(I am tending bar for company with 600 in attendance, so I can’t serve in glasses as we can’t wash them that fast. A customer asks for a shot of whiskey, which I very generously free pour, for which this private club is/was famous. Of course in a 10 oz plastic cup it does look anemic.)

Customer: *in a loud booming voice* “When I order a f****** shot of booze, I expect a f****** shot of booze.”

(So, I turn and pick up a shot glass and pour it full from his plastic cup. I then dump about the same amount out of same cup into the sink. Finally, I pour the shot glass back into the cup and inform him:)

Me: “There you go, sir. You now have your f****** shot of whiskey.”

(He did not complain the rest of the evening.)

(A customer comes up to the deli counter, dressed in relatively nice clothing, and asks me for a recommendation on turkey. I have sampled most of the turkey in the case and can typically give honest recommendations.)

Me: “Well, I personally like [Brand] turkey — it’s got a pretty standard flavor, but it’s good, and [Brand] has a lot of options if you like spicier turkeys.

Customer: “Yeah, but it’s $11.00 per pound…”

Me: “True. If you’re looking for cheaper turkeys, [Store Brand] turkeyisn’t visible in the case right now, but we do have it, and there’s also—”

Customer: “I mean, I make incredible money, but I can’t justify spending $11 on a pound of turkey.”

(He looks around for a moment like he’s going to say something else, but doesn’t and storms off.)

Me: *turns to coworker* “What an odd thing to say.”

Coworker: “Yeah, that was weird.”

Me: “Well, I DON’T make ‘incredible money,’ but I’m gonna buy myself some of that turkey and live my best life.”

(My coworker laughed, and I sliced some and bought it before I went home that day. The resulting sandwich was, of course, very tasty.)

(I work tech support configuring whitebox systems (computers built from parts bought separately). A customer wants a server built that will support a discontinued Microsoft operating system. I’m female and so is the caller.)

Me: “I designed the server for you but the manufacturer won’t certify that these parts will work with the operating system you want to use.”

Customer: “Well, I spent a lot of money on this software years ago and I don’t want it to go to waste.”

Me: “Unfortunately, no one wants to spend time or money supporting a discontinued OS. You can purchase the server and try to install it, but you may not be successful getting it to work.”

Customer: “Who can tell me that it will work?”

Me: “That would be me. And I can’t tell you it will work because no one writes drivers for the software you’ve got.”

Customer: “I want to talk to someone qualified to tell me that it will work.”

Me: “I’m qualified. I’ve been doing this for over 10 years. I assure you that no one will certify it.”

Customer: “Let me talk to someone who isn’t like you.”

Me: “I’m not sure what you mean.”

Customer: “You know, a girl. I want to talk to a man.”

Me: “…Let me transfer you.”

(A customer is complaining over the speaker about the price of our ice cream.)

Customer: “I can’t believe you’re changing an extra twenty cents when all I want is extra chocolate! How dare you take my money for yourself. I will get you FIRED. Do you hear me? I’ll kill you if you take my money! I demand to speak to your manager, you dumb***. You f****** b****! You shouldn’t charge more for extra toppings because your prices are—”

Me: *having enough of the verbal abuse* “Your total is $3.18. Pull around to the first window.”

(When the car gets to my window, I realize the woman was yelling from the passenger side. The driver looks resigned.)

Customer: “I will give you advice. Do NOT get an attitude like that with me. I am the customer and NOT someone you want to make angry. It is not kosher to make me mad, trust me.”

Me: “$3.18, please.”

Customer: “Did you hear me, b****?!”

Me: “I did hear you. I heard you cuss me out for several minutes over twenty cents and threaten to kill me, and not only did I hear you, but my manager did as well. Now, you have two options. You can pay and get your food and leave, or you can swear at me some more, I will cancel your order, shut the window, and walk away. Now, will you be paying cash or credit?”

(The driver suddenly bursts into laughter. The passenger turns several different shades of red.)

Customer: “Listen here, you f***ing—”

Me: “You order has been canceled.” *shuts and locks window*

Manager: *over the headset* “I hope she complains. The cop in the lobby heard everything and would like to have a few words with her about death threats.”

(The customer did try to complain, but the driver sped away once the cop stepped outside. They never came back.)

(I am a 25-year-old female. A male customer, probably around my age, comes up to my counter where I’m cashiering. I notice his t-shirt, which has several Marvel Comics characters on it.)

Me: “I like your t-shirt.”

(Customer looks at me and raises an eyebrow, like he clearly doesn’t believe I’d be a comic book fan.)

Customer: *pretentiously* “Yeah, a lot of people say that. The real question is, which one is your favorite?”

Me: “Captain America, although I also have a fondness for the Hulk.”

Customer: “My favorites are Thor and Wolverine.”

Me: “I also really like Deadpool.”

(The customer pauses and looks confused.)

Customer: “Which one?”

Me: “Deadpool.”

Customer: *clearly having no idea who Deadpool is* “Oh…”

(The guy behind him in line gave me an admiring look.)