(I am very obviously nine-months pregnant and begin having contractions in my car as I show up for an afternoon shift as a delivery driver. I calmly waddle inside to let my manager know what’s going on and wait for my ride to the hospital. When my manager sees me coming towards the building clutching my stomach and grimacing, he figures it out and runs back into the office. As I get inside and approach the service counter, another contraction hits and I double over leaning on the counter huffing and puffing, trying not to cry out in pain. A customer has walked in directly behind me.)

Customer: “What terrible service! You didn’t even bother to hold the door for me!”

Me: Uh… sorry?”

Customer: “D*** right, you are! Now quit being lazy and get back there and take my order!”

Me: “I’m sorry. I can’t do that. I’m not even clocked in. And besides—”

Customer: “Maybe if you weren’t OBESE AND LAZY you could have made it in here sooner and clocked in already. Now I DEMAND service!”

Me: “I’m sorry for the delay, ma’am. But I do have to ask you to quit speaking to me like that. I’m not obese or lazy—”

Customer: “Of course you are! Look at you! You’re huge. And you got winded just walking in from your car.”

(My manager comes out of the office and walks up to the counter, having heard this whole exchange.)

Manager: “I’m so sorry about the wait. I am the manager. I was busy calling someone to cover her shift because she’s IN LABOR and must go to the hospital. [My Name], go sit in the office and call your doctor and your ride.”

(As I walk around the counter, my water breaks leaving a small wet spot on the floor.)

Customer: *shrieks* “That’s unsanitary! Aren’t you going to make her clean it up?! That’s disgusting. I REFUSE to pay for any food prepared in your contaminated kitchen!”

Manager: “Okay. Good-bye. Have a nice day!” *smiles*

Customer: “WHERE’S MY FOOD?!”

Manager: “You just said you didn’t want food from our ‘contaminated’ kitchen…”

Customer: “But… I… FINE! You better believe I’m calling your corporate office and filing a formal complaint!” *storms out, knocking over large promotional signs on her way*

(I made it to the hospital with plenty of time to spare. Just under 12 hours later, my son was born. After 6 weeks of maternity leave, I went back to delivering. Many of my regulars remembered me and wanted updates and pictures of the baby. As far as we know, the customer never actually did call corporate.)

(I work in the beer and wine department of a large supermarket chain. A very elderly customer comes in a couple times a month and asks us to give him two different white wines, six bottles of each. This day, he approaches me.)

Customer: “Could you help me? I want two red wines, six bottles of each.”

Me: “What do you typically like?”

Customer: “I don’t care. What do you think I’ll like?”

(I suggest a couple wines, he takes them without complaint.)

Customer: “You know, for ten years I’ve been drinking nothing but white wine, because I didn’t want to spill it and stain the carpet. But you know what I realized? F*** it!”

This story is part of the third Wine roundup! This is the last story in the roundup, but we have plenty of others you might enjoy!

23 Stories About Wine, And The Customers Who Shouldn’t Be Drinking It

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Read the third Wine roundup!

(I work at a sandwich shop during my first few years of college. One day during a slow period my two coworkers see this lady come inside on the security cameras. My coworkers immediately say ‘not it!’ so I go up to take care of this woman’s order. The lady is already irritated and being short with me, over something like she’s late or she’s had a bad day. The order is going along fine until we get to the part where she tells me what veggies she wants.)

Customer: “And now I want the snicker cheese.”

Me: *confused* “The what?”

Customer: “The snicker cheese.”

Me: *still confused* “…like the candy bar?”

Customer: “Yes, the cheese that tastes like the Snicker’s candy bar.”

(It turns out she wants the parmesan oregano. I can tell you from experience parmesan oregano tastes nothing like a Snicker’s candy bar. After finishing the woman’s order, I go back and my coworkers ask me what was up with her. I tell them what she said and they both just kind of give me this weird look.)

Me: “You don’t believe me, do you?”

Coworker: “No, I believe you. Something that stupid can’t be made up.”

(I receive a phone call about half an hour to close.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Store]. This is [My Name] speaking. How may I help you?”

Caller: “What time are you open ’til?”

Me: “We close in 30 minutes, sir.”

Caller: “No! I don’t want to know when you close! I want to know how long you’ll be open!”

Me: “We’re open for another 30 minutes.”

Caller: “Thanks!” *hangs up*

(I’ve worked here too long.)

(When customers pre-pay for gas with a credit card, but their vehicle won’t take as much as they’ve put on it, the system automatically refunds the remaining portion onto the card that was used. This conversation takes place near the end of a 10-hour shift.)

Customer: *in a not-so-nice tone* “I sent a kid in here earlier to get gas and he only pumped $17, but I was charged for $25. Why was I over-charged?”

Me: *looks at his receipt* “Oh, well, it looks like they pre-paid for gas and it was charged to a credit card. The remaining portion would have been automatically refunded to your card.”

Customer: “I need a receipt showing that it refunded.”

Me: “I am so sorry, sir, but I can only print receipts for the past 10 transactions, and it looks like the kid you sent in got gas well over two hours ago. There isn’t a way for me to pull it up.”

Customer: “Well how the h*** am I supposed to know that it refunded? How do I know you didn’t steal my money?”

Me: “As soon as the nozzle on the pump is hung back up, it refunds automatically. You could actually call your credit company right now, and it would show that the balance is there.”

Customer: “No! I will not call them! I want you to show me proof right now that you didn’t steal my money!”

Me: “As I just said, there is nothing I can do. It’s been several hours since this transaction took place, so I can’t look it up. I assure you, if you would just call…”

Customer: “I need you to write down that I only pumped $17 worth of gas and sign it so I can dispute it when it charges me $25 on my bill!”

Me: “Sir, I have no idea how much gas you pumped, so I will not sign anything saying you only pumped $17. Furthermore, you’ve been yelling at me for over three minutes during a very busy time and I’m the only person here to ring out the 12 people behind you. I’ve told you that all you have to do is call the number on the back of the card to verify that you were only charged for what you pumped, and yet you’re still unsatisfied. The only other thing I can offer is that you call our customer service center and file a complaint. The number, and our store number are posted right beside you, and my name is on your receipt from earlier.”

Customer: *shoves a pen and his receipt in my face* “I’m not leaving until you write a statement about my gas and sign it!”

Me: “If you don’t leave, I will call the police to escort you from the premise.”

(Just then, one of our regulars, who is a police officer and in uniform, walks in. I sigh in relief, but the customer doesn’t notice.)

Customer: “You WILL write down that I only pumped $17. I’m not going anywhere!”

Me: “Hey, [Officer], could you do me a favor?”

Officer: “That depends… What is it?”

(The customer looks over at the officer, back at me, and scrambles out the door.)

Me: “Never mind; he left on his own.”