(I work as a doorman for a large, well-known rock venue in the city centre. We have a good team, and there is usually very little trouble, but we take pride in providing a safe place for people to have fun without being obnoxious. A band I don’t know is playing. I am checking passes at a door that leads backstage, and as you might imagine, fans always want to go backstage to meet their idols, so the rules are pretty strict; if you don’t have a pass, you’re not going backstage. No ifs, no buts, no coconuts. About an hour before the show starts, a guy approaches the door where I’m working.)

Me: “Pass, please.”

Customer: “I don’t have it. I must have left it backstage. Let me through!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but if you don’t have your pass on you, I can’t let you past.”

Customer: “F*** off! I left it backstage. Get out of my way!”

(The customer tries to push past me. I’m not a tall guy, but I’m broad, strong, and used to dealing with drunken idiots. I put my hand on the guy’s chest and gently push him back.)

Me: “I’m sorry. No pass, no entry.”

(The customer now starts on a rant, shouting and swearing, telling me that he’ll have my job, how much he makes compared to me, that I’m fat and too stupid to do anything but guard a door, etc. I’m trained to be calm in situations like these, but the attitude of this guy is getting on my nerves. After a couple of minutes of this, he seems to run out of ideas.)

Me: “Are you done? Look. If you can go and find someone with an Access All Areas pass, they can vouch for you and I can let you through. Until then, you’re not going backstage.”

(At this, he flounces off to find someone with a pass. He returns a few minutes later with a person I recognise from the security briefing: the band’s manager.)

Manager: “What is going on? [Customer] is saying that you threatened him, and you won’t let him backstage?”

(I explain the situation, noting that I don’t know who the band is or what they look like, and that for security reasons you can’t get backstage without a pass. Whilst this is happening, [Customer] is sneering at me over the manager’s shoulder.)

Me: “…so, as you’ve got an Access All Areas pass, you can vouch for him and I can let him past.”

Manager: “Oh. Well, that’s okay, then.”

(The customer smarms past me.)

Me: *to customer* “Remember to wear your pass, and we can avoid this in future.”

Customer: “F*** YOU!”

(Once he’s gone, I explain what the customer was like, and I can see the look the manager’s eyes.)

Manager: “I’m so sorry about him. He’s been showing off like this since we started the tour. He’s not normally like this.”

Me: “No worries. He is an idiot, though. How long have you got left of the tour?”

Manager: “We’ve only just started! We’ve got sixteen weeks to go!”

Me: “I’d suggest taking him aside and explaining that not every place is as nice as us. If he tries that in the wrong place he’s not always going to get such a calm response.”

Manager: “Will do. Thanks for not knocking him on his a**.”

(I saw that the band played the Glastonbury festival this year, so I guess the guy either mellowed out, or the manager drilled some sense into him!)

(I work at a well-known UK department store in the menswear department. A customer comes to my desk clutching a pack of underpants, and it is immediately obvious that every single pair has been worn.)

Customer: “I’d like to return these.”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but we cannot exchange or refund underwear unless the packaging is intact.”

Customer: “What? Why?!”

Me: “It’s for hygiene reasons.”

Customer: “That’s ridiculous. I haven’t even worn these!”

(I know he is lying because the packet is open, and all of the underwear that would have been neatly folded inside when he bought them are messily shoved back into the packaging. There is also an overwhelming scent of strong laundry detergent.)

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but without the packaging and hygiene seal intact, I cannot refund or exchange this purchase. It does state this on your receipt, and you would have been informed of this when you bought them.”

(He demands to speak to a manager, who tells him exactly the same thing as I did until he leaves in a huff. I speak to my manager afterward about how ridiculous it is that people would be so disgusting as to try and return used underwear.)

Manager: “Well, at least he washed them before bringing them back. You’d be amazed by the number of people who bring in dirty ones to exchange.”

(I live two minutes away from work. I’m pretty close with my coworkers who are in today, so even though I am on my week off, I decide to pop in. I am sitting with [Coworker #1] on his lunch break when [Coworker #2] comes out.)

Coworker #2: “Will one of you two come out here? Got a couple of obvious shoplifters hanging about.”

(I go so that [Coworker #2] can finish his food. I start asking about the moves that they have had to do. One is just finishing, and one is about to start.)

Me: “So, what’s going where with the men’s move?”

([Coworker #2] explains the entire move that I pretty much know about and may not even be in for, but it is an excuse to stand near the pair of shoplifters and look in their direction every now and then.)

Coworker #2: “…and ladies’ steelies on the back of there.”

Me: “Ladies’ steelies? Really? We barely have the stock for half of what they’re expecting us to put out.”

Shoplifter #1: “What did you just say about stealing? We ain’t stealing!”

Me: “Sorry? I said steelies, as in steel-toe caps.”

Shoplifter #1: “You said stealing!”

Shoplifter #2: “What did she say?”

Shoplifter #1: “Nothing, don’t worry about it.”

Me: “I was talking about steelies, but clearly someone’s paranoid.”

Shoplifter #2: “We ain’t paranoid!”

Shoplifter #1: “Well, maybe I did hear you wrong, so if I did I’m sorry.”

Me: “You genuinely did, so fair enough for apologising. Thank you.”

(The shoplifters started fumbling about, put the three pairs they were messing with back on the shelf, and left, mumbling about how the woman would need a half size, and we don’t do them. I’m sure it shouldn’t have taken three different pairs of the same style to figure that out, but okay.)

Me: “[Gardening Service]. Can I help you?”

Older Lady: “Yes, some sheep have got into my garden. I need you to come and get them out.”

Me: “Well, really you would need to call the farmer. Do you know where they came from?”

Older Lady: “No, but they’re in my garden. You’re a gardener. Fix it!”

(I popped round and shooed them out for her, but seriously, if they got into her car, would she call a mechanic?)

(I bag groceries at a grocery supermarket in my town. Premium customer service is our policy; baggers must help the shopper unload their items onto the conveyor belt, and then go bag them, and walk them out of the store to their car. This is the reaction as I approach a customer at my lane.)

Me: “Good afternoon, sir! Can I help you unload your items?”

Customer: *angered* “No! Just go bag for me!”

Me: “Yes, sir.”

(I go bag as he hurriedly throws and slams his groceries on the conveyor. I stay within protocol and bag colds with colds, as I simply bag frozen peas and a quart of milk together. He comes up to pay for his stuff.)

Customer: “Are you an idiot? You aren’t supposed to bag frozen with refrigerated things!”

(He grabs the bag out of his cart and slams it onto my bagging station. Then, he stares at me and says:)

Customer: “Rebag it.”

Me: “I apologize, sir. Let me bag those separately.”

Customer: “You’d better.”

(I do it. Then, I bag a box of cereal with a plastic coffee mug, WHICH IS FINE. That is the worst thing in the world for him.)

Customer: “Just get out of my way and go bag horribly for someone else.”

Me: *smiling as I begin to walk away* “Have a great day, sir!”

(I wanted to sock him in the throat so badly.)