(I work at a very popular retail store as a cashier. I live close to Washington, so my area has a lot of Seahawks fans. One day an older gentleman comes in with some merchandise and I’m checking him out when…)

Me: “You must be a big fan of the Seahawks, huh?”

Customer: “Yes, I like them a lot. What’s your favorite football team?”

Me: “I don’t really like football. I’m not much of a sports person.”

Customer: “Well, how are you going to get a man if you don’t like football?!”

Me: “I have a man already, actually, so I don’t need to go get one.”

Customer: “Well, he better train you right and have you watch football with him! I’m surprised he even wants you!”

Me: “He doesn’t like football either, sir, so it doesn’t matter.”

Customer: “What kind of people don’t like football?! Do you know what you two are?!”

Me: “What are we, sir?”

Customer: “You guys are communists!”

(The customer walked away glaring at me. He’s come back to our store multiple times since then, but takes care to avoid me.)

This story is part of our Ignorant-About-Communism roundup!

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Me: “Ma’am, you’re still about a dollar short of your total.”

Customer: “No, I gave you a dollar coin.”

(I hold up a quarter that for whatever reason came out gold-colored.)

Me: “Oh, no, this is just an oddly-colored quarter, ma’am. See?”

Customer: “No, it says ‘quarter-dollar’ right there!”

(I just stare at her and blink. I hear customers behind her snickering. I resolve that this just isn’t worth it.)

Me: “Yeah, okay, whatever. Here’s your receipt. Have a nice day.”

(In this business you get two choices on how big you want your sub to be. There is a foot long and the smaller six-inch version.)

Me: “Hello.”

Cashier: “Hello, what kind of sub would you like?”

Me: “Italian bread, six inch foot-long.”

(The cashier stares at me with a confused look.)

Me: “An Italian bread, six-inch foot-long.”

Cashier: “Uh…”

(I am start to try to figure out what’s wrong to no avail. About one minute of awkward staring has gone by when the cashier speaks up.)

Cashier: “There are foot-longs and then there are six inch. It’s impossible to do both.”

Me: “Wait, what…”

(My brain finally starts working again.)

Me: “Sorry, I want a foot-long.”

(I work in customer service for a telecommunications company. Part of my job is to sell people new phones and phone contracts. In doing so we have to gather a lot of the customers’ personal information, such as address, date of birth, etc. One afternoon before close, a very tall middle-aged man enters the shop. I am the only female in store; there are two other male coworkers on with me. The customer gestures to me for assistance and I go over to him.)

Customer: “You guys keep a lot of people’s information on file, don’t you?”

Me: “Is there something I can help you with?”

Customer: “Yeah, can you check my details are up to date?”

Me: “Sure, I’ll just need a few details from you first, starting with your phone number.”

(I then go behind the desk and put the phone number he gives me into the system. He cannot see my screen. The account of the number he gave me belongs to a woman. Following procedure, I then ask him to verify his identity before I can access the account. He starts getting agitated.)

Customer: “Look, I just need to check you have the correct address!”

Me: “I’m happy to help you do that but first I’ll need you to verify you are the account holder.”

Customer: “So you’re refusing to help me? I’ve come all the way down here and I’m being refused service!”

(I repeat exactly the same thing. By now my coworkers are sensing a difficult customer and are hovering near me.)

Customer: *yelling* “B****! You’re all b****es! She f***ing stole everything I have and I just need to find out where she’s gone!”

(Then my coworkers stepped in, one calling security while the other told the customer to leave. They were prepared because that kind of thing was pretty regular.)

(I am sitting waiting for my car to be repaired at the service center of a dealership while I overhear this.)

Mechanic: “All right, Mr. [Customer], your car is all set!”

Customer: “Thanks! So what do I owe you?”

Mechanic: “Well, let’s see. We did an oil change and rotated your tires so it’s [Price], but I do think you should know that your wheels are bent and you may want to consider replacing your tires when you come back from vacation since they’re rather worn down and won’t function well in the snow.”

Customer: “Are you kidding me?! My wheels are bent? How the hell does that even happen?”

Mechanic: “Well, if you go over a large pot hole too quickly that may do it. See, the good thing is though [Car Brand] makes their wheels out of an alloy so they bend instead of breaking, preventing accidents.”

Customer: “Ugh! I can’t believe this. I should expect better quality out of a $50,000 car! You’d think after paying that much they would give me decent tires that didn’t wear down after 20,000 miles! This is such bullcrap! Like, seriously, this pisses me off. Oh, and for the record, you can tell me whatever you want but that car does not do s*** in the snow! It sucks! I don’t care if I can turn off the f****** traction whatever it’s total s***!”

Mechanic: “Uh… right. Well, sir, here is your total. Have a great day.”

Customer: “Yeah, whatever! I don’t care! I’m mad! I expect more after you took $50,000 from me for a f****** car!”

(I was ready to tell him that if he really didn’t want his car we could trade!)