(I am an assistant store manager at an auto retail store. I have worked for the company for eleven years, four of them in management; I am also female. Our parts guide won’t give you the parts unless you pick the car out, down to the specifics.)

Me: “[Store], [Location]. This is [My Name] speaking.”

Customer: “Hi. I’m after a cabin filter.”

Me: “Yeah, no problems. What’s it for?”

Customer: “A cabin filter.”

Me: “Yes, what’s it for?”

Customer: “A cabin filter.”

Me: “Yes, a cabin filter. What car is it for?”

Customer: “Oh, sorry. A 2008 Mitsubishi Lancer.”

Me: “No worries. Is that the 2-litre or the 2.4?”

Customer: “A cabin filter. Not a regular air filter.”

Me: “Yes, mate, I’m well aware of what a cabin filter is. I need to know what car it’s for so I can tell you if we have it.”

Customer: “Oh, ah… 2.4.”

Me: “No worries. It’s [price], and I have three in stock.”

Customer: *click*

(The store manager looks over at me and raises an eyebrow.)

Me: “Guess he couldn’t hear me over my ovaries.”

(The auto parts store where I work offers a full-time position to a guy who interviews well and has extensive retail experience. Over the course of three weeks, we begin to suspect he lied on his resume. He’ll stick behind the counter doing nothing instead of tidying the store or helping customers. We offer to help train him further but he doesn’t seem to care. It becomes abundantly clear that he is not suited to the role so he is called into a meeting with our manager and store owner to be fired.)

Coworker: *storming out of the office* “You’re going to regret this! You can’t fire me!”

Manager: “[Coworker], you need to leave now.”

Coworker: “F*** you, [racial slur]. I was too good for this job, anyway!”

Manager: “Excuse me? What did you just call me?!”

Coworker: *runs to hide in his car*

Manager: *walks out to the car and knocks on window* “[Coworker], you need to leave or I’m calling security. But first I expect an apology for what you called me.”

Coworker: “F*** you, a**hole. I hope you lose your job, too!” *drives off*

(After he was fired, he set up multiple Facebook and Google accounts to leave negative reviews about our business, which were thankfully removed. I still see him occasionally when I visit back home, and he scurries off quickly.)

(I work in an auto shop. I take a call early in the day about a “Tire Pressure Monitoring Sensor,” which I’m already wary about. That part is not as simple as many believe because the sensor has to be taught to communicate with the car it’s being installed in. You need to know how to do it. Electronic parts like sensors are also not returnable once installed. During the call, I mention that a tool is needed to program it, and I tell them our policy and all relevant information. When the customer comes in to actually buy the part…)

Me: “All right, let me go grab that from the back for you. I’ll be right back.”

(I leave the counter and when I’m coming back out I hear my boss talking to the customer.)

Boss: “When she comes back, she can get that for you.” *sees me* “Your customer wants a price on a quart of 10w30.”

Me: “All right. A quart would be [price].”

Customer: “This doesn’t say anything about lawnmowers…”

Me: *this is the first I’ve heard about lawnmowers from this customer* “Well, it’s engine oil. If your lawnmower takes 10.30, this is what you need.”

Customer: “It doesn’t say anything about lawnmowers…”

Me: “Well, there really isn’t a specific ‘lawnmower oil.’ It has an engine. It uses engine oil.”

Customer: *still doesn’t look fully convinced but nods* “All right… I just don’t want it to blow up.”

Me: “It won’t blow up. Your total is [price].”

Customer: *looking at the sensor now* “What’s this part?”

Me: *that bad feeling returns with a vengeance* “That’s the actual sensor part that is in the tire that the stem connects to.”

Customer: “Oh, okay.”

(The customer hands me his card and I run it. As his hands are full and the receipts are printed a few steps away from the counter, I put his card down on the counter in front of him to get his receipt.)

Customer: “Well, that’s rude.”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “Putting my card on the table like that when I handed it to you…”

(He seems like he wants me to say something or try and explain myself so he can argue over what I say, but I’ve been in retail long enough to know to be careful with my response.)

Me: *hands him his receipt* “Sorry about that. Do you need a bag for your items?”

(The customer looks annoyed that I barely responded to his complaint about his card but takes the offered bag. As I’m putting his items in the bag, he snatches it from me.)

Customer: “I got it, before you drop it on the floor.”

(I don’t rise to the bait and he grumbles as he leaves.)

Me: *to my boss beside me* “How much do you want to bet he screws up that sensor and tries to return it… despite it not being returnable once installed?”

(I am second in line at a tire shop. The customer in front of me is trying to buy another set of the exact same tires currently on their vehicle.)

Mechanic: “Those tires will be [price], but we do not have any in stock; we can order them if you want.”

Customer: “I need them today; I am taking my family on vacation tomorrow morning.”

Mechanic: “Our other store in [City 50 miles away] has eight in stock if you need them today.”

Customer: “Good. I want those, then.”

Mechanic: “Do you want me to call them and see if they can fit you in?”

Customer: “I don’t want to drive that far. You go get the tires, bring them back, and put them on.”

Mechanic: “First, we are fully booked for the next two days, and second, we don’t share inventory with our other stores. You have to go there yourself. I can call if you want.”

(The mechanic and customer argue for a while. Then, the customer leaves the line and goes to argue with their family members in the waiting area. I walk up to the service desk, tell them I have an appointment, tell them my name, and give them my keys. The customer sees this and storms up to the counter.)

Customer: “That guy was behind me in line. How come he gets his car worked on?”

Mechanic: “He made an appointment several days ago. Either make an appointment, go to the other store, or leave.”

Customer: “My tires are unsafe. If we all die in an accident, you will be liable and we will sue you.”

Mechanic: “How are you going to sue if you are dead?”

(The customer screams profanities at the mechanic, knocks over a small display of wiper blades, and slams the door on the way out.)

Mechanic: “Can you wait a minute? I need to put a note in the computer that both that customer and the VIN of his vehicle are permanently banned from the store.”

Me: “Fine by me.”

Mechanic: “Your vehicle will be the next into the shop. Have a soda out of the vending machine for being so patient.”

(The mechanic took a dollar bill out of the machine and handed it to me, then cleaned up the display. I kept thinking, “Who waits until the last minute to get new tires and then refuses to drive to the next town over if they are that unsafe?”)

(I am a twenty-something blonde woman. I take my car to a small chain brake repair shop to get my rear brakes done. I cross the road and kill a few hours at the mall before I wander back, only to find my car still up on the lift.)

Worker: “Oh, there you are. Yeah. Your whole brake system is shot. We have to replace everything.”

Me: “What? No, you don’t. Just replace the rear brake pads!”

Worker: “Nope. Can’t do that. It’s not road safe. We have to do the work here and now as we can’t let that car on the road in this condition.”

Me: “How much?”

Worker: “$2,500.”

(I lose it, yelling and demanding and threatening, but he stands there unmoved. I then pull out my phone, and he asks dismissively:)

Worker: “You calling the cops?”

Me: “No. I’m calling a Teamster.”

(It isn’t a threat; I just want some advice from a good friend who is a driver, but the man’s face changes instantly.)

Worker: “Wait. What?”

(I don’t understand the fear in his eyes, but I go with it.)

Me: “Yeah. Looks like I need some help here.”

Worker: “I’ll get your keys.”

(He goes in the back and has my car lowered and pulled out of the garage by a coworker as he returns.)

Me: “No rush anymore. They’re almost here.”

(That wasn’t true. I’d actually never even dialed once I saw the fear in the man’s eyes, but I was MAD! I went out and hopped in my car. They hadn’t done any work — which I’m relieved about — so I screeched out of there and headed to a more reputable shop. I wish I’d reported them, but it never occurred to me at the time. The whole chain went under a few years later, though.)