Me: “Hello, this is [ISP]. My name is [My Name]; how may I help you?”

Customer: “Did you say your name is [My Name]?”

Me: “Yes.”

Customer: “Hello?”

Me: “Yes, hello?”

Customer: “I’m asking you if your name is [My Name].”

Me: “Yes, it is.”

Customer: “Hello?”

Me: “Yes, that is my name.”

Customer: “See, I want to cancel my internet now. Because you people are always so rude to me. I don’t need your Internet anymore.” *Muttering to herself* “All this attitude because I asked for your name, come on…”

I had a neutral tone in my voice the entire time. I’ve had other customers ask me to repeat my name multiple times in a similar fashion and they’ve never had an issue. Calls can have audio issues, I understand that. Normally, I would try to do some retention methods, but I was just so taken aback by the response that I just cancelled her. Jeez, lady… all I did was tell you my name.

Back in 1999, I worked for a British phone company in the billing department. One day, I got a call from a customer wanting to discuss some phone numbers that had appeared on his bill. I went through security questions and then looked at his bill. I was shocked by what I saw. His monthly phone bill was just over £1,500.00 which, given that my rent for a two-bedroom flat at the time was £450.00, was an astonishing amount. I looked more carefully and found hundreds or perhaps thousands of calls to premium-rate sex lines.

I asked the customer where he wanted me to start, and he only wanted to identify a couple of local rate calls. I found the information he wanted, and he said thank you and hung up.

A colleague saw me with my mouth still agape.

Colleague: “Was that [Customer]?”

Me: “Yes!”

Colleague: “That guy calls every month with the same sort of question, and his bill is always around £1,500.00. All sex lines. It’s amazing. I mean, he could hire a prostitute every day and spend less.”

I never had a customer like that again.

I live in a shared house. My housemate buys a four-pack of chocolate doughnuts and puts them in the war zone we call a fridge… and just leaves them there indefinitely.

Obviously, the things eventually expire — still in their box, uneaten — but still, they sit there, untouched. A month elapses, and they are still there, and while they look essentially the same, I take it upon myself to throw them away, as I figure they’ll be spoiled for sure, and no one is going to want six-week-old donuts anymore, anyway.

Well, the joke is on me, apparently, as later that night, the housemate who bought them approaches me.

Housemate: “Why did you throw my donuts away?”

Me: “They’ve been in there for over a month. They’ve expired.”

Housemate: “I don’t care. I want you to put them back.”

So I grab them — FROM THE BIN — and do just that. Good thing I hadn’t taken them out of the box, or indeed taken the bin out!

I have no idea whether or not they were ever eaten, as I stopped using the fridge — and the kitchen altogether — shortly thereafter.

I get a new job at this grocery store. I am hearing impaired and wear hearing aids. Nonetheless, the hiring manager is kind and patient with me and my hearing loss, and he makes it his duty to introduce me to one of my supervisors. I have an app that transcribes on my phone to help communicate with customers.

Customer: “Excuse me, can you help me? I’m—” *Unintelligible rapid talking*

Me: “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”

The customer continues to talk rapidly. I have a bright yellow tag on my apron — a stark contrast to my blue apron — that reads in big, bold, letters, “Hearing Impaired.” Most people by now would’ve read this and it would’ve given me the chance to offer another way to hear them. This lady does not, and instead continues her long, almost rant-like request. When she’s done, I smile, and say:

Me: “Sorry, ma’am, but I’m hard of hearing. I do have a transcribe app on my phone.” *Pulling it out* “Sorry, one second. All right! What were you saying?”

I hold the phone out to her. The customer grabs the phone, looks at it, and then starts speaking into it. Before she realizes it’s transcribing her words, she starts swinging her arm around, the one holding my phone.

My smile fades slightly as I’m worried she will drop it and annoyed she isn’t speaking into it, but I do not take my phone back nor interrupt her. When she finally stops, I smile at her and wait. She stares at me. I realize she just… took my phone and had no intention of giving it back without prompting.

Me: “Ma’am, can I get my phone back?”

I take the phone back quickly.

Me: “Unfortunately, I cannot hear you, but if you give me a second, I’ll find a supervisor to help you.”

I ran off to find a supervisor and he handled her when he heard what happened. I still have no idea what the heck that lady thought I was holding out my phone for, especially since I clearly stated it was a transcribe app!

I work at a famous buffet as a line cook, where you can actually order meals there other than “buffet, please.” You get a choice of side: either French fries or baked potatoes. Today we are slammed with business and completely run out of baked potatoes.

A customer walks in, standing at 6’4”. He’s a large man, clad in denim with a mustache thicker than Sam Elliot’s. His lips part, and out come the words:

Customer: “Buffet and a ribeye.”

The host begins to speak but is shut down.

Customer: “With a baked potato.”

Host: “We currently are all out of potato. We can offer you—”

The man’s face turns a shade of fuchsia not even Crayola could name. His eyes bulge, his lips tighten. The air blowing in and out of his mouth creates a rippling tornado of absolute fury around him.

Customer: “NO POTATOES.”

Host: “We—”

Customer: “NO POTATOES?!”

He moves faster than expected and pokes his angry face back into the kitchen.

Customer: *Waving a finger* “NO POTATOES! WHAT’S GOING ON?! NO POTATOES! YOU SHOULD BE FIRED!”

His family had to pull him back to the front desk, still hollering. He accepted the sad terms we had to give him: French fries. The kitchen was on the other side of the wall from the buffet line, so I walked around to see him eating his steak.

He just ate it with pure spite. I’ve never seen anyone mow on a buttered well-cooked steak with just pure hatred. He didn’t even enjoy the buffet. He just sighed when he had to pick up the tongs/spoon/ladle like it wasn’t enough. There will always be a baked-potato-shaped hole in that man’s heart.