I am cleaning tables.

Customer: Miss! Waves me over.

Me: How can I help you?

Customer: This coffee isn’t very good. How long was it sitting there?

Me: I made it ten minutes ago.

Customer: Ten minutes? Oh ok then.

Me: What’s wrong with it? Is it too strong? Not hot enough?

Customer: Well… it’s flat.

Me: Ummm… can I get you a new one?

Customer: No if you made it ten minutes ago.

Me; Alright. Walk away. I have no idea what to make of that. Flat it’s not pop. I tell my manager and he just laughs.

(I’m slicing meat for a customer. I notice he’s wearing a shirt with a cartoon leprechaun flipping the middle finger and holding a half-empty glass of beer.)

Me: “Nice shirt.”

Customer: “Oh, this? Yeah, I’m Irish, so…”

Me: “I kinda figured.”

Customer: “What about you?”

Me: “Well, my ancestors were mostly German—”

(Suddenly the customer stomps his feet together, stands at attention, and does the Nazi salute.)

Customer: “SIEG HEIL! SIEG HEIL!”

Me: “—Jews. German Jews.”

Customer: “Oh.”

(I’m waiting to be called for my appointment in my doctor’s office when a man comes in and charges up to the check-in desk.)

Man: “Do you do lab work on site here? I need a test and I can’t wait for it!”

(The receptionist explains that while they collect all manner of samples on site, they send their samples off-site for processing. She ends the conversation with “but we do accept walk-ins and usually have lab results within a day or two.” The man decides this is good enough for him, takes the check-in paperwork, and sits down to fill it out. Not a minute later…)

Man: “I’m really sorry, but I need to eat something or I’m going to pass out. I mean, really, I’m going to pass out if I don’t get some food right now. Can I take this paperwork with me and just come back in an hour or so?”

Receptionist: “You are welcome to take the paperwork with you and come back whenever, but we can’t enter you into our system or put you in the walk-in queue until we have your paperwork and we know you are waiting to be seen. If you want to be seen as soon as possible, please fill out the paperwork now and have a seat to wait to be seen. Our wait isn’t long now, only about 30 minutes.”

Man: “No, I will die on your floor if I don’t eat something right now. Don’t you have a call-back system where I can get in line and just come back when you’re ready for me? All my favorite restaurants do that now… I love it. Can you do that?”

Receptionist: “No, sir, you have to fill out the paperwork now and wait here in the lobby until we call you, or you can make an appointment to be seen later. We have guaranteed appointments starting at 8 am tomorrow, if that would be better for you.”

Man: “No, if you insist that I have to wait, I’ll wait. I just need some tests. 30 minutes isn’t too bad. I might pass out from not eating, but you can revive me if that happens, I guess.”

(Less than five minutes later, the receptionist calls me back for my appointment. As I walk back all I hear is:)

Man: “Now, what kind of scam are you trying to pull here? You said I was next to be seen, and they called someone else back before me!”

(While a hybrid primary and urgent care, I’ve never seen anything like this before at this office, and I raise an eyebrow at the receptionist.)

Receptionist: *quietly* “Word got around to the posh nearby residents that we offer prompt service, and we’ve had an influx of rich people who think they won’t have to wait, no matter when they waltz in.”

(Since I needed a number of tests and whatnot, my appointment takes a while, but I end up leaving around the same time as the impatient man.)

Me: *loudly* “Well, thanks for taking such good care of me at my scheduled appointment time. I’m sure tired after hustling to be on time for my appointment and going through all those tests. I hope I can still find a restaurant open in this big city at 8 pm on a weekday, so I don’t starve before I make the 20 minute commute back to my house!”

(The staff were trying not to laugh behind the desk.)

(It is during the French Open, at my tennis shop. The phone rings.)

Me: “[Shop], how may I help you?”

Customer: *sounds frustrated* “I can’t see the tennis ball!”

Me: Sorry, ma’am, can you elaborate?

Customer: “I’m watching TV on one of those big HD TVs and the TV salesman said I should be able to everything but I still can’t see the ball. It’s so small and blends into the court. I was so upset and just didn’t know who I should call!”

Me: “You are watching the French Open and you can’t see the yellow ball on the clay courts?”

Customer: “Exactly! Is there anything you can do to help? I was so concerned and I didn’t know what to do so I just opened the phone book and you were the only listing under ‘tennis.’”

Me: *trying not to laugh as my boss walks in the shop* “I’m sorry, ma’am, but this is a local pro shop thousands of miles away from the French Open. We have absolutely no jurisdiction over the size and color of the tournament balls. There’s really nothing I can do.”

Customer: *obviously missing the point* “There aren’t any other colors of balls?”

Me: “We do carry pink Breast Cancer Awareness balls.”

Customer: “No, thank you. I think that would look worse on the TV.”

(I work at a small museum and do outreach programs for schools, libraries, community centers, etc. We have been warned that the AC is down in this location, so instead of my usual slacks, I wear knee-length shorts. Two small tattoos on my calf and ankle are visible. After the presentation, while I’m cleaning up the crafts table:)

Patron: “What are those things on your legs?”

Me: “They’re for my family, ma’am.”

Patron: “You’ll never get a job with marks like that on you.”

Me: “I do have a job; I’m working it right now.”

Patron: “You know what I mean; a real job.”

Me: “It IS a real job. And with all due respect, ma’am, you’re the one at a public library at two pm on a Wednesday.”

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