I used to work part-time at a butcher shop. A woman would come in every Saturday and demand thirty chicken drumsticks. Seems simple enough, but no.

She demanded that they weigh up exactly to the nearest kilogram. She’d be there for like half an hour waiting, watching the poor cashier find larger and smaller drumsticks to equal up exactly to the nearest kilogram.

All that for $7 in the register.

I’m so, so glad I no longer have to see her face since I quit.

Our town has a street carnival every year. During these days, our family-run butcher (run by my dad) is closed, and we only sell bratwurst and fleischwurst (bologna) out of a small tent, which only holds three to four people and some desks.

A customer comes over to my desk and orders a fleischwurst in a bread roll — nothing special. I just do my job and hand it over to her.

A couple of minutes later, after I have already sold two more bread rolls with bratwurst, the customer comes back and complains:

Customer: “There is meat in my fleischwurst!”

“Fleisch” means “meat” in German.

Customer: “I’m a vegetarian! How could you sell me meat?!”

My dad came over to talk to her and calm her down. She kept on yelling, and my dad offered her a cold Coke as a refund. She accepted it…

Until a minute later when an open bottle of Coke was thrown into our tent. I had had enough.

I stormed out of the tent, saw her running around the next tent, and tracked her down. I grabbed her by her arm and dragged her to an officer. I told him that she had tried to scam us and that she had thrown a bottle of Coke to hurt either us or a customer after her scam didn’t go well.

The officer took her to the police station, and I haven’t seen her since then.

I’ve had thousands of customers in my life, but holy s***, I remember that woman like no other.

A customer comes into the butcher shop I work in, complaining.

Customer: “Your Chinese sausage? It was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever eaten!”

Me: “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Customer: “They tasted just like those gross Chinese ribs!”

Me: “Well, yeah, that’s the point of them.”

Customer: “Oh, really? Well, I’ll get another Chinese sausage, then.”

As I’m handing it to her, she says:

Customer: “Leave it to the d***ed Chinese to f*** up sausage, right?”

Never before have I seen stupidity on top of racism on top of stupidity like that before.

As a student in the 2000s, I worked part-time at a supermarket — specifically, in the fresh meat and fish department. One evening, a lady came in.

Lady: “I have a moose that I need cut up into pieces. Can you guys do that for me?”

Me: “I’m sorry, we can’t. We’re not allowed to cut anything that hasn’t come from an authorized slaughterhouse. The food and health authorities have very strict guidelines for what we’re allowed to cut with our saws.”

Lady: “But it’s just one moose. It’s not really that different from cutting up a sheep, is it?”

Me: “It’s not about the type of animal, ma’am. It’s that we don’t know where the animal has come from, and it could potentially contaminate our equipment.”

Lady: “Is there someone else here I can ask?”

Me: “I’m the only one working here right now, ma’am. The head cook works daytime if you want to ask him, but he’ll just tell you the same thing I have.”

Lady: “Okay, I’ll come back and ask him later.”

She did come in another time and asked the head cook, who told her the same thing I had. To this day, I still don’t understand why some customers just refuse to believe what the workers in a store tell them.

Customer: “How big of a rib roast for three people?”

Me: “I’d do two ribs.”

Customer: “Let’s do three. I want leftovers.”

Me: “You’ll have leftovers with the two ribs.”

Customer: “We’re big eaters. I’ll take three.”

I hand it to her.

Customer: “Whoa! This is waaaay too much. Cut one rib off of it!”