(My brother works at Bojangles, whose contains the slogan, “It’s Bo time.” A man walks in one day.)
Customer: “Is it Bo time?”
Worker: *in a joking tone* “No.”
Customer: “Oh, okay, then.”
(He actually left, and approached a worker in the parking lot, claiming that the people inside refused him service! He finally came inside and actually ordered.)
(I work in a traditional pub in a tourist and university town. It is nearly closing time on a Friday night and everyone in the bar, other than my colleague and me, is very drunk.)
Customer: “I’ll have half a pint of cider, a rum and coke, a house vodka and lemonade, and an [Expensive Vodka] and Coke.”
Me: “Sure!”
(I pour the drinks and hand them to him. We do not have enough [Expensive Vodka] left in the bottle for a full measure, but since it is almost enough, and I know the man to be a local who works at a pub down the road, I pour him the drink, anyway, and don’t charge him for it.)
Me: “That’ll be £8.80—”
Customer: “What?! You can shove that price right up your a***!”
(I am quite taken aback; though visiting customers sometimes complain about the price, they are never this rude, and the prices in the bar where the customer works are significantly higher than ours. Struggling to keep my temper, I look him dead in the eyes.)
Me: “Well, that’s a shame, since your actual bill would have been a lot higher had I not knocked the price of [Expensive Vodka] off your bill…”
(He paid silently and shuffled away with his drinks.)
(I’m waiting for my pizza at a pizza place where you pick your toppings and they assemble it in front of you. It’s about a half hour until closing, so the place is pretty empty. A man walks in and goes up to the counter. He’s acting very agitated, has red puffy eyes, and keeps sniffling and scratching his nose.)
Employee: “What can I get started for you?”
Customer: “A medium pizza. Can I ask you a few questions? I’m doing a survey. It’s just two questions, really.”
Employee: “Uh, sure. And what kind of sauce?”
Customer: “Are you a registered voter?”
Employee: “Yes.”
Customer: “And do you know how many countries the US is bombing right now?”
Employee: “No, I don’t. What kind of cheese?”
Customer: “It’s seven! And you’re part of the 80% of registered voters who don’t care to know that. No one cares anymore! See you later, morons!”
(It’s unclear why he added that last sentence since he’s in the middle of the pizza assembly line and isn’t leaving.)
Employee: “Right, um, what kind of meat?”
(The customer wipes his nose messily all over his hand, front and back, and then reaches over the glass barrier to point out the meats he wants.)
Employee: “Sir, please don’t reach over the barrier. The names are printed right under each meat so you can tell me what you want.”
(I miss a bit of the conversation because my pizza is ready, but it sounds like he’s still ranting. As I’m grabbing napkins, I hear some more.)
Customer: “Where are the sun-dried tomatoes?”
Employee: “We stopped carrying them because they had some preservatives—”
Customer: *cutting him off loudly* “You little s***s! You told me you had them! That’s why I came here!”
(I didn’t hear anymore because I left, but I really don’t envy the employee who had to deal with him.)
(I’m shopping for groceries in a supermarket near home. While waiting in line, I overhear two cashiers talking to each other about misbehaving customers.)
Cashier #1: “I had a mother wanting to buy a banana that had already been eaten! I told her that I couldn’t add that to her purchase just like that; I’d have to weigh it. She said her son had eaten it and he was only a few months old, and why shouldn’t he have eaten it; he’s just a child! Mind you, he actually looked quite a bit older, and anyway, I don’t see why he couldn’t wait. I told her she would have to get a banana from the fruit section so I could weigh that one, instead. But seriously, why couldn’t she just have had him wait some three minutes?!”
Cashier #2: “I know what you mean; that happened to me, as well! I also asked them to get a banana that I could weigh, instead.”
Cashier #1: “Why can’t people just wait? I don’t mind it that much if it’s chocolate; at least you can still scan the packaging. But, you know, my mother would never have allowed me to eat something before it’s been purchased! She would have told me that she’d need to buy it first! Why do people let their children do that?”
Cashier #2: “I had something even stranger happen. Once, a customer wanted to buy three separate rolls of toilet paper!”
Cashier #1: “What, removed from the packaging?”
Cashier #2: “Yes! Just three separate rolls. He said he only needed those three and didn’t want to buy more.”
Cashier #1: “Why would you even do that? Sooner or later you’d be out of toilet paper and need more, wouldn’t you? Who on earth has no use for more than three rolls?”
Cashier #2: “I don’t know! I told him he’d have to buy an entire package of toilet paper or none at all. I don’t know where he got the idea!”
(I left the store somewhat confused — with the cashiers on that one. What kind of person needs JUST three rolls so desperately that they open a package in the store for that? And what kind of person wants toilet paper that’s touched a conveyor belt?)
(I work in a loan office. My guests are generally very easy going, but occasionally they have fits like this one. Also, while requiring an ID for every loan has been a policy at my company for a while, I am the new manager and apparently the first one to adhere to this policy.)
Me: “How can I help you?”
Guest: “I need to pay off my loan and renew it.”
Me: “No problem. It’ll be $565.56 to pay off, and I’ll need a check and your ID.”
(The guest pays their loan and signs their check, and I begin to fill out the information on it — a service we offer because it’s 2018 and no one really knows how to fill out checks anymore.)
Me: “Awesome, [Guest], and I’ll need your ID, as well.”
Guest: “You need my ID? When did that start? I’m in here all the time and I’m never late. I’ve been coming here for 20 years!”
(He continues about how it’s all but unconstitutional that I ask him for his ID when I’m about to give him $500 and ask him to sign a contract.)
Me: “Sir, have you ever seen me before? Do you know me?”
Guest: “No?”
Me: “And I don’t know you. Besides that, it’s our policy to scan an ID when we issue a loan, every time. It’s been the policy for a while; everyone else should have been asking you, as well.”
Guest: *finally providing ID* “Fine, but why don’t you take ID for payments, as well?”
Me: “A lot of people send in relatives or friends to pay their bills because they’re at work; it would be silly to not let a guest’s husband pay their bill if the guest were at work.”
Guest: “That’s ridiculous. I would never ask anyone to come to pay my bill for me! I’m not even married!”
Me: *ignoring him and trying to process the loan*
Guest: “Don’t let anyone pay my bill!”
Me: “That’s fine. I’ll put a note in your account saying we need ID for every transaction.”
Guest: “Yeah, put a note in my account!”
(Two weeks later:)
Guest: “I need to pay off my loan and renew it.”
(He places the money on the counter, but I don’t make a grab for it.)
Me: “Awesome. I will need your ID, please!”
Guest: “What? I thought you only needed my ID for new loans!” *cue almost verbatim the same rant*
Me: *cutting him off* “Yes, sir, but I have a note in your account, per our last discussion, that you don’t want anyone else paying on your account and you’d like us to ask for ID for every payment!”
Guest: “Oh… That’s stupid; take that out.”
(I laughed after he left; from insanity or hysteria, I don’t really know.)
