Customer: “Three ribeyes. I want the biggest.”

I weigh them up.

Customer: “Are those the biggest?

Me: “They’re all cut about the same size, but I grabbed the ones that looked a little bigger.”

Customer: *Rolling eyes.* “If you say so.”

Me: *Holding up package.* “I mean, you can have whatever ones you want.”

He picks three. I weigh them up.

Customer: “Wait that’s not as much!”

Me: “Yeah, the ones I chose ended up half a pound heavier. Do you want the ones I chose? Or the ones you chose?”

Customer: “…yours.”

Me: “Have a nice day!”

In my family butcher shop, (back in the 80s,) my dad and uncle, (the owners and real butchers,) would leave and a hired man and myself would clean up for another thirty minutes. We had strict instructions to NOT take orders. Only they knew what was actually available and us taking orders would only cause problems.

Customers would still call

Me: “We’re closed.”

Caller: “So why did you answer the phone?”

Me: “Because I was expecting my girlfriend to call.”

The other man had a wife and children.

Caller: “Well, that’s not acceptable!”

Then they would call back the next day and complain.

After that happened a few times, I started disguising my voice real deep. I wouldn’t say “hello”, I would say, “Yeah?”

Caller: “Is this [Butcher Shop]?”

Me: “Yeah!”

Caller: “Can I speak to…”

Me: “No! Everybody gone!”

Caller: “Well, who’s this?”

Me: “Dis ‘da cleanin’ man!” *Click.*

I’m not real proud of this, but people wouldn’t take “no” for an answer, and the two of us needed to be available for our families. This was the only way to screen calls without getting into an argument with a customer.

A customer is complaining at the meat counter.

Customer: “Why is there no chicken?”

Me: “As it says on the sign, sir, we had a contamination issue and we had to throw away all the chicken. We will have more tomorrow.”

Customer: “What does that even mean?”

Me: “There was a risk of salmonella.”

Customer: “Well now I know you’re an idiot. Salmonella only happens in salmon!”

Me: “There was also a risk of chickenella.”

Customer: “…fine, but I expect this to be resolved by tomorrow!”

I’m working the meat counter.

Customer: “How much are your chicken pieces?”

Me: “White meat or dark?”

Customer: “Uh… I’m white!”

Me: “I… don’t understand.”

Customer: “I can’t have dark meat! It’s for… you know.”

Me: “No, I really don’t.”

Customer: *Whispers.* “Dark people!”

Me: “That’s not what that means. Dark meat means thighs, legs, and drumsticks. White meat means breasts and wings.”

Customer: “Oh… but I love drumsticks!”

Me: “So shall I get you some?”

Customer: “But I can’t! I’m white!” *walks away looking sad*

A customer comes up to the counter while my back is turned. He knocks on the counter aggressively and immediately shouts at top volume:

Customer: “HEY I NEED SERVICE OVER HERE! HELLOOOO?!”

I grit my teeth in my best “How can I help you?” smile and walk over. Before I can get a word in, he shouts again:

Customer: “A POUND OF HAM!”

And with that, he starts to storm away. I call after him.

Me: “Sir, what kind of ham? How do you want it sliced?”

Customer: *Screams back over his shoulder.* “I DON’T F****** CARE! JUST GIVE ME A POUND OF HAM! I’LL BE BACK FOR IT!”

Without another word, he disappears. I shrug, grab the cheapest, crappiest ham in the case, open the slicer to the widest setting and buzz off two half-pound slices of slimy, almost-expired, cheap ham.

I leave it on the counter and return to washing the dishes behind the counter. The man returns a few minutes later, sees the ham, and grabs it furiously before stomping to the cash register. He pays and leaves.

The next day, hamboy returns to the deli. I’m the only one working again, and right away I recognize him. I don’t even try to disguise my s***-eating grin as I address him.

Me: “Hello, sir, what can I do for you today?”

He holds up the pound of ham from yesterday and, with a surprisingly subdued tone, says:

Customer: “I can’t use this. It’s not sliced.”

Me: “Actually, sir, it is sliced. I recall you asked for a pound of ham, and so I gave you a pound of ham. Is there anything else I can get for you today?”

He paused, staring right into my eyes, seemingly trying to intimidate me. I don’t even blink; I just stare right back. Finally, he looks down at the floor and mumbles:

Customer: “I’d like a pound of [Brand] honey ham, sliced thin, please.”

Me: “Absolutely sir! Coming right up!”

I sliced the ham, bagged it, tagged it, and wished him a pleasant day. I like to think he was polite and courteous to deli workers everywhere after that. I never saw him again.