(Note: I am petite young woman working in the meat department of my local grocery store. One of my jobs is to make the sausage, which requires hand mixing ten or twenty pounds of pork and spices, and then stuffing the meat into casings using an older, hand-cranked machine. About halfway through my shift, the produce manager wanders in to gossip with my boss.)

Produce Manager: “You shouldn’t have a little girl working back here. See, she’s not strong enough. She’s going way too slow!”

My Manager: “Give her a break; she’s probably just tired. She’s done about 70 pounds today, and that thing is hard to crank.”

Produce Manager: *pushes me out of the way* “Here, I’ll show you how it’s supposed to be done!”

(The produce manager cranks the handle as hard as he can, producing incredibly uneven sausages, sometimes splitting the casing, sometimes not even filling it. I’m doing my best to move the casing along in time, but he soon runs out.)

Me: “Okay, stop. You’re out of casing…hey, stop. STOP!”

(By this time, he has sprayed raw pork all over the wall of my workstation.)

Produce Manager: “You can’t even do half the job right!” *storms out*

(Once he’s gone and I have started cleaning the wall and preparing to remake his batch of sausage, my manager speaks to me.)

My Manager: “Sorry about that. Don’t listen to him. You’re the best we’ve ever had working here.”

Customer #1: “I hope this is better than last time! My last ham was salty and had too much fat!”

Me: “I’m sorry about that. We do have a guarantee on flavor, so if you—”

Customer #1: “Never mind, it was a while ago. I want a 10-pound shank.”

Me: “Okay, let me get one.”

(I pull a ham about that size from the refrigerator, put it on the counter in front of her, and unwrap the foil.)

Customer #1: “No! No! That has way too much fat! See right there!”

(I look down at where she is pointing and note it is a normal deposit found in all hams. I decide it’s not worth arguing.)

Me: “Okay, let me get another.”

(I do so, but she’s still not satisfied.)

Customer #1: “No, that’s not any good either! It has too much fat!”

(This repeats several times, as I show her a total of nine other ham shanks, all of which, predictably, have the same small fat deposit. I’m literally running out of hams to show her. [Customer #2], standing behind her in line, has been quiet but has been getting increasingly agitated.)

Customer #1: “What is with this place?! All these hams have fat!”

(Customer #2 finally snaps.)

Customer #2: “Of course it has fat, you moron! It’s a pig’s a** cheek!”

Customer #1: *stunned* “It is?”

Customer #2: “Yes! He’ll tell you!” *points at me*

Me: “Well, yes. Ham comes from the, uh, hind end of a pig.”

Customer #1: “Oh, my God, that’s disgusting! I’m never buying this again!”

(She storms out, and [Customer #2] steps up to the counter.)

Customer #2: “Finally. One 12-pound pig a** cheek, please.”

This story is included in our Awesome Customer story roundup!

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Customer: “Give me about half pound of the all-beef salami.”

Me: “Sure thing, ma’am.”

(I slice up the salami. I’m usually pretty good at eyeballing the weight of a product, but when I put the sliced salami on the scale, it’s pretty underweight.)

Customer: “I think that will be enough. Is that less than a half pound?”

Me: “Yes, it’s about four-tenths.”

(The customer gives me a blank look.)

Me: “Four-tenths of a pound.”

Customer: “I don’t understand what that means.”

(The customer looks to her husband for help, but he looks as perplexed as she does and just shrugs.)

Customer: “Are you sure it’s less than half a pound?”

Me: “I’m positive, ma’am.”

Customer: “I don’t know…”

Me: “A half is five-tenths, right? Four-tenths is less than five-tenths.”

Customer: “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

Me: “Okay, uh, well… what’s worth less, forty cents or fifty cents?”

Customer: “There’s no way all that salami only costs fifty cents!”

(She did eventually buy the four-tenths of a pound of salami at the listed price, though I doubt either she or her husband were convinced it was less than half a pound.)

(I’m a customer at a local butcher with my mum. An older customer, maybe in his 60s, is giving the employee behind the counter a hard time. He’s patronising her and being all-around unhelpful. It’s obvious the employee is new and, by the way she is talking, appears to have a disability.)

Customer: *jabs a finger at the meat* “No! Not that piece! THAT one!”

(This has been going on for several minutes, and the employee is nearly in tears.)

Customer: *sarcastically* “I’m only trying to help you, love!”

(My mum, who is usually very easy-going, suddenly confronts the customer.)

My Mum: “No, you’re not! You’re being very rude!”

Customer: “Look, I just want my meat! Is that so hard?”

My Mum: “Well, you don’t have to be so rude about it! This poor girl is trying her best!”

Customer: “You can’t talk to me like that! I used to be an officer of the law!”

My Mum: “That’s worse! You should be ashamed of yourself, a man your age behaving like this!”

Customer: “Why don’t you step outside? I’ll have you arrested!”

My Mum: “I’d like to see you try!”

(Seeing that my mum isn’t going to be intimidated or back down, the customer leaves, looking very subdued. My mum quickly orders her meat and leaves before the employee, who is now truly in tears, can thank her properly.)

Me: *as we’re leaving* “Mum, she wanted to thank you.”

My Mum: “Being in one scene was embarrassing enough. I don’t need to be in two, thank-you-very-much!”

Customer: “I would like to buy some top round meat. Are those good for grilling?”

Me: “No, ma’am, not really. It’s part of the leg and they’re better to marinate first because it’s kind of a tough muscle.”

Customer: “Oh, no I don’t want the muscle. Just give me the meat!”