(We have a lot of people who ring with fake complaints to try and score free food or scam us out of money. A customer calls in, guns blazing, screaming down the phone.)

Caller: “I ordered my pizza well over two hours ago and it still hasn’t shown up! You lot are a bunch of pathetic losers who can’t even run a pizza shop properly! I bet you forgot about our order, or are eating it yourselves, you bunch of deadbeats! I’m going to get the whole lot of you fired if my pizza isn’t here in the next ten minutes! What have you got to say about that?!”

Me: “We opened fifteen minutes ago.”

Caller: “Oh, um, can I order a pizza?”

(I hung up.)

(I work at a hospital that sends text messages to patients to remind them of their upcoming appointments. The texts are one week in advance and include the day, date, and location. Patients then usually ring to confirm they are coming.)

Me: “Hello, this is [Clinic].”

Customer: “Yeah, I got a phone call from you guys saying that I had an appointment today.”

Me: “Okay, let me see if I can find out about that for you.”

(I proceed to find her account and see that she has an appointment in one week’s time.)

Me: “I can see that you have an appointment on the 14th, which is next week. When did you get this phone call?”

Customer: “Just like five minutes ago.”

Me: “Okay, so, could it actually have been a text message that you received?”

Customer: “Yeah.”

Me: “And what did that message say?”

Customer: “Something about that I have an appointment on the 14th.”

Me: “Okay, so, what about that made you think you have an appointment today?”

Customer: “…” *hangs up*

(I wish I could say this is rare. But it just isn’t.)

(I’ve had possibly the worst six months of my life, but recently everything is finally looking up. This week, I paid off a hefty loan and flew my sister from another state for brain surgery, completely out of my own pocket as my mother is extremely poor. A regular of mine comes in while I’m working and starts chatting away. My phone buzzes in the drawer next to me.)

Me: “I’m sorry, that’s the hospital calling again. My partner is there, though; I’m sure everything is fine.”

Customer: “Oh, doesn’t he work nights? He should be asleep! And why are you here? You should be there.”

Me: “Well, I wasn’t going to let a three-year-old go blind because she couldn’t get treatment, and medical bills are expensive. You know what [Customer’s Husband]’s bills are like. [My Partner] and I have been switching staying with her, so we can both work and she’ll have someone to wake up to.”

Customer: “Oh… you did all that for her? You’re not getting anything back, either, are you?”

Me: “Family isn’t expendable; money is. We both work. We’ll be fine. I just want her to open her eyes.”

Customer: “That’s so kind of you.”

Me: “It’s not; it’s human decency. How’s your husband doing? And the kids?”

(We continue talking through the hefty transaction, and as I hand her receipt to her, she takes my hand and pushes paper into my palm.)

Customer: “You look after me, and everyone else it seems. Make sure you’re okay, too. Put that in your pocket and don’t lose it.”

(I thanked her and continued my shift. When I got to finally see what it was, I realised she’d handed me cash. I unashamedly cried. The next day, my sister opened her eyes to see — for the first time — a teddy bear the size of her, which is now the customer’s namesake.)

My father told me this story from when he worked in a pawnshop in the 1980s.

The pawnshop specialises in musical instruments and equipment and is the largest second-hand dealer of those goods in the city. One day, a friend of Dad’s wants to pawn a 1970s Ibanez Les Paul-type guitar with a sunburst finish. It doesn’t have a serial number — not unusual for Ibanez at the time — but it has some identifying marks: belt buckle scratches on the back and a small Brazilian flag sticker on the back of the neck. The deal is made and his friend walks away with the money.

As the months go on, Dad’s friend doesn’t come back for the guitar, so Dad calls up and tells him that it will have to go to auction. It fails to meet the reserve price at auction, so Dad calls him up again and says it will go on the shop floor for sale but that if he wants it back he can come in and pay for it — at a discount — before it’s sold.

One day, a man walks in and sees the guitar on display. The man claims it is his and describes it to dad in detail — the scratches, the sticker — without touching it. Dad calls the police and a detective from the theft division is sent out. The guitar is taken as evidence and Dad’s friend is subsequently charged with dealing in stolen goods.

Some months later, another man walks in wanting to sell a guitar. It is a 1970s Ibanez Les Paul-type guitar with a sunburst finish, belt buckle wear on the back, a Brazilian flag sticker on the back of the headstock, and with the same case and accessories as the other guitar.

Dad stalls the second man and is able to convince him to get a coffee across the street while they do additional ID checks. Then, he calls the police and speaks to the detective, who confirms that the original guitar is still in evidence.

The detective comes to the shop with the original guitar. It is confirmed that there are two nearly identical guitars.

Then, the customer who claimed the original guitar was his walks in!

Dad suggests to the detective that the customer plays both guitars and tells them which is actually his. The customer confirms that the second guitar is his, because he had adjusted the string height to be lower than the other guitar.

The man trying to sell the second guitar is charged and Dad’s friend is cleared.

We’re not sure why the two guitars were identical, but we suspect that there was one owner who bought them new and sold them separately. This would explain the similar belt buckle scratches and the Brazilian flag stickers.

(I work in a chain bakery within a shopping centre. We are across from a supermarket and throughout the day a sales associate goes on “tastings,” essentially just standing in front of the shopfront offering free samples to people walking past. I am out on tastings when I am approached by an older man. I am eighteen and fresh out of high school.)

Random Guy: “Well, I suppose I’d better take one, then.”

Me: “Here you go, enjoy!”

Random Guy: “Hey, why did the baker go out of business? Because he ran out of dough!”

(Cue awkward laughter and a polite customer service smile.)

Random Guy: “Hey, can I buy you a drink?”

(This catches me totally off guard as this has never happened before, and I have no idea how to respond, so I just try to be polite.)

Me: *laughs* “No, thanks. I’ve got to do my work.”

Random Guy: “Don’t worry, I’ll get you a drink.”

(The dude walked away and I thought he was leaving, but he was back ten minutes later with what looked like a bottle of wine; it was a non-alcoholic drink from the supermarket next door. He gave it to me and I just thanked him and ran back inside as quickly as possible. I’m still not sure if he was a creep or just trying to be nice.)