I work at an adventure golf course in a highly-populated city. We’re based in a fairly upmarket area, and it’s common that people use their postcode as an excuse to be snooty.

For current health reasons, the building we operate from has closed the toilets to customers for their safety as we don’t have enough staff to always be monitoring and cleaning the stalls in a way that complies with health and safety requirements. It lists this fact in big, bold, red writing on our website TWICE, one of which is a notification you have to close before you can proceed to booking.

A lady with her young son comes to check in and collect their golf clubs and balls. She is dressed in clearly expensive clothing, holding an expensive brand bag and the latest iPhone. She talks like she’s full of self-entitlement and superiority, but is otherwise mostly pleasant.

Customer: “…and where are your toilets?”

Me: “Unfortunately, as mentioned on our website, they are closed due to the current health situation.”

Customer: *Suddenly angry* “What do you mean, they’re closed? This is an outrage! Why weren’t we warned?”

Me: “Like I said, it is displayed on our website twice. My apologies if you missed it.”

Customer: “Where? It doesn’t say anywhere! I demand to see this notification. I’m not stupid. I know what I saw and there was nothing about this displayed.”

I oblige and spin round my tablet-monitor displaying our site. As expected, the pop-up window is there. I close this and then show the second toilet notification on the booking page. The lady looks stunned for a second, before thinking she’s got me.

Customer: *Very snide and snooty* “I didn’t book it with an iPad; I used my phone! It doesn’t say anywhere!”

I turn to look at my coworker, who shoves his phone into my hands. He’s loaded up the site there, too. I show it to the lady.

Me: “Forgive me, miss, but the desktop, tablet, and mobile phone versions of the sites are all exactly the same. They all display the toilet notification here. You will have seen it.”

Furious, the lady smacks my coworkers phone from my hands — luckily, I catch it — and yells, so full of anger yet pride and self-importance:

Customer: “WELL, I CAN’T READ!” *Storms out*

I work at a virtual reality arcade where part of my job is teaching people how to play the games. There is a young teenager playing “Beat Saber,” a popular rhythm game, but he doesn’t seem to get it and keeps failing each level after a couple of seconds.

Me: “Hey, buddy, you’re going to want to make sure you hit the blocks in the direction the arrow is pointing.”

Teenager: *Scoffs* “Okay.”

He fails again.

Me: “You see how those arrows are pointing up? That means you have to slice up.”

Teenager: “Okay!”

He fails again.

Me: “You need to hit them on the beat, too. You can always go back and change the settings or do the tutorial—”

Teenager: *Screaming* “OKAY, WHATEVER!”

I decided to just leave him to it. I watched him fail dozens more times. I hope he thought it was worth $10 to look at a “Level Failed” screen for ten minutes.

I work at a virtual reality arcade. Part of my job is helping people take off the equipment when their session is over. This particular guest, a young man in his twenties, is next to be finished. His game times out and takes him to the start menu.

Me: “Okay, it looks like your time just ended. I’m going to help you with your headset first.”

I remove his headset and he locks eyes with me.

Guest: “I HATE YOU!”

Me: “Uh… okay.”

Guest: “I don’t think you heard me. I HATE YOU!”

He calmly walked off without another word. I was not the one who set him up, either, so I have no idea why he decided he hated me so much.

I work at an arcade, where customers win prizes by winning games. A customer approaches my counter and sets down around five blow pops.

Me: “All right, I just need your arcade card, ma’am.”

Customer: *Handing me a ten* “I can’t just pay for it?”

I smile, going into how our arcade works.

Me: “No, sorry. You can win these by getting an arcade card at the front and playing some games to win tickets! Then you can get a prize here that you can afford with those tickets.”

She’s not annoyed but seems a little put-off.

Customer: “But I don’t want to play; I just want some blow pops.”

She tries to hand me the ten again. I get many bribes but never take them.

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t sell anything here. It’s in our contract with our suppliers.”

She sighs, pocketing the ten.

Customer: “All right, fine. Keep your candy.”

She leaves, not putting away the small pile of lollipops.

Me: “Have a nice day, ma’am!”

When I am a teenager, I work at a party centre for kids’ birthday parties.

I am calculating the bill for a customer who initially chose a package that cost $500.00, plus tax. On the day of the party, he has fewer children show up than the package maximum, so I decided to switch him to a lower package that was only $200.00, plus tax. He didn’t lose any services or items or anything, and he’s paying at the end of the party, so the only thing that is happening is that he is getting a cheaper price for the same party.

When he comes to pay:

Me: “Hello, sir. Since you ended up having fewer children than expected, I’ve automatically downgraded your package to save you some money.”

I show him the difference. He begins arguing with me.

Customer: “What?! I want the package I asked for! I don’t want a downgrade!”

I think he is confused, so I explain again.

Me: “Literally nothing has changed except that you are getting a better price, sir. The party is over now, so it’s not like we can take anything away from you.”

He just kept arguing with me, though, that he wanted the higher package. The third time he complained, I was about to explain it to him again, but then I thought… why do I care? It’s not my money, and I won’t keep fighting this guy on why he should save the money. So, I charged him for the higher package and took the difference as a tip for myself.