(I am in the diner of a popular international home goods store. They recently added an espresso machine to the drink station, a few feet away from the registers, so now customers can get free refills on lattes, cappuccinos, and americanos just like the regular coffee. It is a very popular addition. The drink takes a few moments to steam the milk and dispense, so a small line has formed. One fellow in his forties keeps sighing and rolling his eyes as each order is dispensed, clearly impatient. The young woman in front of him gives him a raised eyebrow, but says nothing. Then the machine runs out of beans on the customer in front of her, and says to wait for an attendant.)

Man: “Oh, my God! It’s like I’m in the Twilight Zone!” *yelling towards registers* “Hey! Your machine’s broken down again!“

(The young woman in front of him rolls her eyes.)

Man: “I know, right? This machine broke down earlier, too, and even when it works, it takes forever. Now we have to wait for someone to come out and fix it, and then, like clockwork, it breaks down again! I don’t know why they insult us with this piece of junk. It’s ridiculous!”

Woman: *snapping* “You’re ridiculous!”

Man: “Excuse me?!”

Woman: *turning on him* “First of all, each drink takes like fifteen seconds to make, but it sure feels longer listening to you constantly huffing back there. Also, I’m no mechanic, but I’m pretty sure it’s not broken down. It just doesn’t have a magical infinite supply of coffee beans, so if you can handle just waiting for a freaking second you can get your $3 bottomless drink that you somehow still manage to complain about.”

(The man turns red and goes quiet for a moment. The attendant comes during this exchange and goes about refilling the machine, pretending not to overhear.)

Attendant: “Sorry about that, folks. Hope you weren’t waiting long.”

Woman: “Not at all. Thank you.”

Man: “Excuse me! Does she work here? She was very rude to me just now.”

Woman: “No, I don’t.”

Attendant: *shakes head and walks away quickly*

Man: “What’s your name? Where do you work?”

Woman: “None of your f****** business.”

Other Man: *who’s been at the front of line* “Oh, look! It only took a moment, and we can have our nearly-instant luxury again. Can we stop having a fit, now?”

(The man in back of the line huffs again as the customer in front orders a latte, then, with an evil grin, hits the button again for a cappuccino, which fills it to the rim of the cup.)

Woman: “A double? Ooh, that’s genius! Well, why not? It is free, after all!”

Other Man: *brightly* “Why not, indeed!”

(Their four drinks combined force the angry guy in the back to wait about a whole minute, and he looks ready to explode. The man finally snatches his drink and stomps off, red-aced. The woman laughs and looks over at where I’ve been listening discreetly and says:)

Woman: “Oh, man, I love being off the clock.”

Related:
Has No Problem Espresso-ing Herself, Part 5
Has No Problem Espresso-ing Herself, Part 4
Has No Problem Espresso-ing Herself, Part 3

(Not long before this story, I took over as store manager. A kiosk opens up in the mall directly outside of my department store. The salespeople are rude and loud, and they aggressively harass customers passing by. They escalate to actually coming into my store to try to sell to customers shopping inside. After several emails to the mall management about this issue go unanswered, I go speak to them myself.)

Me: “I have a written report of every incident. I’m not going to put up with this any longer.”

Mall Management: “Quit pretending this is a big deal. They are only there for six months. Work it out between you and them.”

Me: “This is your responsibility, not mine, to fix.”

Mall Management: “No, and frankly, I don’t want you coming back here to whine unless they set your store on fire!”

(I forward a complaint to my higher-ups, and instruct staff to alert us when there is an issue. I find out that one of the kiosk workers has been using the men’s room downstairs, but I am not allowed to bar them from doing so. The whole time, they are still harassing my customers from the kiosk, yelling into the store. Then, a few weeks later, a smoke alarm goes off. An employee responds to find a small fire, which he puts out with an extinguisher, but the fire department still has to respond. A half-hour later, I walk into the mall management office.)

Me: “I need to complain about the kiosk employees.”

Mall Management: “I told you not to bother me unless–“

(His eyes go wide. A fireman is walking in behind me.)

Me: “Right, and it turns out one of the employees was smoking in our bathroom, set off the smoke detector, panicked, and threw the cigarette into the waste paper basket, catching it on fire. Now, can we discuss how you are going to solve this and the costs incurred?”

(The kiosk’s lease was terminated.)

(I’m a pharmacist at a small, but very busy, chain store. I am working the register along with one of the technicians, due to us being understaffed.)

Me: “Hi! How are you doing today, ma’am?”

Customer: “Israel!”

Me: “Pardon?”

Customer: “Israel!”

(At the pharmacy register, in order to pick up a prescription, we must be provided with the first and last name, along with the date of birth.)

Me: “Is that your name, ma’am?”

Customer: “Israel!”

Me: *getting frustrated since there is a line behind her going up two aisles* “May I please have your name?”

Customer: “Israel! My name is Israel!”

Me: “Okay, thank you. May I please have your last name?”

Customer: “Israel!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. I misunderstood. I thought your first name was Israel. Could I please have your first name, then?”

Customer: “Israel! My name is Israel! What do you not understand? This is ridiculous! I demand to speak to the pharmacist!”

Me: *trying not to scream* “I’m very sorry, ma’am. I am the pharmacist. I just need your first and last name in order to view your profile. Could you please give me your first name followed by your last?”

Customer: *she is now screaming at this point* “This is unbelievable!”

(She looks at the people in line behind her for support. They all give me a sympathetic look, instead.)

Customer: “From now on, I’m taking my business to [Other Retail Chain Pharmacy]!”

Me: “I’m very sorry for the inconvenience, ma’am. Could I please have your first and last name, in order to speed up the transaction? We are quite busy today.”

Customer: “Israel! My name is Israel! Israel [Last Name].”

(Now that I finally have her first and last name in the system, I am prompted with the screen that asks for the date of birth.)

Me: “Thank you, ma’am. And could I have your date of birth, please?”

Customer: “What kind of pharmacy is this?! What will you want next? My social security number?!”

Me: “That won’t be necessary, ma’am.”

(By this time, the technician at the register next to me has gone through about three patients, while I am still with this lady.)

Customer: “My birthday is [date]!”

Me: “All right, thank you. It looks like we have three prescriptions ready for you. Let me go get those for you.” *I fetch the prescriptions and finish the transaction fairly normally* “All right, ma’am. Before you leave, do you have any questions about the medications?”

Customer: “Yes. I would like to speak to the pharmacist!”

Me: “I am the pharmacist, ma’am.”

Customer: “No, you’re not!”

Me: “I can assure you that I am, in fact, the pharmacist, ma’am.”

Customer: *all disgruntled* “Well… Well… I want to speak to the pharmacist who was here yesterday! Where is he?!”

Me: “That was our other pharmacist.”

Customer: “Well, I demand to speak to him! Go fetch him!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. He isn’t here today.”

Customer: “This is ridiculous! I have nothing but trouble at this store!”

Me: “I’m sorry that you feel that way, ma’am. I can answer any questions that you have about the medication, though.”

Customer: “No! I’ll just die! No one can tell me how to take this medication! You don’t even have a pharmacist here! I’m going to die because of your incompetence!”

Me: “Ma’am, as I’ve said, I am the pharmacist, and I would be more than happy to walk you through the proper way to take your medications. If you would like, you can come back tomorrow, too, and the other pharmacist will be here.”

Customer: “Fine! Show me, since you think I’m too stupid to take my own medications!”

Me: “I never said you were too stupid, ma’am.”

Customer: “Yes, you did! But whatever. Show me!”

(I instructed the lady on how to take her medications, and she finally walked away. Shortly after, the store manager came down to the pharmacy asking what happened. I asked what he was referring to and he stated that a lady was complaining that I “verbally and mentally abused her.”)

(I’m driving to my evening class in my beat-up little car, and I pull off the freeway and take the off-ramp towards the college. I stop at the red light at the top of the hill, but the car behind me doesn’t and ends up rear-ending me. It doesn’t feel like a hard hit, so, as soon as I can, I slowly pull through the intersection and head immediately into the parking lot of the strip mall next to me. The other car, which looks equally as old as mine, follows me and parks in a nearby spot. I can see the two guys in the front seat and they are freaking out a bit. I get out of the car, and as soon as they see me, they panic more. I’m a big guy — well over six feet tall, and 300+ pounds of muscle — with a full beard.)

Me: “Hey, you guys all right?”

(They get out of the car, but they never take their eyes off me. I’m almost a foot taller than them, and I can see them shaking.)

Driver: “D-d-dude! Oh, man, dude! I am so sorry! It was just a little bump, dude!”

Passenger: “Yeah, man, we’re so sorry!”

(I walk to the back of my car and take a look. There’s barely a little dent in my back bumper, so I check the front of their car, too, and it doesn’t even look like there’s any damage at all. The whole time, the two guys are shaking, fidgeting, and apologizing profusely. I’m starting to feel really bad for them, as they look young, and I’m sure they are scared of me.)

Me: “Well, it doesn’t look like there’s any real damage. So, we don’t need to bother calling anyone. Are you two okay?”

(They immediately relax and smile, and the driver kind of does a funny little jump-dance thing.)

Driver: “Yeah, man! No, we’re all right! Yeah!”

Passenger: “Dude, we’re cool! We’re all cool! You want a beer?”

(In horror, I watch as the passenger pulls a nearly-empty six-pack out of the front seat and tries to hand me the last bottle. I have no more pity for these idiots. I bring myself up to my full height, clench my fists, and put on my scariest face.)

Me: *in a deeper voice as I glare at the driver* “Were you drinking?!”

(They immediately freeze in place, their faces go pale, and they look at me in wide-eyed terror. The driver looks like he might pass out as he stutters:)

Driver: “Um… Uh… We… Uh…”

Passenger: “Uh… Well… Just a little.”

Me: “Do you have any idea how incredibly stupid that is?! You could kill someone! I ought to call the police right now! Your a***es deserve to be in jail!”

Driver: *full-on panicking* “Wait! No! Please, no! No! My parents would kill me! Please! We’ll do anything!”

Me: “Anything?!”

Driver: “Anything, man! Anything! Just don’t call the cops!”

(I step forward, and they both flinch like I’m going to hit them, but instead, I grab the remaining beer out of the passenger’s hand, pull out my keys, and pop the top. I turn the bottle upside down and pour it out on the ground at their feet. I step back and get in the driver’s face.)

Me: *in my most intimidating voice* “Lock your car and walk! Sober up, and never drive drunk again! DO. YOU. GET. ME?!”

Driver: *shaking and absolutely terrified* “Y-Yes!”

(I turn and get in the face of the passenger.)

Me: “DO. YOU. GET. ME?!”

Passenger: *cowering and equally terrified* “Y-Yes, sir!”

Me: “NOW, WALK!”

(They stood still for a moment before I bellowed, “WALK!” again, and the passenger took off down the strip mall while the driver fumbled with his keys to lock his door, and then ran to catch up with his friend. I stood watching them jog all the way to the end of the parking lot and across the street before I got back in my car and headed to class. My class was four hours long, so I didn’t get out until almost 11 pm, but when I did, I headed back to the freeway and saw that the guy’s car was still there.)

(I am traveling for business and my laptop stops working. I am a female who works in a largely male-dominated business. I have a few emails that require attention, so I ask the supervisor at this location if I can log in to my email through his computer.)

Supervisor: “No problem. Let me just get it turned on and set up for you.” *completes login* “There you go. All set”

Me: “Thanks. I appreciate it. This won’t take long.”‘

(The supervisor takes a seat on the other side of the desk, but never leaves the room. I proceed to answer a few emails, but I get to one customer email that requires me to look up some information on an outside website. Assuming this will not be an issue with the supervisor, I open the browser on his computer and began typing the URL on the address bar. I don’t even get two letters into spelling the website name when the recently-visited sites begin showing. Much to my surprise, all the previous websites are clearly p*rnographic and most certainly NSFW. I stop typing the URL and just sit there for a moment, not knowing whether to be horrified or giggle. Not wanting him to catch me seeing this obviously private information, I try to quickly go to my website and finish the task. After completing my customer email, I log out of the supervisor’s computer.)

Me: “All done here, [Supervisor].”

Supervisor: “Okay, well, if you need to use it again later, just let me know!”

Me: “Thanks. I should be done for the day.”

(I quickly leave the area to go out to the plant floor. Fifteen or so minutes later, the supervisor catches up with me on the floor.)

Supervisor: “Are you sure you don’t want to use my computer again?”

Me: “No, that’s okay.”

Supervisor: “Well, if you liked those sites, you should have told me! I’ve got subscriptions to them all!”

(I just stood there, a mix of horror and disgust on my face. He just winked and walked away. I must have left the browser open when I logged out of the computer or, even worse, he planted those URLs, hoping I would find them in the recently-searched items. Rather than report this or confront him, I just ignored the issue; I was young and inexperienced at the time. After more misogynistic happenings, I left the company a few years later.)