(We sell second-hand furniture for charity. I sold a solid oak bed for £100 to a customer who had already kicked up a fuss in regard to the price, until I offered a price match where if he could find the same or similar cheaper I’d match the price. Not surprisingly, he didn’t, but he bought the bed anyway. This is a followup a week later.)

Customer: “I want my money back for this bed.” *shows me the paperwork*

Me: “Okay, what is the issue?”

Customer: “The bed broke when my daughter sat on it.”

(He shows me a picture of a girl around fourteen, who weighs no more than nine stone. Now, remember, it’s a solid oak bed and I, myself, sat on it and I was about sixteen stone at the time. The customer is about twenty-one stone and is obviously the one who broke the bed.) 

Me: “Okay, no problem. Did you want to exchange or get a refund?”

Customer: “I want my money back.”

Me: “Okay, no problem. I’ll send my van guys out to collect the bed and when it’s back in the store, just pop in with the receipt and I’ll give you your refund.”

Customer: “Okay, when will they get the bed?”

Me: “Let me have a look… I can do two days from now.”

Customer: “Okay.”

(It’s all booked in and he goes away. Two days later, the van guy calls me from the customer’s house.)

Van Guy: “Hey, [My Name], I’m at this guy’s house but they’ve thrown the bed away; there’s nothing here.”

Me: “Okay, just get him to sign to say you turned up and carry on with the other collections.”

(I am slightly annoyed, as it costs us £11 to send a collection out, which is completely free for the customer, so we’re essentially losing money when nothing comes back. The next day, the customer walks in.)

Customer: “I want my money.”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but I cannot offer a refund as there is no item.”

Customer: “I want my money.”

Me: “Sir, as I explained to you the other day, I needed the item to be able to do the refund, and you threw the bed away. Therefore, I cannot return any money.”

Customer: *starting to shout and inch closer to me* “I. Want. My. Money.”

Me: “Sir, I understand, but I cannot give you money on an item that isn’t here.”

Customer: “I want to speak to a manager.”

Me: “I am the manager; however, I’m happy to call my area manager and see what he says.”

(The customer okays this, so I call the area manager. I briefly explain the situation and he bluntly says no, and even speaks to the customer and explains again why he can’t have a refund. All goes well, and they hang up after my boss tells me not to do the refund.)

Customer: “I want my money.”

Me: “Sir, as I have told you several times, and as my boss has just told you, you can’t have any money.”

Customer: “Your boss said I could.”

Me: “Sorry, he told me that he explained you couldn’t and he told me you couldn’t.”

(Very angry and going red, the guy gets about a centimetre away from my face and pokes me in the chest, with my big-a** warehouse guy standing there ready to come over.)

Customer: “I am Czech! My Czech friends and I will come here and do bad things to you! I want my money!”

Me: *trying to keep calm before I explode and punch him* “I’ve said, ‘No.’ Now, please step back and do not touch me again or I will phone the police and have you arrested.”

Customer: *still refusing to back off* “I want my money now or you will be sorry.”

(This is where I signalled to the big-a** warehouse guy and the slightly smaller big-a** warehouse guy who had joined the party. They stepped between us and edged the customer out of the shop, telling him he was banned and if he came into the shop again we would call the police due to his behaviour.)

(I work in a fairly small bar and restaurant, only able to seat about 120 people, not including the bar area. This particular night, it’s just my manager and me working; I’m running the front of house and he’s cooking. We’re both expecting a fairly quiet night as it’s just after Christmas and we only have one booking of twenty people. No big deal; I’ve managed to take care of up to eighty people on my own with very little trouble. Eventually, their booking time comes and goes — again not unusual — and I continue to serve my other customers. I go into the kitchen momentarily to ask my manager a question and come back out to my entire bar area entirely full of people, waiting for me.)

Me: *cheerily* “Hi, guys. How are we all tonight?”

Customer #1: “Uh, hi, we have a booking with you guys for [time]?”

Me: *knowing they’re about forty-five minutes late at this point but shrugging it off* “Oh, yeah! I’ve made sure the top end of the restaurant is closed for you guys to use, twenty seats all ready to go!”

Customer #1: “Okay, thanks.”

(They all start shuffling off into their reserved section, and I’m just watching from behind the bar and wondering if I’m going a little loopy because it just seems too many people for twenty. I go to tend to my other customers — there are about forty in at this point as just walk-ins — and continue service as usual. Just as I’m carrying some dishes into the kitchen, I notice the big booking is back at the bar all holding menus and seeming to be even more than before. I quickly clean off the plates and rush back out; I lose count of how many orders I have to take, plus their drinks, entirely on my own, and I’m beginning to get severely overwhelmed. They all want complex separate orders, and they all want to pay separately, which backs up the kitchen and causes the queue to be even longer. After about half, I have to dive into the kitchen to take out some of their food as the ordering has been going on so long.)

Manager: “[My Name], are you trying to kill me with all these orders?”

Me: *a little snappily because I’m stressed out* “It’s way worse out there; trust me!”

Manager: “Oh… really?”

Me: “Yeah, we only have three tables left free and there’s still a huge queue. I’m doing what I can!”

(I rush back out of the kitchen to continue helping between food coming out, and thankfully, my manager calls “reinforcements” to carry the food out and make my job a little easier. Eventually, I am able to get through it all; I’m exhausted, stressed, and close to tears from it when the leader of the booking comes up to get more drinks.)

Me: *trying to still be cheerful* “Hey, [drink] again for you?”

Customer #2: “Yes, please! Hey, I just wanted to say that you did a fabulous job tonight serving the sixty of us; I hope we didn’t surprise you too much! We were worried you’d charge us for booking half the restaurant if we told you that!” *laughs*

Me: *trying to hold in all my frustration* “Uh… no, it was no problem at all. Here’s your drink, sir.”

(I had to go into the kitchen after that and sort of hide in the fridge for a frustration-cry for a minute. I ended up serving almost a hundred people alone because this group of sixty people didn’t want to pay extra for booking? My manager did apologise after our shift and said he would have scheduled other coworkers to come in if he had known, but I didn’t let him as he couldn’t have known. And no, we didn’t get any tip.)

(We are a small branch library that offers classes and also allows community groups to rent rooms for events. On a Saturday night, a group has a small celebration party and because it is Christmas, they bring along some holiday-themed helium balloons which they leave behind.)

Children’s Librarian: “We should leave the balloons up in the room to make it a little more festive!”

(I agree. A couple of days later, there is a class in the same room. After the class, one of the participants and her daughter are wandering around the library’s main floor. The daughter, who appears to be maybe nine or ten, has all the balloons. I am about to ask if they asked for the balloons when the children’s librarian says:)

Children’s Librarian: “Now, honey, if you’re going to take those, you’d better hang on tight. If they get away from you, the ceiling is too tall for us to get them back for you.”

(The child agrees that she will hang on. I conclude from this that the children’s librarian has given the girl permission to take the balloons. I am just as glad, since the things can be a big problem if they start floating around. We’ve had them set off alarms after hours and have had to pay for false alarms with the security company. Within ten seconds of agreeing that she will hold on tight, the little girl frees all the balloons and they are airborne. Fortunately, a very tall patron is able to grab them all and hand them back to the child.)

Children’s Librarian: “See? You have to keep an eye on them! Maybe tie them around your wrist tight so they don’t get loose.”

(The mother and daughter go to their car. They put the balloons inside and return.)

Mother: *to me* “I want her name.”

Me: “Whose name?”

Mother: *points past me to the children’s librarian* “HER name. She was rude to my child! I want to report her to the manager here.”

([Children’s Librarian] is kind of a toughie who was raised in the rough side of town. She decides to play the game, swaggers over, leans her elbow on my shoulder, and says:)

Children’s Librarian: “My name is [Children’s Librarian] and THIS—” *indicating me* “—is my manager.”

Me: *looking at the mother attentively* “What was the problem?”

Mother: “She embarrassed my daughter!”

Me: “When was that?”

Mother: “First, she told her to hang on to the balloons as if she thought my daughter was too stupid to hold on to them. Then, when my daughter let them go, she told her she should have held on tighter. My daughter is embarrassed.”

([Children’s Librarian] is mulling this over and is about to apologize to the young girl, when the girl snaps back with a rehearsed speech.)

Girl: “Yeah. I’m only a kid. It was an accident. I’m a kid; you should expect kids to have accidents.”

(Usually, I hate confrontation, but this level of insanity is pushing my buttons. So, I pull out my favorite non-apology.)

Me: “I’m so sorry you feel you have been insulted, but there is a reason we told her to be careful.”

(I launch into the speech about how helium balloons have caused alarm problems in the past and finish with:)

Me: “—so [Children’s Librarian] wasn’t trying to insult you; she just wanted to reinforce the lesson you had already learned. You aren’t going to let them loose again, right?”

Girl: *reluctantly* “No.”

(They leave amicably and even wish us a Merry Christmas.)

Me: *to [Children’s Librarian]* “I can’t believe she got all upset over that, especially since you were nice enough to tell the little girl she could take the balloons home with her.”

Children’s Librarian: *laughing out loud* “I thought you told her she could have them!”

(The two of us started laughing over the fact that mother and daughter essentially stole balloons that, as far as they knew, belonged to the library, and were complaining about being reminded to hang on to them. Some days it doesn’t pay to take things seriously.)

CONTENT WARNING: Child Cruelty

(I’m just about to close our store. It’s in the middle of winter and I see a woman with a child in a thin sundress and tights walking past the storefront. Our last customer, a police officer, walks up to them.)

Policeman: “Excuse me. You should really get your daughter a coat and gloves. It’s freezing outside and she looks like she’s very cold.”

Woman: “That’s none of your business. Besides, kids don’t feel temperature like normal people do.”

Policeman: “Normal people? I don’t think–”

Woman: “They don’t feel the cold as we do. Anyway, she’s always complaining, so I just stopped caring.”

Policeman: “Maybe she’s complaining because she’s freezing? Look, her fingers are as red as–”

Woman: “No, no, no! She faking this! Kids do everything for attention! Just ignore her!”

Daughter: “Mommy, I’m really cold.”

Woman: “SHUT UP! NO TALKING WHEN I’M TALKING!”

Policeman: “Look! I don’t normally interfere with people’s parenting but this is clearly bad for the girl’s health.”

Woman: *shrugs*

(The next time I stepped outside, I saw her surrounded by four cops who loaded her into a police van.)

(Incidents do happen in restaurants, and when they do, sometimes the most irritating part is not the incident itself, but those customers who demand free stuff because of it. One night, the fire alarm in the restaurant goes off for no reason, and it takes nearly fifteen minutes to get it to shut off. Once it does, other noise is just getting started:)

Customer #1: “Are we finally gonna have some quiet in here?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, sorry about the noise; the fire alarm went crazy for a while there.”

Customer #1: “So… where’s our free ice cream?”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer #1: “We all done endured all this noise, so we deserve free ice cream!”

(Soon other customers hear what’s going on.)

Customer #2: *pounding on the table* “I want ice cream! I want ice cream!”

(Finally, my manager explains to them that they can have ice cream if they pay for it, but the situation really isn’t one in which we owe them anything.)

Customer #1: “I could have just got up and left, but no! I sat here all this time and what do I get for it? Jack s***!” *leaves*

([Customer #2] just left, mumbling to herself. At least then we had some real quiet.)