(It is my little sister’s birthday. To celebrate, we have booked into a favourite restaurant in the city centre, where one of my university friends waits tables. As usual, I go in about two hours prior with a birthday cake, and ask the staff if they would mind bringing it out after we finish our food. I bake and decorate the cakes myself as a hobby, and I get carried away, so they’re usually quite extravagant. I’ve themed this one around Pitch Perfect, one of my sister’s favourite films.)

Other Customer: “Excuse me, [Waiter Friend]. Could you tell me where I can order one of those cakes?” *she points at our table*

Waiter: “I don’t know about that. [My Name] makes them herself, but we do parties often, and I can recommend some oth—”

Customer: “No! Don’t fob me off. I’ll ask them myself.”

(She gets up and walks over to our table.)

Customer: “Excuse me; I am sorry to interrupt your meal, but I was wondering if you could tell me where you ordered that cake? I need one identical for my daughter’s graduation.”

Me: “I made it myself, but I don’t do this as a business. I’m sorry. I believe [Waiter] has a list of approved affiliate bakeries they use for parties. Contact one of them?”

Customer: “NO! You’re as bad as [Waiter]. You’re just saying that so I stop disturbing you.”

Me: “I’m telling the truth, but you ARE disturbing me. It’s my sister’s birthday. We are trying to enjoy it, but you’re causing a scene.”

Customer: “Stop LYING. You just don’t want me to have a cake as nice as yours.”

Sister: “Look, lady. She makes cakes for all her family and friends! Here; I’ve got photos of her making other ones.”

(My sister pulls out her phone and flips through it to show pictures of the two of us fooling around in the kitchen, making cakes. The customer watches.)

Customer: “Okay, fine. Whatever. You make them? Good. You WILL make one of those for me; I’ll pay you a reasonable amount, if I’m satisfied with the work.”

Me: “Nope, I’m not in the business. Sorry.”

Customer: “Well, you should be! I need that cake. You do understand I’m offering to pay you, here?”

Me: “People like you are exactly why I’m not. I would like for you to leave us in peace now, if you don’t mind.”

Customer: “Well, I never! So rude! [Waiter], fire her!”

Waiter: “Ma’am, she is a customer. How can I fire her?”

Customer: “Kick her out and bar her. She is so unhelpful!”

Waiter: “She is a customer; she can be as ‘unhelpful’ towards you as she pleases if you’re going to harass her. I’m going to fetch you your bill. I don’t want gratuity, and I’m knocking 25% off before you even START to quibble on the price like you normally do. Please pay it and leave, before I call the police.”

(The lady opens her mouth with half a mind to give my friend a dressing down, but shuts her mouth, pays up, and leaves. I guess she knew eventually to admit defeat.)

Waiter: “Sorry about that, you guys!”

Me: “Don’t mention it. Here, put that lady’s 25% in the tip jar; I’ll cover it. Thanks for getting her out; I thought she was gonna punch me!”

(The owner ended up giving us the meal for free, so we put the entire meal cost into the tip pool. They said that the lady was also a regular, whom they disliked and were trying to get banned, but that she hadn’t been back since our “altercation.” I guess cake can solve almost anything!)

(I am standing behind the concessions counter with my coworker. I haven’t had a register all day, and have instead been put in charge of “running” to get the popcorn, food, drinks, etc. The day has been slow, so my coworker and I are chatting as we refill the candy drawer. A woman approaches the counter with her ten kids and a large backpack.)

Coworker: *nervous* “Excuse me, ma’am, but you can’t have that in here.”

Customer: “I can’t have what in here?”

Coworker: “The backpack. We have a policy against it, and we can’t allow you to take it into the theater.”

Customer: *visibly infuriated* “What do you mean I can’t have my backpack? What kind of stupid f****** rule is that?”

(The manager on duty hears the customer getting upset and comes over to the two of us. He’s a tall man with a stern face, and my coworker relaxes when he comes to our aid, sure that the woman will take his word for it.)

Manager: “What’s the problem?”

Me: “No problem. We were just informing the customer of our no-backpack policy.”

Manager: “Yeah, you can’t bring those in here.”

Customer: “Why the f*** not?”

Manager: *calmly* “It’s company policy. We can’t take the risk of you bringing recording equipment or firearms into the theater. Did you drive here?”

Customer: “Yes, I drove here. What does that have to do with anything?”

Manager: “I’m going to have to ask you to take the bag back out to your car, then, ma’am.”

Customer: “Then who’s responsible for my stuff?”

Manager: *shoots my coworker and me a questioning glance before responding* “You are.”

(The customer became even more enraged, and snapped at her children to follow her to the car and stormed out, swearing up a storm. My manager looked at us and started laughing, excusing himself to the back room in case anyone noticed. The lady stayed outside for ten minutes and then came back in. All of her kids’ pockets were bulging with candy, and they were waddling uncomfortably past the counter, trying not to be noticed with their outside food. Yes, she really spent ten minutes arguing with us over our policy because she wanted to carry in her dollar store candy.)

(Our gym is right next to an adult store that has several mannequins in lingerie.)

Customer: *in a fury* “How can you be right next to that disgusting store?! My kids will be traumatized!”

Me: “Sorry, but we have no control over that.”

Customer: “Hmph!”

(She pushes her kids, who look like teenagers, out the door. I can see her yelling and banging on the adult store’s door until an employee comes out. The employee speaks to her, and the crazy customer swings at her, misses, and stomps off. Then the employee comes into my gym.)

Me: “You okay? She’s crazy.”

Employee: “I guess I shouldn’t have told her that I’ve seen her kids try to sneak in there!”

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(My friend run a small business and, on occasion, they have special events that include renting out market stalls. They take bookings ahead of time, but on this occasion, one of their regulars hasn’t arrived so there is an empty table. The rent they receive goes to a charity. I am helping them out in their main shop when one of their staff members comes over.)

Staff: “Hey, [Owner], I thought the table next to my shop was for [Regular Stall Holder]?”

Owner: “It is; she’s not arrived yet.”

Staff: “Well, some woman has just sat down at it and started putting out items, and has been asking people to buy them.”

Owner: “I’ll come over and take a look; maybe [Regular] asked her to start setting up.”

Staff: “There’s nothing there that she would normally sell.”

(A few minutes later the owner comes back, he is fuming.)

Owner: “What is wrong with people? This woman saw an empty table and decided to set her own stall up. I asked her what she was doing, and she told me she wanted to sell her things. I told her that she needed to pay rent for the stall. She refused to do that because ‘it’s a charity event and the tables should be free.’ So, I asked how much of her takings she would be donating, and she told me that she isn’t going to donate anything because she is selling her own things.”

(Stall holders were also donating a percentage of their sales towards the charity. They ended up kicking her out and sitting one of their volunteers at the table with their own stock.)

(A customer comes into the store, asking for help setting up his Apple ID on his iPad mini. We use an existing email address, and the only step left is to open that email and verify the Apple ID. He doesn’t know the email password, so he calls his wife.)

Me: *on phone to wife* “We need the password for his email so he can verify his Apple ID.”

Wife: “I want him to have a separate account for that device.”

(I think she means for me to double check that I have logged out of her Apple ID and created a separate one for her husband.)

Me: “That’s what I have done; now all I need is the password for that email…”

Wife: *speaking to me as if I am two years old* “Listen. To. Me. I. Want. Him. To. Have. A. Separate. Email. Not. Associated. With. Anything. We. Do. At. Home.”

Me: “I understand. I will create a new email that ends in “[@website].””

Wife: *yelling slowly* “Why were you confused? Why did I have to raise my voice to be understood?”

Me: “Ma’am, you didn’t.”

Wife: *as if she’s at a yelling competition* “Now, if you don’t do this for him, I’m going to have you arrested.”

Me: *surprised that arresting technology has progressed so far as to be capable via phone* “Ma’am, you cannot threaten me over the phone.”

(The call “accidentally?” disconnects.)