(I work at a well-known pizza chain. One of our customers, a lady in her mid-thirties, is a fairly regular visitor. She often makes strange or outrageous requests, but today she targets me specifically. She comes up to the counter to pay for her dine-in order.)

Me: “How was everything?”

Customer: *grumbles*

Me: *after scanning her credit card* “Okay, all I need is your signature, and you’ll be all set!”

Customer: “I can’t sign with that pen.”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “Your pen. It isn’t legal.”

(My pen is a fountain pen that I bring from home, because it writes more consistently and smoothly on receipts. As far as I know, there aren’t pen restrictions in my line of work.)

Me: “Not legal?”

Customer: “Yes! You can’t make me pay if I sign with that! I need one like I use in the bank!”

Me: “Okay… Do you have such a pen with you?”

Customer: “No! I need a bank pen! Yours isn’t legal!”

Me: “I’m afraid this is the only type of pen I have available at the moment. If you happen to have another, you’re more than welcome to use it.”

Customer: “Stop being stupid! I don’t carry a bank pen!”

Me: “Then, I’m afraid that my pen is your only choice.”

Customer: “But it isn’t legal!”

(She dug around in her purse and pulled out a pencil. I don’t think she knew that signatures in pencil are even less “legal.” Interestingly, in all the times I’ve seen her since, she’s had nothing to say about my pen.)

(I am the manager on duty at a popular pizza and wing joint. It’s an uncharacteristically slow night, and I get a phone call from a very unhappy customer.)

Me: “Thank you for holding. This is [My Name]. How can I help you?”

Customer: “Yeah, I got the wrong wings.”

Me: “I’m sorry to hear that. May I have your phone number so that I can look up the order?”

Customer: “Yeah, it’s [number].”

Me: “Okay, great! Can you tell me why the wings are unsatisfactory?”

Customer: “I ordered boneless wings with no sauce, and I got chicken nuggets!”

(She did indeed order this, but as our night has been slow, I know for a fact they were made correctly; I made them, after all.)

Me: “I see. Your ticket confirms your order, so I have just a few questions. You received chicken wings without bones?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: “And they had no sauce?”

Customer: “Right.”

Me: “So, you ordered boneless, no-sauce wings, and got boneless, no-sauce wings?”

Customer: “Yeah, but it has bread on it! They’re chicken nuggets!”

Me: “I’m afraid all of our boneless wings are breaded, ma’am. If you’d like, I’d be more than happy to make you some replacement wings of a different type.”

Customer: “But I don’t want nuggets!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I just don’t have non-breaded boneless wings.”

Customer: “I can’t believe this! I asked for boneless chicken breasts, and I got chicken nuggets! What is so hard about this?”

Me: “If you’re looking for full chicken breasts, ma’am, I suggest looking in [Grocery Store]. I’m sure they can accommodate you.”

Customer: “But I don’t want nuggets!”

(I am at the hospital to see my dying grandfather when I take an elevator alongside a disabled veteran who is walking on two prosthetic legs. I am impulsive by nature, and find that humor cheers me up greatly, so I ask the question that immediately comes to my mind.)

Me: “I have an uncle who has one leg missing and no eyesight. Would you rather two missing legs or one missing leg and no eyesight?”

Veteran: *awkward chuckle* “Uh… neither!”

(We both laugh.)

Veteran: “But in all seriousness, I prefer having my eyes over having a foot back.”

(My aunt and sister thought I was crazy and rude, but I assured them that every person I have met with a long-term disability has felt best about it when people don’t tiptoe around it or pretend it doesn’t make a difference in their life. My blunt manner, combined with the amused bewilderment people get from my openness to interactions with strangers, seems to me to be a good way to cheer people up, especially when they may have felt the grimness of visiting the ICU, which is where they headed.)

(A customer comes in for a contact lens appointment. Their last appointment was nearly two years previous. They have an eye infection, so we bill them for a medical treatment visit.)

Customer: “What is this charge here? I wasn’t charged for this last time.”

Me: “Last time, you didn’t have an eye infection. We had to charge you a copay for that because of your medical insurance.”

Customer: “You didn’t ask me before doing all that; you can’t charge me for it.”

Me: “But you did want contact lenses, right?”

Customer: “Obviously.”

Me: “The doctor can’t give them to you until that eye infection is cleared up; that’s why this was a medical visit.”

Customer: “Well, the eye infection was your fault, anyway.”

Me: “Umm, but it was from over-wearing your contacts, correct?”

Customer: “Yes, but that’s your fault.”

Me: “Ma’am, you made a three-months supply of contacts last 20 months. I’m quite sure we didn’t recommend you do that.”

Customer: “Well, the contacts are too expensive! I couldn’t afford enough of them.”

Me: “Then, might I recommend you get glasses instead? We have a large selection of frames to choose from.”

Customer: “Glasses make people look stupid.”

Me: *laughs awkwardly, as all the other employees wear glasses, as do I* “Well, actually…”

Customer: “I don’t want glasses; I want contacts, and I’m not going to pay for things I didn’t ask for. If you don’t want people to get eye infections, you need to sell contacts cheaper.”

Me: “Ma’am, if you don’t pay for your visit, we cannot provide you with a prescription for contacts.”

Customer: “That’s just unprofessional!” *pays and then flounces out of office*

(I am playing with one of the clinic cats, Bean, and toss a toy to him. Unfortunately, I miss and hit him in the face, though he doesn’t seem to mind. Bean is cute, but he’s not the brightest cat ever. Later, I am telling the vet about it.)

Me: “I feel kind of bad. I beaned Bean in the head with a toy.”

Doctor: “That’s okay; there’s nothing up there, anyway.”