(This takes place shortly before theaters are required to convert to digital projectors. As such, the procedure when a movie is dropped is that the projectionist takes the print the theater was given, breaks it down, and places it in a case; then, someone from the studio comes in and picks up the print. Our projectionist at the time has a bit of a drinking problem.)

Studio Guy: “Hi. I’m here to pick up [Movie we have just dropped].”

Me: “Really? That was fast. Okay, I’ll go check to see if it’s ready.”

(I head to where the broken-down prints are usually stored, but I don’t see it, so I run upstairs to find the protectionist, but I can’t locate him. Finally, I decide to head out and see if maybe he’s at the bar next door.)

Bartender: “Hey, looking for [Projectionist]?”

Me: *somewhat annoyed* “Yeah.”

Bartender: “He’s in the restroom. He should be out shortly.”

Me: “Great… Thanks.”

(When he gets out, I tell him about what’s going on and we both head back to the theater and to the projection booth, where I help him to break down the print, which ends up hitting a snag… literally. When running the print through the machine to break it down, the projectionist’s shirt gets caught in it, taking even more time to get everything straightened out. Eventually, the general manager comes in.)

General Manager: “Hey, guys, is that print ready yet?”

Projectionist: “Not yet; we had a few hangups.”

General Manager: “Okay. I just told the guy what’s going on, and he’ll be back later to pick up the print. [My Name], I need you to head back downstairs. I can help out up here.”

Me: “Got it.”

(The process practically takes the remainder of the evening as the projectionist keeps going off to do other things before the print is even finished… including taking a nap in the storage room. Finally, the print is ready, and the guy comes back to pick it up. By this point, we’re closed for the night, and I’m waiting for the general manager to come down since he was supposed to give me a ride home, but he has to take care of a few things with the projectionist. When he does finally come down, he’s about as angry as I’ve ever seen him.)

General Manager: “Yeah… he is so fired.”

(I have two dogs: a cocker spaniel and a lab/pit mix. The lab/pit mix is also my service dog but isn’t wearing her vest at this time. My cocker spaniel isn’t my service dog but he reacts when I have low blood-sugar or am about to pass out. We have been driving to the beach and my cocker spaniel begins to alert me that my blood sugar is low. He starts with gentle nudges then goes to full-blown barks as I began to feel extremely faint. I pull into a parking lot. The restaurant is pet-friendly and I have brought my cocker spaniel here before. I sit down at the bottom patio near the door where it is empty. There are no other guests. The cocker spaniel is quiet at first, only occasionally pawing at me in a concerned way as my condition worsens. The waitress comes out to greet me.)

Waitress: “Hi, thanks for coming. I’ll get you a menu.”

Me: *feeling very faint and dizzy* “Yeah, thanks. Can I get a Coke?”

Waitress: “Sure!”

(She walks back inside and I hear her say something about my two dogs, but I am so dizzy I don’t understand. She comes back with a soda for me and water for the dogs which they graciously lap up.)

Me: “Thank you.”

(I guzzle down almost all of the soda at once knowing that the sugar in the soda should help a little. The waitress comes back and I order food. While waiting, the soda hasn’t really done anything and I am getting worse. My cocker spaniel begins barking frantically at anyone who passes by trying to alert them to the fact that I am beginning to pass out. I feel my body shaking but I keep trying to calm my dog down and tell him that I am okay. Finally, the waitress brings my food, and once I begin eating and finally my blood sugar begins to rise, my dog quiets down and just sits at the table, wagging his tail and keeping an eye on me. As I am eating, the owner comes out and looks disgusted at the small dog sitting across from me. This restaurant is advertised as being dog-friendly.)

Owner: “Ma’am, if you can’t control your dog he will have to leave.”

Me: *confused* “He isn’t aggressive. He’s just alerting me that I had low blood sug—”

Owner: “I don’t care about that. I have to think about the other guests and we’ve gotten complaints.”

Me: *looks around seeing no one but me and my two dogs* “Sir, there’s no one here.”

Owner: “Well, for one—“ *gestures to my small cocker spaniel who is now smiling and wagging his tail* “—this one won’t shut up and that one—” *points to my lab mix* “—scares the guests. We don’t allow aggressive dogs here.”

(I feel pretty offended at this point. I feel my bigger dog lean against me as she is sensing my anxiety going through the roof. I don’t like confrontation, especially with men. But anxiety be d***ed.)

Me: “She—” *gesturing to my lab mix* “—is my service dog; she not only helps with my anxiety but also helps me keep balance when I walk. And he—” *gestures to my cocker spaniel* “—was trying to alert anyone in earshot that I needed help.”

Owner: “You know there’s a hefty fine for lying about a service animal, correct? I’d suggest you take your mutts to the car before I call the police and say that your dogs tried attacking patrons.”

(He says this in a serious tone with a smug smile. I quickly whip out my lab’s identification card and registration.)

Me: “I would like my check, please, and if you say one more word about how I should put my dogs in a car where temperatures reach up to 113 degrees, I will call the police and call my lawyer. I’m sure both will have a field day with a restaurant discriminating against a disabled person.”

(The waitress came and handed me my check. I paid and left quickly before I lost my s***. Mind you, I had brought just my cocker spaniel here when it was busier and he had barked due to my low blood sugar, but no one complained. I found out later that it was more my lab/pit mix who was quietly laying next to me that was complained about. So, a couple of takeaways. If a dog is persistently barking, check with the owner, especially if the owner looks distressed; the dog may be trying to tell you that something’s wrong. Also, don’t judge a dog by their breed. Pit mixes are not inherently bad dogs. They make amazing loyal dogs and are excellent judges of character.)

I am usually upbeat at work and have earned the nickname “Friendly” for my ability to handle even the most difficult customer at the small convenience store I work at. On this day, however…

A customer is looking through a display of beverages in glass containers, and they are either too lazy to put it back on the shelf correctly or totally misjudge the distance, because after removing a bottle from the display to read the back, the customer replaces the bottle, where it immediately falls and breaks.

My coworker is up front on our second register, so I immediately close mine and run over to mark off the area with cones, put on an orange safety vest that shows a stick figure mopping on the back — to indicate I am busy with cleanup and cannot provide customer service at this time — and begin cleaning up.

For whatever reason, every. Single. Customer entering the store decides to walk directly through the sticky pile of glass and liquid I am trying to clean up, even though there are several cones in a circle blocking the mess from every angle and space for customers to walk down two different unobstructed aisles to go around me. 

At first, I attempt to be polite, but after about the fifth person walks past the cones to squeeze by me and literally crunches over the glass and slips on the puddle, I throw down the mop, which clatters to the floor, and scream, “STOP WALKING THROUGH THE F****** GLASS!”

I then calmly pick up the mop and continue cleaning. The store is absolutely silent for the next minute as I clean up the mess, put away the cones, and return to my register.

(I am in line at a thrift store when a woman rushes up behind me.)

Customer: “Ma’am, ma’am!”

Cashier: “I’ll be with you in a moment, ma’am.”

Customer: “I’m not waiting in line for this! I bought a blanket earlier but it’s not big enough so I’m taking another one.”

Cashier: “Ma’am, please wait in line and I’ll assist you.”

Customer: “No, I’m not paying for this! The blanket I bought earlier wasn’t big enough. I have a queen bed and I bought a twin. I’m taking this other twin blanket and I’m going to sew them together.”

Cashier: “Okay, if you please wait in line, I’ll be glad to ring you up.”

Customer: “No! I’m not paying for this. The other blanket isn’t big enough. I’m just going to take it.”

(By now all of the customers in line are incredulous and we’re all talking over ourselves trying to explain to the customer that you can’t just take things without paying. She is not comprehending at all.)

Customer: “I AM NOT PAYING! THE OTHER BLANKET WASN’T BIG ENOUGH!”

Cashier: “You have to pay for the things you buy here; that’s just the way it is.”

(The customer then loudly and messily blows her nose on the blanket.)

Customer: “There. Now it’s damaged. I’m taking it.” *walks out of the store*

Cashier: “Sorry about that, ladies and gentlemen. I guess she really wanted that $4 snot-covered blanket.”

(It is my last call of a shift on a Sunday.)

Me: “Hi, my name is [My Name]. How can I help?”

Customer: “I have been given a weird telephone number.”

Me: “I see. Weird how?”

Customer: “It’s [area code].”

Me: “Yup, that’s the area code for [the area both the customer and I live in and where we have his address registered].”

Customer: “It should be [area code for the other end of the country].”

Me: “Odd. Can I just confirm your address?”

(It turns out the sales agent who processed the order processed it for the wrong address and postcode.)

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but it seems to be that the order has been placed for the incorrect address.”

Customer: “Well, I’m going to find [Person who placed my order], put my 9mm to his head, and blow his f****** brains out, and that’s a kindness!” *laughs*

Me: *silently typing for several minutes* “Okay, well, sir, that is your order cancelled. I apologise, as I will not carry on with this conversation any further.”

Customer: “I DIDN’T WANT TO CANCEL!”

Me: “I understand, but threats of any kind to members of staff will not be tolerated, even if you meant it in jest. I am very uncomfortable continuing this conversation with you any further.”

Customer: “WELL, I DIDN’T F****** WANT YOUR SERVICE, ANYWAY, YOU THIEVING BUNCH OF B*****DS!”

Me: “Okay, then. Goodbye.”

(Our high-level complaints team contacted the customer, who blamed his actions on having had too much to drink. Nevertheless, he is never getting our services again.)