Friend: “I want to buy a car that goes on water.”

Me: “Like a boat?”

(She meant RUNS on water, rather than gas.)

(Making bookings for patients is very easy. All I need is the patient’s name, phone, modality, body part, and doctor’s name. I’ve been on the phone for a few minutes. The patient is giving me a rather detailed explanation of why she needs a scan of her back, yet not telling me anything I need to know. I’m polite and don’t interrupt, but I am spending too much time on this call and my coworker needs help with patients lined up.)

Me: “Okay. That doesn’t sound good. Did your doctor want an x-ray, ultrasound, or CT?”

Patient: “Scan of my back. My back.”

Me: “On the form your doctor gave you, did they write XR, CT, or US anywhere?”

Patient: “My doctor’s name is [Doctor].”

Me: “Lovely.” *first piece of information off my checklist, but not what I asked for* “Did they check any boxes? Can you see, ‘spine,’ etc., anywhere?”

Patient: “Yes. It’s so sore. So sore.”

Me: “The paper the doctor gave you. Can you read it to me?”

Patient: “I have a paper. It says nothing.”

Me: *still very polite* “It doesn’t have your name on it? Not the doctor’s name and signature?”

Patient: “Yes, my name is [Patient]!”

(I can’t take it down until I know what they need and what room to start in, so I make a mental note for later.)

Me: “Okay. Now, the paper has nothing on it?”

(I know it’s repetitive, but I have to confirm for what I have to say next if it’s true.)

Patient: “Nothing. There’s nothing!”

Me: “Okay. So, that means its invalid. You’d need to go to the doctor and get him to write you a referral.”

Patient: “It’s here!” *now livid* “No! No. No. It says here!”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Patient: “It says XR spline. Yes, s-p-l-i-n-e! Lubosac — My back!’

(I gathered it was an x-ray lumbosacral spine, but don’t you just love how information materialises?)

(I work in an ice rink, helping kids learn how to skate and doing birthday parties. Our rink is notorious for not being cold enough and the quality of ice not very good, which leads to it being quite wet and melted on busy days. On this particular busy day, I am helping out a child along the barrier when two ladies struggling along the barrier just behind me call out to me.)

Woman #1: “Excuse me. Do you work here?”

Me: “Uh, yeah, I do. What can I help you with?”

Woman #2: “Can you make the ice less slippery?”

(I stand there dumbfounded for a few seconds before replying, not quite sure if they are being serious or not.)

Me: “Well, the ice is a little melted today, but at the end of the day ice is ice. There’s not much I can do to make it less slippery.”

Woman #1: “Well, they should figure out a way to make it less slippery!”

(After that, I just turned back to the kid I was helping, trying to contain my laughter.)

(I volunteer at a few of the different pop culture conventions that roll through town each year. This year I am working guest management at one, which involves working closely with the VIP guests — TV/movie celebs — and ensuring that patrons are lined up correctly and, importantly, not taking photos of the guests. This a rule from both guests and management. Some guests, for an extra $20 or so, will take a selfie with you, but most would prefer you pay for the professional photos. Most patrons are okay with this rule and when I’ve photobombed their camera and reminded them of the rule they apologise and walk off. Not this guy.)

Me: “Hi. Just so that you’re aware, there are no photos of this area behind me at all.”

Patron: “I was only taking a photo of the lines.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but as long as there are guests in the autograph booth, not even a photo of the lines is allowed.”

Patron: “Well, you didn’t even ask me if I was taking a photo! I could have been using Wikipedia, for all you know!”

Me: “That’s why I advised you of the—“

Patron: *now yelling* “NO! YOU CAN’T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!”

Me: “Actually, mate, I can.”

Patron: *now getting closer to me, looking like he’s going to burst*

Me: “I think you need to move along now.”

Patron: “FINE!”

(He then grabs my lanyard from around my neck with my volunteer photo ID and name.)

Patron: “THANKS, [MY NAME].”

(He then threw my lanyard back at me and walked away. I’ve heard all the smarta** remarks about the “no photos beyond this point” rule, but never in three years of volunteering have I had someone get so in my face and practically assault me. It was an adrenaline rush, and I enjoyed being salty with a smile on my face the entire time.)

(I work in a supermarket as a deli manager, but as we are a small store, some of our staff are trained in different departments, including registers. There’s a customer waiting to buy smokes, so a girl calls for assistance.)

Me: “Hi, sorry for the wait. What can I get you?”

Customer: “Can I get [Brand] and a lighter?”

(Legislation says we have to card anyone under 25.)

Me: “Sure. Do you have any ID?”

Customer: “It’s my birthday today.”

Me: “Well, happy birthday, but I still need to see some ID.”

Customer: “I don’t have ID, but today is my 21st birthday.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but if you can’t produce ID, I can’t sell you these.”

Customer: “This is ridiculous! I buy [Brand] here all the time. It’s my birthday and I want my smokes!”

Me: “Sir, I have never served you before, so I can’t verify your age. Unless you provide ID, I can’t legally sell you these.”

(He points to the girl who is serving on another register.)

Customer: “She’s served me before! Come here and sell me these smokes because this b**** won’t.”

Coworker: “I’ve never seen you in my life, and I certainly won’t serve you after that comment.”

Customer: “Just sell me my f****** smokes!”

Me: “Sir, as you can’t provide ID and are becoming aggressive, I need to ask you to leave.”

Customer: “This is bulls***! That lady over there has served me, too! I’m 21!”

(He points to my worker in the deli. I turn to him and smile, because she isn’t trained on registers.)

Me: “I can assure you, that worker over there has never served smokes to anyone in the six years this store has been open.”

(The customer realizes he’s just screwed himself.)

Customer: “This is bulls***. You can all go to f****** h***. I’ll go to [Branch].”

(I was shaking at this point, as he was getting right up in my face. What he didn’t see was mall security coming up behind him. After protesting that we were many different expletives, he got kicked out. I had to write up an incident report, but before that, I rang two other branches closest to us and warned them. He only tried one branch, but still didn’t have ID and was refused service again.)

Related:
No ID, No Idea, Part 37
No ID, No Idea, Part 36
No ID, No Idea, Part 35