(I am working an IT job that has me getting off work about midnight every night at a 24/7 location. On occasion, I stop by a fast food place on the way home to get some chicken nuggets for my wife and me. The last few times I went before this incident, their card reader was always down and I rarely carry cash on me. After several times of this happening, I get suspicious. Tonight, I have cash and I pull into the drive-thru at 12:15 am. There is a small line of maybe five or six cars and only a couple of people inside. After ten minutes of waiting, the two cars in front of me drive off. That’s odd, so I pull up to the window.)

Me: *after ten minutes of waiting* “Hello?” *no answer*

(After a few more minutes, I leave the drive-thru and pull around to go inside. There is an employee just sitting in the lobby doing nothing, maybe on break or something — I’m not sure. I get to the door and it’s locked. She points me back to the drive-thru, so that’s where I go.)

Me: *five more minutes of waiting* “Is anyone there?” *no answer*

(At this point, it’s almost 12:30. Normally, I would have driven off by now, but I have a vested interest in this that I’ll explain in a moment. I pull out of the drive-thru and see people going into the door to the lobby on the opposite side I had tried. I go in.)

Me: *walks up to the counter* 

Worker: “What can I get you?”

Me: *places order and pays* “Is there something wrong with the drive-thru speaker?”

Worker: “I don’t know.”

(About this time, a manager walks up and I ask her the same question.)

Manager: “I don’t know nothin’ about that. I was in the back.”

Me: “Well, I sat in the drive-thru for fifteen minutes and no one even greeted me. I thought it was broken.”

Drive-Thru Worker: *from the window* “I ain’t got time for that. I got orders to make!”

Me: “Also, why is it that you aren’t taking cards at night lately?”

Manager: “We shut the card machines down at midnight.”

(The manager’s attitude overall is rude and uncaring of the situation. I wait another while to get my food and finally leave. I leave the restaurant fifty minutes after I first arrived, for two orders of nuggets. Here is where my vested interest comes into play. My wife’s family is closely associated with this chain and their national program assisting school-aged children with serious physical illness and injury to catch up on their learning. My mother-in-law works for a co-op that basically allows all of the owners to interact and help each other with various tasks, including marketing and customer complaints. My mother-in-law is on a first-name basis with the owner and district manager of most of the chain’s stores in the area, including this one. I file a complaint that night, and the next day…)

Co-op Worker: “Hello, I’m calling in reference to the complaint you filed.”

Me: “Ah, yes, thank you for calling!”

Co-op Worker: “Can you tell me what happened?”

Me: “First, let me start off by telling you who I am.”

(I explain who I am and my family’s relationship. She knows immediately who I am.)

Co-op Worker: *after some small talk* “So, tell me what happened.”

Me: *explains what happened* “Honestly, it was so bad. The only reason you haven’t lost all of your nighttime revenue is that you are the only 24-hour burger place in the area. I was going to call [District Manager] directly but thought this might be a better avenue first.”

Co-op Worker: “I apologize for all of this.”

Me: “Also, is it normal to have the card readers turned off at midnight at your stores?”

Co-op Worker: “That should never happen. I will look into this.”

(About a week went by and I decided to stop by and see if anything had changed. I was in and out in less than ten minutes and was able to use my card. I didn’t recognize anyone in the store this time, and I later found out from my mother-in-law that the entire night shift had been FIRED!)

(I am taking a rather large to-go breakfast order for a customer when this exchange occurs.)

Customer: “Egg and cheese… That’s poultry right?” 

Me: “What?”

Customer: “Poultry. Poultry means vegetarian, right?” 

Me: *blank stare* “Um, sometimes vegetarians eat poultry and animal products. It just depends on the person. There’s not a rule.”

Customer: “Oh, okay. People are just changing all of this political correctness and I don’t know what things mean anymore. You’ll ask stupid questions when you’re my age and people change what words mean.”

(For the rest of the order, she kept saying she was worried that she would offend someone.)

(I have been pretty unwell with a virus for a week or so that has caused my asthma to flare up and has required me to take a short course of steroids. About a day or so after finishing the course, I start getting palpitations whilst at work, so I go to the hospital to see if it is something serious. This conversation happens when the doctor is arranging for me to get a chest x-ray.)

Doctor: “Any chance you could be pregnant?”

Me: “Nope.”

Doctor: “Okay, well, we still need you to do a pregnancy test.”

Me: *wondering why he even asked, then* “Why? There is literally no way I could be pregnant.”

Doctor: “Well, these things can happen!”

Me: “I’m asexual, doc.”

(The doctor frowns, looking a little confused.)

Me: *sigh* “I haven’t ‘been’ with anyone it over seven years. Trust me; there is no way I am pregnant.”

Doctor: “Look. The thing is that we just have to test all women, anyway. It’s kind of a rule.”

Me: “???”

(I had to take the test. Shocker, I was not pregnant.)

(Two little old ladies walk up to the registers. I get the one in blue, and my coworker gets the one in pink. It’s the last half hour or so of what’s been a really long shift full of angry people stressed over vacations/school beginning/etc.)

Me: “Good afternoon! Will you be dining in with us today?”

Blue: “I’d like a salad.”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. Which salad would you like?”

Blue: “I’m not from here. I’m not familiar with your choices.”

Me: “Not a problem! We’ve got three salads—“ *I point at their slots on the menu board and name them* “—and we can add or take away ingredients if you need us to.”

Blue: *huffs angrily* “I just want a salad!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, but as I said, we’ve got three. Which one would you like?”

Blue: *absolutely steaming now* “Just a salad!” *finally stares at the board* “I’ll take the one in the picture.”

Me: “Absolutely. What sort of dressing would you like?”

Blue: *snarling* “Thousand. Island.”

Me: “I’m so sorry, ma’am, but I’m afraid we don’t have Thousand Island. The rest of our dressings are listed under—“

Blue: “JUST. GIVE. ME. A DRESSING. AND CALM DOWN!”

(I smile, but I know if I go any further with this lady I will say something I absolutely regret. I call my manager over and go stand next to one of my coworkers in the corner until the lady moves away.)

Manager: “What happened?”

Me: “I asked her what salad and dressing she wanted.”

Coworker: “Literally that’s all she did.”

Manager: “That’s what she said. She said you kept asking what salad and dressing she wanted.” *he looks at the clock* “You wanna go home ten minutes early?”

Me: “Nothing would bring me more pleasure.”

(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!)