(I work at a fairly nice restaurant on the till/ordering counter. Customers have to open a tab and order at the counter. After that they can pay, order drinks and desserts, etc. from their tables.)

Customer: *orders a rib eye steak*

Me: “And how would you like that done sir?”

Customer: *said loudly with explosive breath* “BEEF.”

Me: *thinking he misunderstood what I had asked* “Sorry, I meant how would you like that cooked?”

Customer: *same inflection* “BEEF!”

Me: “Uh… yes, sir, all our steaks are beef. How do you like your steak? Rare, medium, well done?”

Customer: “BEEF!”

(This goes on for a couple of minutes, with me trying to find a way to ask the customer how he wants his steak done that he would comprehend. Our manager has a policy that every customer has to confirm what they want before we cook it and he takes pains to check we are doing it right. The manager comes out to see why no order has been put through on my till for a little while and he sees I’m having an issue. He grumpily sends me to the kitchen while he tries to deal with the customer. Five more minutes pass.)

Manager: “Yeah… he wanted a beef steak. Go have a break.”

(It’s three minutes before close and my manager is next to me closing another register. An eight-year-old girl comes up to my till with her grandparents to buy a scooter. Note that in Canada, we have $1 and $2 coins.)

Grandmother: “I’m sorry about this.”

Me: *thinking it’s about how late it is* “Oh, it’s no problem—”

Grandmother: “No, you’ll see.”

(My and my manager’s eyes bulged. The woman took out her granddaughter’s allowance that the girl had saved up to spend — all of it in coins in six plastic baggies. My manager and I desperately began counting it, taking ten minutes between us to do it. The girl had saved up $165.65 in coins to spend that day. What’s worse was that there are two banks across the parking lot from our store they could have gone to change the coins.)

(I work as a freelance contractor doing computer repair and sometimes take on wiring projects, too. An apartment complex hires me to fix their private cable service across one of their buildings. I am in the unit of four Spanish-speaking young men. I am male, solidly built, but have back trouble and don’t want to aggravate it by moving heavy furniture.)

Me: *in English since I know at least one of them speaks some English* “Can I get some help moving your TV cabinet from the wall?”

One Of The Young Men: “Why, you can’t do it yourself?” *laughter from all four men*

Me: “I’m sure I could but don’t want to risk damaging any of your things. I just need room to open up the cable jack in the wall and test it.”

(Still laughing, one of them helps move the TV cabinet out.)

Other Young Man: *whispering* “Coneja.”

(Directly translated, “rabbit.” However, I knew the term also is a derogatory slang term related to female anatomy.) The others join in, laughing, “Ay, coneja. Sí, coneja.”)

(The whispered jokes continue with more laughter while I open the cable jack, quickly find the problem (poorly attached connector was about to fall off), fasten a new connector and repair the jack, and turn the TV on.)

Me: “It works, see? Now can we move the TV cabinet back in place?”

One Of The Young Men: “Okay.” *turns to other men and whispers* “Qué coneja.” *what a “rabbit”*

(As I am leaving, I turn back to them:)

Me: *all in Spanish* “Have a nice evening and enjoy your cable!”

(Four shocked and mortified faces stared at me as I closed the door.)

(This takes place over the phone:)

Customer: “Hi, can you tell me which side of the street your store is on?”

Me: “Absolutely, we’re on the west side.”

Customer: “Is that on the left or the right?”

Me: “That depends on which direction you’re coming from. Are you coming from the North end or the South end?”

Customer: “I don’t know!”

Me: “Well, will you come through [major Southern intersection] or [major Northern intersection]?”

Customer: “How the h*** am I supposed to know? Look, is it on the left or the right? What is so hard about this?”

Me: “If it helps, we’re in the same plaza as [Chain Restaurant], and across the street from [Chain Store].”

Customer: “No, that does NOT help! I’m new to the area!”

Me: “Do you have a GPS? I could give you the address to plug in.”

Customer: “I don’t need a GPS! I have a great sense of direction!”

(Our library policy is that you must either provide your library card or a form of photo ID to check out items or use a computer. A patron comes in, selects a few DVDs, and comes up to the front counter.)

Patron: “And I don’t have my library card or my ID, so just look me up by my last name.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but we’re going to need either your library card or your photo ID to check out your items.”

Patron: “You know who I am! I’m in every day! Why can’t you just check me out?”

Me: “I’m sorry; it’s our policy.”

Patron: *points at a new coworker who has only been working a few weeks at this point* “Well, SHE checks me out all the time without my card! Isn’t that right?”

Coworker: *deer-in-headlights look* “Uh…”

Me: “I’m afraid it’s against our policy. Would you like me to hold your DVDs for you, and you can check them out the next time you come in with your card?”

Patron: *angrily throws the DVDs across the counter at me* “Never mind!” *storms out*

(The coworker was apologetic, saying she’d never seen this woman before and had no idea what she’s talking about. Sadly, this isn’t the first time someone has used the “but so-and-so lets me check out without a card” excuse, and it’s unlikely to be the last…)