I’m working as a barista. It’s slow at the moment, so I’m just cleaning. A group of women comes in and heads straight for a woman sitting eating a bagel and reading from a tablet. At first, they quietly exchange pleasantries until one of the group, I assume the leader, starts practically shouting at the sitting woman.

Leader: “You always give me ‘thinspiration.'”

Woman: “Oh?”

Leader: “Sure, I’d never want to be as fat as you!”

The other women do like a fake gasp and laugh.

Woman: *Without missing a beat* “I’m literally two sizes smaller than you, and I’m thirty-eight weeks pregnant.”

The leader screams that they’re meant to be friends and runs out of the café crying. The other women are just silently staring at the woman sitting.

Woman: *Shrugs* “Don’t dish if you can’t receive. Now clear off!”

All but one of the women left. The one that stayed bought a muffin and sat down with the woman. They started talking like nothing had happened.

The store I work for is well known for being the place to get a bargain. We frequently have customers with benefit cards from work and income for that very reason. One more thing to note is we have a policy that all returns must go back onto the card used at the time of purchase.

Now, enter this lovely customer. She has an item she wants to return that was bought on one such card.

Me: “If you can just swipe the card you used, I can process the refund.”

She goes to do so but quickly switches to her personal EFTPOS card. I hit the cancel button. We do this song and dance a few more times before she comes up with a plan which, for some reason, she tells me.

Customer: “Well, I’ll just exchange this, then, and I get my money back that way.”

Me: “Ma’am, it doesn’t work like that. We still have your original receipt.”

Still, she disappears to find another product. I do the exchange as requested and hand her the new receipt.

Customer: “What is this? Give me the receipt.”

Me: “That is your receipt, see?”

Customer: “No, it f****** isn’t. You’re a [homophobic slur], aren’t you? Get me a f****** manager.”

I left to get a manager, her still shouting slurs at me. I was shaking and in tears at that point (thanks, anxiety). I found two of my managers, who took one look at my state and went charging out. I wasn’t there for the lady’s exit, but apparently, all it took was seeing my managers’ faces, and she turned and left.

The silver lining was our security assuring me that this lady would be trespassed, which extends to our stores nationwide and wouldn’t expire for two years.

Related:
Refunder Blunder, Part 62
Refunder Blunder, Part 61
Refunder Blunder, Part 60
Refunder Blunder, Part 59
Refunder Blunder, Part 58

I am Hispanic, but I know about as much Spanish as your average Johnny Q. Public: “Como se llama,” “Uno, dos, tres…”, and that’s about it.

Yet when I started working in customer service as a cashier, I would routinely come across these types of comments:

Customer #1: *After misunderstanding something I said* “Oh! Sorry, it’s your accent. I’m not Mexican, after all.”

Customer #2: *Again, after not clearly understanding something I said* “You can speak English with me, not Spanish.”

Customer #3: *After discovering an error with his order* “If you can’t understand fluent English, then you just need to work in the kitchen or ask your boss to give you an interpreter to help you!”

And then, there was this woman. She was in a separate line, waiting for another cashier. He went on break as she was approaching and directed her over to me. She walked up to my register while wearing a twisted, sour expression on her face like I was openly picking my nose.

Customer #4: *Very slowly* “Can you understand me?”

Me: “I most certainly can! How can I help you today?”

Customer #4: “What?”

I repeat myself more slowly.

Customer #4: “You’re not as fluent as you think you are, so just stop. And that’s ‘May I take your order, please?’ not ‘How can I help you today?’ You say that when you’re working in a retail store.”

She then proceeded to very slowly give me her order. When she was finished:

Me: “For here or takeaway?”

Customer #4: “…”

Me: “For here or takeaway?”

Customer #4: “…”

Me: “Madam? For here or takeaway?”

Customer #4: *Screaming* “For here! And it’s called ‘to go’, not ‘takeaway’.”

Me: “Your total will be $8.50.”

Customer #4: “Can you break a $100 bill?”

Me: “No, I just started and don’t have enough—”

Customer #4: *Loudly huffing* “Can I have someone who speaks English, please?! I don’t have all day!”

That was when the customer behind her stepped forward next to her.

Customer Behind Her: “Hi, I’ll have [series of food items].”

Customer #4: “EXCUSE ME! I’M STILL ORDERING!”

Customer Behind Her: “I’m on my lunch break. You want to play your games, do it on your own time.” *Continues his order*

She loudly protested, only for the customer to continue talking to me like she was invisible. I smirked, canceled the first order, and gladly took the new order, also while pretending she was invisible. She ultimately gave up and stomped out of the restaurant.

This story is part of our Editors’-Favorite-Stories-Of-2023-(so far!) roundup!

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I am selling figurines of Bernie Sanders as he looked at the Presidential Inauguration. All the profit is going to [Food Pantry], an organization that has “Asian” in its name and specifically helps Asian seniors with access to food.

I get this message to my online store from a potential customer.

Customer: “Hi. Is your price firm on the Bernie statues?”

Me: “Hi. These figurines are made with the profit going to [Food Pantry], so I can’t go any lower than the advertised price.”

Customer: “Okay… Your ad says that you are keeping five dollars for the material cost, so that’s how much it costs to produce them. So, can you sell them to me for five dollars each without making a donation?”

Me: “No, I cannot do that.”

Customer: “Why can’t you sell them to me for five dollars? You are not losing out on anything!”

Me: “If it helps you out, I can sell you an unpainted figurine for five dollars and you can paint it yourself. It can be a nice fun project. And I will donate the five dollars to [Food Pantry] under your name.”

Customer: “No, I want to buy the painted ones for five dollars each. I will buy six of them, so you will be making thirty dollars. That’s how much you will be making off of them, anyway. I think these will sell great at my shop, and if they do well, I can buy more from you. So you get long-term business from me.”

Me: “Here’s the thing. Five dollars won’t even cover the time it takes for me to paint them. I am donating my time to the charity, which is why I am only taking five dollars for material costs. Also, the point of this is to raise money for [Food Pantry]. The fact that we are even having this conversation is disgusting.”

Customer: “Well, f*** you! F****** [Asian Race] b*****ds! I am going to bomb your page with negative reviews and call you out on social media. I have already doxed you, so you can go f*** yourself!”

I started my career as a manual machinist, and making things has always been my passion. Since then, I’ve done well for myself financially and have built myself an admittedly pretty extensive home workshop. I have a refurbished Bridgeport knee mill, a large metal lathe, surface grinders, and several other tools that would be typical in a well-equipped machine shop.

I have a nine-year-old son who thinks all of Dad’s big fancy tools are fascinating. Obviously, he’s not allowed in the workshop unsupervised and knows not to try to run any of the machines. Everything is kept locked if I am not there, but he knows how all the machines work and is very proud of that.

One night, [Son] has a friend stay over, and he wants to show his friend the tools. Everything is turned off and I am with them, so I let [Son] show [Friend] around. He walks [Friend] through what all the machines do and how you would use them (as well as a nice lecture about shop safety).

Once he’s done, we go have pizza, the boys spend the evening playing video games, and I don’t give it a second thought until the next morning when [Friend]’s mother comes to pick him up.

She storms up to me.

Mother: “What the h*** is wrong with you?! You have no right to endanger my son like that! He had no business around those tools!”

Now, I know that small children are prone to exaggeration, so I figure [Friend] oversold what all was involved.

Me: “All I did was show your son around my shop. None of the machines even had power. He didn’t touch anything; it was just a show and tell.”

Mother: “I don’t care! You put ideas in his head! My little [Friend] risked life and limb, and now he wants to use those blasted things! He is too smart to use his hands!“

Me: “Well, I guess we have different levels of respect for people that work with their hands.”

I left it at that as I didn’t think either of us would change the other’s mind.