, or do carry out so you can do the card in-store?”

Customer: “No, I want to do credit.”

(Another few minutes of back and forth, and I finally get the info out of her and complete the order.)

Me: “All right, ma’am, have a nice da—” *click*

(I immediately slammed my face onto the front counter, and my mother, who had been standing nearby, burst out laughing. I was on that call for 45 minutes.)

(Despite signs posted nearby explaining what is available, despite them seeing everything the customers ahead of them order, despite them being repeat customers having gone through this routine before, this keeps happening:)

Customer: “I’d like a scoop.”

Me: “Okay, in a cup or a cone?”

Customer: “A scoop.”

Me: “Yes, but what do you want it in?”

Customer: “A scoop!”

Me: “In a cup, or a cone?”

Customer: “Oh! A cone.”

Me: “Which one?”

Customer: “A… cone?”

Me: “…”

Customer: “Oh! Sugar, I guess.”

Me: “Okay, so one scoop in a sugar cone… What flavor?”

Customer: “Just a scoop, please.”

Me: “Of which flavor?”

Customer: “Oh. Chocolate.”

Me: “Which chocolate? Regular, double, or brownie?”

(This is the sale that never ends.)

(Because people always ask for things like envelopes, pens, plastic wallets, etc., we have given up telling people we are not a stationers and have started selling these small items. One such item we have started selling are small in-ear headphones. A lady approaches the counter when we are really busy.)

Customer: “Headphones. I need headphones.”

Me: “We sell headphones for £1.50. Would you like one?”

Customer: “It’s too much. Just give me.”

Me: “No, we sell them. There is the market outside if you would rather get some from there.”

Customer: “I have five pairs of headphones at home; I don’t need anymore. Just give me and I will give you it back.”

Me: “I’m not prepared to do that. They are in-ear headphones and I am not going to be able to resell them once you have finished with them.”

Customer: “Why not?”

Me: “For hygiene reasons.”

Customer: *blank stare*

(As the customer was agitated and snappy, I tried a different approach. I had a look in my draw and saw there was an open packet we use for testing.)

Me: “Would you like these? They have been open and used by someone else.”

Customer: “Ew, no. They have been in someone else’s ears.”

Me: “That’s exactly why I can’t lend you any.”

(In response to one of our competitors ceasing to sell cigarettes, our chain has adopted a policy of requiring ID for any sales of cigarettes or paraphernalia, no matter how old someone looks. This goes for everything down to tobacco pipe cleaners, which is what a customer is trying to buy.)

Me: “Can I see your ID, please?”

Customer: “You’re kidding, right? I’m 35. You don’t need to see my ID if I look like I’m over 27.”

Me: “No, it’s a new pol—”

Customer: “This is ridiculous.” *she starts telling me her birthday to enter manually*

Me: “I can’t type in—”

Customer: “What do you need, my driver’s license number?!”

Me: “I can’t sell anything having to do with smoking unless I can see photo ID—”

Customer: “What, you want me to go back home and get my driver’s license?! This is f****** ridiculous. I want to talk to your manager. I’ve been driving around all f****** day looking for these f****** cleaners. I’ve been at two f****** shops in just this f****** plaza already!”

(She continues ranting as I go get my manager and tell him the issue. At no point does she stop being audible.)

Manager: “Ma’am, we can’t sell you those unless you have photo ID.”

Customer: “Are you kidding?! I’m thirty-f******-five. You don’t need to see my f****** ID if I look like I’m over twenty-seven. It’s the law!”

Manager: “It’s a new policy, ever since [Competitor] stopped selling cigarettes.”

(I hand her a small flyer about the new policy, an exact copy of the sign that is on our door and at various places around the store.)

Customer: “Then I don’t want any of these.”

(She continues ranting as she walks toward the door.)

Customer: “I drive around for two f****** hours, just going all over god’s f****** creation just to find these f******—”

Me: “Have a great evening!”

Customer: “F*** you!”

(Our store is set up a little differently due to the building we’re in. The front is a small room with the cash wrap and some displays/fixtures, which leads to a larger room where we have the bulk of our books. While there is a doorway between the rooms there is no door, and you can plainly see books through the doorway. We still get people asking some variation of “is there anything in there?” several times a day. We’ve even put up signs over the doorway that say “BOOKS” in giant letters and still we get the questions. On this particular day, though a woman comes in.)

Me: “Hi, can I help you find anything?”

Customer: “No, I’m just browsing. Is there anything back there?” *points to the doorway*

Me: “Yes, we have books back there.”

(She browses for a minute or so in front room, then goes into back room. She’s there less than ten seconds before she comes out.)

Customer: “Oh, it’s just books back there.”