Customer: “Why don’t you carry an eight-pack of these?”

Me: “Oh, sorry, sir. We actually don’t sell the eight-pack versions, just the six- and twelve-packs.”

Customer: “What? That’s ridiculous! You’re really making everything more expensive! Now I have to buy two six-packs! You have terrible customer service, and I’m surprised you’re even still open!”

Manager: “We apologize for the inconvenience. If you like, we can give you $2 off to compensate this issue.”

Customer: “Fine!”

Me: *scanning the items* “Do you need a bag for all this?”

Customer: “No, but I need ice.”

Me: “Sorry, we don’t sell ice here.”

Customer: “Are you f****** kidding me? What kind of s*** store is this?! F*** you guys. You’re making my life harder, and you’re charging me a s*** price for all this! F*** this store. I’m never coming back here again!”

(He slams the money on the table and leaves without his change of… a nickel.)

Me: “Why did you even give him a $2 discount?”

Manager: “I was humouring him. I didn’t think he’d be an a** about everything. I’m still confused as to why he bought two six-packs instead of a twelve-pack.

(I work at a large law firm as the central receptionist.)

Me: “[Firm], how can I help you?”

Customer: *immediately starts being very rude and yelling at me*

Me: “Sir, there’s no need to take that tone. I’m happy to help, but please stop yelling.”

(Surprisingly, he’s very polite for the duration of the call. I get him the information he needs, and I’m pleased that I stood up for myself and that it worked.)

Me: “Well, sir, I think you’re all set. Have a nice day!”

Customer: *politely* “You, too…” *his voice turns to a snarl* “…and I’ll take any f****** tone I want, a**hole!” *slams down phone*

Me: “…”

(I am standing in a queue at a local coffee shop. The customer in front of me orders six or seven different drinks for his group and then moves to pay.)

Cashier: “That will be £24.”

Customer: *pays* “That is such a f****** rip-off!”

Cashier: “I’m terribly sorry about that; our prices are set by the company.”

Customer: *glares, and then spies the tip jar* “I was going to give you this.” *pulls out £10 note* “But you’re so f****** useless!” *rips £10 in half and places it in the tip jar*

(Come on! Who does that? Guess he didn’t know that banks will still accept two halves of a note. Whoops!)

(I go into work on what would have been my mother’s 60th birthday. We have a machine that makes blended coffee, and it has been broken for a few days while we wait on a repair guy to come fix it. Most customers are understanding. But this guy in the drive-through is a big exception.)

Me: “You may order whenever you’re ready.”

Customer: “I’d like [breakfast sandwich] and a medium [blended drink].”

Me: “I’m so sorry, sir, but the machine that makes those drinks for us is currently not working. Could I get you a different drink?”

(I list off the other drinks we have available.)

Customer: “Well, when I pulled up, your greeter said you had [blended beverage] for two dollars!”

Me: “Actually, sir, that price is for any of the small drinks from our cafe list. I just can’t serve you the [blended beverage] today because the machine is broken.”

Customer: “Well, f*** you! Have a nice day, b****!”

Me: *yelling* “Right back at you!”

(As he drives by my window he flips me off. I return the gesture. I then go to the store supervisor and tell her the whole exchange in case he decides to call and complain.)

Supervisor: “I know it’s a rough day for you. But when people are like that and they drive by in a huff, just give them your biggest smile and wave bye-bye.”

Me: “I did wave.”

Supervisor: “Next time do it with more than one finger.”

(Chicken leg quarters are a flyer special this week for 99 cents a pound. We have just opened Monday morning, following a busy weekend, and we ran out of the quarters on Sunday. The store is family-owned, and for whatever reason they don’t offer rain-checks.)

Customer: “Where are the chicken legs for 99 cents?”

Me: “I’m so sorry, but we’re sold out. There should be more in later today, but we don’t know when the truck will get here.”

Customer: “What?! It’s Monday morning! How can you not have it in stock on Monday morning?! That’s when everyone does their shopping!”

(I look around at the empty store and wonder what planet she’s from.)

Me: “Again, I’m sorry, but it does happen, unfortunately. Hopefully it won’t be too long before it arrives, but I don’t know for sure.”

(The woman continues to loudly complain to her friend and to me about how I personally should be ashamed of the fact that we ran out of the featured item. This goes on for several minutes. I continue to try to be sympathetic, but it’s getting difficult.)

Me: “It is disappointing, and I apologize for the inconvenience—”

Customer: “Never mind that; give me a rain-check.”

Me: *deep breath, because I know what’s coming* “I’m so sorry, but the store doesn’t give rain-checks.”

Customer: “What?! What do you mean?! You have to! You give me a rain-check right now!”

Me: “I don’t have any rain-checks to give you.”

Customer: “Well, get some!”

Me: “Look, ma’am: it’s not in my power to do that. The store doesn’t give rain-checks.”

Customer: “Why not?!”

(I have actually asked this, and the only answer I ever got was, “Because Mr. [Owner] doesn’t want to.”)

Me: “I don’t know; it’s their business decision. You could try asking at the customer service desk.”

Customer: *preparing to storm off* “I will!”

(I’m breathing a sigh of relief, as I now think she’s somebody else’s problem, but she stops before leaving, and turns back to me.)

Customer: “How much will I be able to get on the rain-check they give me?”

Me: *groans internally* “I’m sorry, ma’am, but they’re not going to give you a rain-check.”

Customer: “WHAT?! You have to give it to me! IT’S MY RIGHT!”

(I wonder where the right to rain-checks appears in the Charter of Rights and Freedoms, while the woman berates me at length. I offer to get the manager, but she ignores me. Finally…)

Me: “You are arguing with someone who has absolutely no authority. You can keep yelling at me if it makes you feel better, but it isn’t going to change anything.”

(This finally shuts her up.)

Me: “If you would like to make a complaint about store policy, or about me, the place to do it is at the customer service desk.”

(She walked away, complaining bitterly to her friend the whole time. I heard later that she kicked up a huge fuss at customer service, who called the meat manager over to talk to her. I really wish I could have been there to see that, because he is notorious for being snippy with customers. At any rate, she left without a rain-check, and I never heard a word of complaint from my boss.)