I am now a regular at a well-known sandwich chain, and I am impressed with how they deal with customers not wearing masks. They simply ask, “Do you need a mask?”

The first time I saw this, the customer said, “No, I have one,” and put it on. It was a great way to deal non-confrontationally with a maskless customer.

But on another occasion, while I am waiting for my coffee, I see them hand a mask to a customer not wearing one. He then walks up to the counter and starts ordering WITH THE MASK IN HIS HAND! At this point, the server has probably done all she’s allowed to do to get him to mask up. He’s way closer than a metre from her and there are no screens.

Me: “Put the mask on.”

Customer: “I am just—”

I think he is going to say that he can’t because he is busy ordering.

Me: “PUT THE MASK ON!”

He finally put it on. Seriously, it’s not that complicated.

I live in the UK but I’m from former Czechoslovakia. I don’t have the usual Slavic accent for people to immediately know, but it’s strong enough to leave people guessing where I’m from. It is fun most of the time.

I’m also interested in history, so I know that the UK, France, and Italy pretty much sold Czechoslovakia to Hitler in 1938 to prevent a war.

It was a normal day at the café where I work. I am at a cash register and this man walks in. Everyone who works in customer service eventually develops that feeling for people who will cause trouble. I have that feeling the moment I see him enter. He looks like he’s in his sixties, and at first, he is nice when he comes up to order.

But as soon as I speak, his smile vanishes. He looks me up and down.

Man: “Where are you from?”

Me: *With a smile* “Oh, I’m from [Former Czechoslovakia]. I study here—”

Man: “How dare you be here?! You leech on our economy and take our jobs!”

I don’t leech on the economy any more than any British person on minimum wage, and I’m here legally. I am shocked for a bit as panic and disgust start to storm inside me. The man does on about how immigrants ruin his country and his town — one of the most culturally various towns in the UK — and how we should all go back to where we came from.

After what feels like an eternity, I get the idea for a perfect comeback. I smile.

Me: “Well, it’s the least I could do to say, ‘Thank you!’ for selling us to Hitler in 1938!”

This time, the man was shocked. His expression was priceless. He stood there and looked around for some support, and when he realised he wouldn’t find, it he stormed off.

I’m not very good at confrontation. but I’m proud of this one, and I didn’t even get in trouble because, as I learnt that day, my boss has Jewish Ukrainian heritage.

I am in line at a café. The worker gets me the cookie I ordered while my coffee is being prepared. The customer in line next knocks me with her elbow.

Customer: “I wouldn’t eat that if I were you.”

Me: “Huh?”

Customer: “Your cookie. That guy had nail polish on.”

Me: *Leaning over to look* “He has gloves on. It should be fine.”

Customer: “But you could catch something.”

I’m not really catching on.

Me: “Like what?”

Customer: “I don’t know. But he has nail polish on.”

Me: “Oh… I don’t care.”

The customer grumbled something about homosexuals as I grabbed my coffee and sat down. She asked for a different worker to help her and allowed the rest of the line to be served by the man with nail polish. By the time another worker had prepared themselves for working with food directly, she was the last one in line.

She made a particular note to glare at me smugly as she left.

I am cleaning up the front of the store when I notice that there is a customer standing at the front. I go to serve her, we make small talk, and everything seems fine when I notice her eyeing me up and down repeatedly.

Customer: “What fake tan do you use?”

I am mixed race, half Indian and half white, meaning I am naturally darker in skin tone.

Me: *Laughs* “Pardon?”

Customer: “What fake tan is it that you use? It’s so even!”

Me: “Oh, this isn’t fake tan.”

I explain that I am mixed.

Customer: “But why is it so even?”

I am a little confused; are we both talking about the same thing?

Me: “I guess I am lucky that I was born so even.” *Laughs again*

The customer continues to insist that it is unnaturally even colouring and I begin to just play along.

Me: *In the end, tired* “Try Bondi Sand’s ‘Heritage.'”

Customer: “I knew it! Thank you!”

That shade doesn’t exist, but she walked away a happy woman!

It’s a lovely day and we’re pretty busy from the morning already. I’m alone on register until my manager comes back from her trip to the bank, and I’m trying my hardest to keep up with the customers. I’ve just run out of bills.

Customer: “I’d like to order these two beers.”

Me: “Sure, that’ll be [amount].”

The customer hands me a really large bill and I dig through my register to give him change, solely in coins because that’s all I have.

Customer: *Sneers* “That’s way too many coins. You can’t give me this.”

Me: “I’m really sorry, but I’m out of bills right now.”

Customer: “That’s still not okay. It should be illegal to give out this many coins.”

He turns to the customer behind him.

Customer: “Shouldn’t this be illegal?

Customer #2: *In a cold voice* “It’s legal tender.”

Customer: *Huffs and starts yelling at me* “Well, I think it should be illegal and I won’t take this many coins!”

I’m practically in tears by this point as I just want him out of my line so I can serve the rest of the customers, and I’ve never been yelled at by a customer before.

Me: “I’m sorry, but I really don’t have anything else, and you didn’t pay with a card.”

Customer: “Well, I wanted to use physical money! I need the change!”

He eventually huffed again and shuffled off with his beers, and after half an hour, he came up after my manager had returned with new change, and I was able to exchange his “illegal money” for more bills instead of coins. When he left, he at least had the decency to look sheepishly at me, but he never apologized.