(I work in a butcher’s shop. It is a pretty calm day at the store. I am helping a few customers when a very forceful lady makes her way to the front of the line. I am already helping another customer, so my coworker walks over to help her.)

Customer: “I need ten pounds of cow heart!”

(At my store, we don’t carry cow heart without special orders, as it’s so rarely purchased.)

Coworker: “Well, we don’t have any right now, but we can order it for you. It may take a few days, though.”

Customer: “I need it soon! I’ll drop by tomorrow to get it!”

(Special orders tend to take at least three days to get to our store, and we attempt to explain that, but she doesn’t listen and comes in every day for the next four days as we wait for the hearts to come in, the entire time insisting she needs ten pounds. Finally, after four days, the hearts come in — ten pounds as she asked. When she walks up I am the only one at the counter.)

Customer: “Are my hearts here yet?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, here they are, as you asked. Can we do anything else for you?”

(As soon as I hand the box of hearts to her, she promptly ignores me as she starts looking at the box of hearts, before she throws three of them on the counter.)

Customer: “I only need seven pounds.”

(With that she walked off, leaving me with three cow hearts that we later had to mark as loss as we couldn’t sell them, and all I could do was laugh at how insistent she was on ten pounds of cow heart.)

(I work at a full-service meat market. Instead of the customers picking out pre-packaged meat like at a supermarket, they can select the particular cuts and slices of the product. I am helping a customer pick out exactly which slices of bacon she wants before wrapping it up for her when this exchange occurs.)

Customer: “I want the fattiest bacon you can find.”

(I am a little taken aback, as this is an odd request. Most customers want the leanest bacon possible. But, I find the fattiest bacon I could, and hold it up to show her.)

Me: “How’s this?”

Customer: “Hmm. Do you have anything leaner than that?”

(Speechless, I hold up some bacon that is right next to the first bunch of slices I grabbed and looks virtually the same.)

Customer: “Oh, that’s better. I’ll take that.”

Me: *exasperated*

(I work at a butcher’s shop. When there’s a line-up, customers take numbered tickets and wait their turn. Each ticket has a two-digit number in bold print, from zero-zero to ninety-nine. There is also a faint number to the left of the two-digit number, for those extremely rare occasions when we have more than 100 people waiting. Normally we call the two-digit number, and our big number display only has room for two digits. We are running a very popular special, and we have quite a few people in who are not regular customers. There are currently about 20 people waiting.)

Coworker #1: *on PA* “Ninety-eight!”

(A customer responds.)

Coworker #2: *on PA* “Ninety-nine!”

(A customer responds.)

Me: *on PA* “Zero zero!”

(Nothing.)

Me: *on PA* “Zero zero?”

(Still nothing. Sometimes people get tired of waiting and leave, or sometimes someone has taken more than one ticket. I move on to the next number. A few minutes later, I’m in the middle of serving [Customer #03] when a woman shoves her way in front of him and waves a ticket in my face.)

Customer #00: “What number is this?!”

Me: “That’s number zero zero. I called it about five minutes ago, but I didn’t hear you respond. I’m sorry, but I’ll make sure you’re served next.”

Customer #00: “That’s ridiculous! It says 600, not zero zero!”

Me: “Oh, I see. We only call the last two digits.”

Customer #00: “What?! How was I supposed to know that?! This is terrible service! I’ve been waiting twenty minutes! Why would you do that?!”

Me: “Ma’am, the next available person will serve you.”

Customer #00: “NO! I’m leaving! I’m in customer service, and this is terrible! I can’t believe you did this to me! There’s no way I could possibly have known that you weren’t calling the whole number!”

(At this point, the manager shows up. She continues ranting at him for several minutes, while he tries to help her. Eventually she calms down enough to let him serve her. She was never really going to leave without getting her veal; it’s only this cheap once a year. After she leaves, I look at my manager.)

Me: “Did she really think there were 599 people ahead of her?”

Manager: *laughs*

(I work in a butcher’s shop.)

Customer: “Do you have… It’s like a dog. But not a dog. It’s chicken!”

Coworker: “…?”

Customer: “It’s long!”

Coworker: *pauses to think* “Chicken sausage?”

Customer: “Yes!”

Me: “Hello there! How can I help you?”

Customer: “I was wondering if I could get about 1.5 kilos of bacon.”

Me: “Sure, which type?”

Customer: “The cheapest, please.”

Me: “Sure thing.”

(My friend starts filling the bag with bacon.)

Customer: “Umm, is that bacon from pigs?”

Me: “Yes, of course. All bac—”

Customer: “Oh, never mind, then. Pigs disgust me.” *leaves store*