(It’s a very busy night, and I am currently waiting on five tables. My current customer is an older male.)

Me: “Sir, what can I get for you tonight?”

Customer: “Oh, you know.”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “Oh, you know what I want.”

Me: “No, I’m sorry. I don’t.”

(The customer looks at his son for help.)

Son: “Dad, you have to tell her what you want to eat.”

Customer: “She KNOWS what I want.”

Son: “Just order some food Dad. She isn’t a mind reader.”

Customer: “Steak.”

Me: “What kind, sir? We have sirloin, filet, t-bone—”

Customer: “Oh, you know.”

(This proceeds for about five minutes, selecting his steak, the temperature, and sides. Finally I get to the son, who has been deciphering the conversation.)

Me: “And for you, sir?”

Son: “… I forgot.”

(I work at a concession stand/food court inside a casino. At this casino, we have player cards with different levels depending on the amount of money a customer spends. A regular with the highest level (platinum) card comes at least twice a week to the Asian stand. Every time we see her the conversation is the same.)

Customer: *very rudely* “I want a chicken fried rice, no carrots or peas, no egg, no bean sprouts, no oil, no salt, with broccoli fried extra soft, to go.”

(She orders this exact thing every time.)

Me: “All right, ma’am. That will be [total]. Thank you, and do you have your card for discount?”

(I swipe her player card for a discount, she pays cash, and then waits for her order. Her order comes up fresh from the wok, and I check the order EXTREMELY well to make sure that everything is in order. The customer is waiting at the counter tapping her foot impatiently. I give her the box and wish her a good day. 10 minutes pass before she comes back, red faced and angry. She’s maybe taken one bite from her food.)

Customer: “This isn’t what I ordered! I ordered a chicken fried rice, no carrots or peas, no egg, no bean sprouts, no oil, no salt, with broccoli fried EXTRA soft, to go! I want to speak with [Manager] immediately!”

(The order WAS exactly how she ordered it. That’s why we always check the order for her.)

Me: “I’m so sorry, ma’am. Let me grab [Manager] and we’ll make you a new one right away!”

Customer: *smiling smugly* “Thank you, sweetie.”

(The manager comes out and has a quiet discussion with the upset platinum customer.)

Customer: “My food was old, and cold, and you put things in the rice that I didn’t order. Everything was just wrong!”

Manager: “Perhaps you would care to fill out a comment card, and I will take care of the issue.”

(Meanwhile, I am in the back talking with our chef about the customer. Our chef is obviously a little upset that the customer can do this so consistently because she’s a platinum member, so we cannot turn away her service. We agree that nothing is wrong with the food and throw it in the microwave to warm it up. I go back out and hand the food to the customer, who is handing the comment card to my manager.)

Me: “I’m so, so sorry that happened. Here. Look it over to make sure it’s right this time.”

(She looks it over and nods.)

Customer: *still smug* “This is exactly how I wanted it, honey. Thank you for making another one!”

(My manager waits a few moments to make sure the customer is well on her way before throwing the comment card in the trash.)

Manager: “She comes in here every week and does that!”

(I am in a fitting room, and I overhear a conversation.)

Customer: “I like this top, and this dress, but it doesn’t quite fit well. Do you guys have another one of the same size in the back?”

Coworker: “I’m sorry, ma’am. I know for a fact that that top is the last one we have, and that dress is the last one we have in that size.”

Customer: “Oh… That’s okay. I can wait.”

Coworker: “…”

Customer: “…”

Coworker: “Umm… May I ask what you’re waiting for?”

(The customer leans in to whisper loud enough for everyone in the sixteen fitting room area to hear.)

Customer: “I don’t mean to sound racist or nothing like that… but… like… don’t you guys have little Asian kids in the back to make these?”

Coworker: “Umm… I’m sorry, no… We’re not a sweatshop. All our merchandise is legal.”

Customer: “Oh… Okay…”  *leaves*

(I’ve just finished cleaning the entire lobby before our next session goes in. I’m now back at the counter serving, with a large group of patrons waiting in line.)

Me: “Is that everything?”

Customer: “Yeah, but my drink is too full.”

Me: “Oh, I’ll empty some out if you like.”

Customer: “No, I’ll do it.” *tips half of her soda all over my clean bench and walks off*

(I work at an indoor children’s play place. Leaving with kids who aren’t yours could be a problem, so we stamp a different number on every family’s hand. You can’t leave with a child who has a different number. I am working at the front counter where I have to stamp a number on the family’s hands, work the register, answer the phone, and check family’s hands to let them out the door. Sometimes it’s overwhelming working by myself.)

Me: *answering the phone* “Thank you for calling [Indoor Play Area]. How may I help you?”

Caller: “I’d like to get a birthday party room for my son.”

Me: “Okay, give me the date and I’ll start looking up times for you.”

(As I am looking up times for the caller, an enraged father comes up to me.)

Father: “HEY! WHERE’S MY SON!?”

Me: *caught completely off guard * “What?!”

Father: “WHERE IS MY SON?! YOU LET MY SON WALK OUT THE FRONT DOOR! WHERE THE H*** IS MY SON?”

Me: “Sir, the door that you go out of is locked and I have been keeping an eye on this door. I’m sure your son is still in here and is in the [play area] somewhere.”

Father: “YOU LET MY SON OUT THIS DOOR! IS HE IN THE PARKING LOT? IF HE GETS HIT, I’M KICKING YOUR A**! HE GETS HIT, I’M SUING YOU!”

(Some back and forth goes on like this for a minute. I am almost ready to go into the parking lot to find his son when some other father in the play area, actually playing with his child and keeping an eye on him, speaks up.)

Other Father: “Hey, [Father], isn’t this your son?”

(The father looks up and sees his son directly above us in the play area watching this whole little episode. He looks back at me, doesn’t say a word, and walks away. I sit there for a few seconds, collecting myself.)

Caller: “Is someone yelling at you?”

Me: “Oh, shoot. Sorry, ma’am. I completely forgot you were still on the phone.”

Caller: “Haha, that’s quite all right. That guy is kind of a d**k.”

(I set up the birthday party and then go on working. I’m closing tonight, too, so I have the distinct pleasure of having to check this father’s hand to make sure it’s his son. They finally decide to leave after a while. As they walk up to the door:)

Me: “Excuse me, sir, but I have to check your hands to make sure this is your son.”

(They show me their numbers and he is, in fact, this boy’s father.)

Me: “Have a nice day, sir.”

(The father never said another word to me or made eye contact. What a great example of how to be a man he is setting for his son.)

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