Our family operates a bakery, but my husband also repairs iPhones, etc., on the side.

A big SUV pulls up in front of the shop and out gets this not-so-petite girl with all kinds of rhinestones, shocking pink and leopard print, skin-tight leggings instead of pants, the whole nine yards. She trots into the store.

Customer: “Someone tol’ me that some man here does cell phones.”

Me: “Yes, my husband repairs broken glass and stuff like that, depending on the type of phone.”

Customer: “Do you have any pictures of his work?”

Me: “Not really, since it’s just a matter of changing the glass or the case.”

Customer: “No, no, I want him to fix my phone but I want to see his work.”

Me: “There are no photos to show. He just changes the glass or the case and it’s done; nothing worth taking pictures of.”

Customer: “No, I want him to pimp my phone. You know… with rhinestones and bling and s*** like that.”

Me: “Sorry, he doesn’t pimp phones with diamonds like that; he just fixes broken glass.”

Customer: “D***, I want to pimp my phone.”

Me: “Sorry, no pimping here!”

You don’t want a fifty-year-old white man pimping your phone!

It is the day after the Boston bombing suspect was arrested. Every business in Boston was shut down for a whole day the day before and the police and state officials even asked us not to go out for any reason in case the suspect was armed and in the vicinity.

I work in a bakery and I am looking through the cake order forms.

Me: “There’s a cake order for today?”

Manager: “Oh, I’ll check with the pastry chef if we have that today.”

He checks and of course, we don’t have it since we make cakes the day before.

Manager: “Okay, I’ll call the people who ordered it. They should understand since we had that emergency yesterday.”

Soon after, he calls the people who ordered it and offers them any cake in the bakery. I can hear him getting frustrated and hanging up in a very upset way.

Manager: “They weren’t happy about it at all.”

Sure enough, when the customers come in, I hear them yelling at him.

Customer: “Why couldn’t you have called us yesterday? It’s their son’s first birthday and we’ve been telling them how great your cakes are but we have to settle for this?!”

Manager: “Look, your friend should understand we had an emergency yesterday; did you want me to risk my life just for you?”

My coworker and I work at a cafe that serves sandwiches, coffees, and various baked goods. The most popular of these are our blueberry scones that just smell heavenly after they come out of the oven.

Coworker: “So, I had this customer come in the other day complaining about our blueberry scones.”

Me: “What did she complain about?”

Coworker: “That they were molding.”

Me: “What? We bake our scones daily.  How in the world were they—”

Coworker: “It was the blueberry crumbles. She said that they were moldy and demanded we exchange for another one.”

Me: “Did you?”

Coworker: “Yeah, apparently, they were molding also.”

Me: *Blinks twice* “Seriously?”

Coworker: “I know, right? Usually, people complain about not getting enough blueberries. Eventually, I gave her one that barely had any blueberries on it and she went off on her merry way, perfectly fine.”

Me: “Who orders a blueberry scone and doesn’t want blueberries on it?”

Coworker: “People who don’t understand that blueberries are blue, apparently.”

I am waiting in the queue at a bagel shop in London, famous for traditional bagels, when I overhear this genius customer in front of me.

Customer: “Can I get a bagel, please?”

Server: “What would you like in that?”

Customer: “Umm… bacon.”

Server: “We don’t do bacon here; we’re Jewish.”

Customer: “Oh… er… ham?”

I work at a large midwest grocery chain’s bakery. There’s a lady who comes by that my coworkers have dubbed “The Grinch” because nothing we do seems to satisfy her in any way. I’m newer to the department, so I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting her yet. 

As I’m traying up cookies to be baked, I see the cake decorator talking to her. I’m not really paying much attention until the decorator says:

Decorator: “[My Name], do we have any croutons?”

Me: “I don’t think so; I’ve never seen them over here.”

Grinch: “I get them here every week!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I’ve never seen croutons here in the bakery.”

The Grinch walks away, mumbling.

Grinch: “Doesn’t even know what I’m talking about.”

This is when the cake decorator tells me how they call her the Grinch and she’s always mean and racist and has something rude to say about everything. Then, the customer comes back.

Grinch: “See? These are croutons.”

She’s holding a package of croissants.

Me: *Very simply* “Croissant.”

She looks at me, looks at the package, then looks at me again, and in an attempt to save face, says:

Grinch: “Hmpf, whatever, they are overbaked! The baker always overbakes them!”

Me: “Well, I’ll be sure to pass that note to my manager.”

Grinch: “Yeah, okay.”

The Grinch walked away. Please, everyone, make sure to ask us for the right thing. We’re not mindreaders and legitimately do want to help, but getting mad at us because you said the wrong item isn’t going to help anyone.