(There is this store where if you return five containers that are empty, you can get a free face mask. I’m a customer, watching this happen.)

Customer: *buying a bunch of stuff* “I also finished five containers.”

Employee: “Oh, do you have them with you?”

Customer: “No, I threw them out.”

Employee: *pause* “I’m sorry, but we have to have the five containers, or we can’t give you the mask.”

Customer: “But I emptied them out! I want my free face mask! Won’t you just throw them away if I gave them to you?”

Employee: “Actually, we recycle them into the signs.”

Customer: *looks around, pays for stuff, and leaves in a huff* “Fine, but the next time I come back with the empty pots, I want two free face masks!”

(My husband and I are keen novice birdwatchers. It is spring, and one Sunday we are driving from pond to pond in a quiet rural area, looking at ducks from the roadside. We finish up for the day and start to head home. After a few minutes of driving, we come to a bunch of odd-looking trash scattered across the gravel road. We quickly stop, but not before driving over some of the debris and a certain distance beyond. It seems to be a good number of white, sausage-like objects. Curious, we use our binoculars to get a better look. A cardboard box in the ditch has a brand name and slogan on it that make us think this just might be a bunch of explosives! Since we have been counting ducks all day — and this is far more interesting than ducks — we carefully count how many sausages we see, and make a note of the number along with our bird-watching notes. Since we have no cell phone, we go to a nearby farmhouse and explain the situation. The farmer agrees to call the RCMP and tell them about this, and we head for home. The next morning, my husband phones the RCMP, as he has a question about the incident.)

Husband: “Hi, I’m the guy that found those explosives yesterday.”

RCMP: “What explosives?”

Husband: “The ones by the road in [Rural Area]?”

(After some initial skepticism and confusion, the RCMP finds the likely source of the explosives, a local supplier that sells that brand. There was only one weekend shipment, but we were nowhere near where it was supposed to go. The explosives are recovered from the roadside… but only half the amount that we noted seeing. The missing explosives are found on the property of the farmer we spoke to, and on the property of one of his friends. After a long day spent talking on the phone with the RCMP, my husband finally decides to call the explosives company with his question:)

Husband: “So, about those explosives. I’m just wondering, because I think I might have driven over some of them… Modern explosives are pretty safe, right?”

Explosives Manager: “Well, yeah, they’re pretty safe, but I wouldn’t want to drive over them!”

(The crew driving the explosives truck was fired that morning, and the explosives company was later hit with a hefty fine.)

(I have this conversation on an almost daily basis:)

Customer: “Do you have [thing that was produced in very small quantity and became unexpectedly popular, and is therefore sold out everywhere]?”

Me: “No, we sold out almost immediately, and our distributor didn’t have any left by the time we reordered. We’re waiting on it to be reprinted.”

Customer: “Well, can’t you order it?”

Me: “We have. As soon as we drop below our minimum inventory threshold, we order a restock, but since even the manufacturer doesn’t have any we can’t get them.”

Customer: “But why don’t you just order more?”

Me: *inside my mind* “Because we knew infuriating people like you would want them, and we want to be able to tell you, ‘No,’ honestly.” *out loud* “I can take your name and number and wait-list you for when the reprint finally happens, but that will probably be a few months from now.” *our industry is chronically undercapitalized and multi-month stock outages are common* “If you’re in a hurry you can buy it from a price-gouger on Amazon or eBay.”

Customer: “No, that’s okay. I’ll just come back.”

(Repeat entire conversation next weekend because “months” means “days” in customer-land.)

(I am working customer service at a smaller grocery store. A middle-aged man approaches the desk and slams his receipt on the counter. Note that till number two has always printed the receipts somewhat lighter in colour than the rest of the tills.)

Customer: “I have been to till two for the past two weeks straight, and the ink is always too light on the receipt! I need my receipts for business and they always fade in less than a week!”

Me: “All right, I can pass that message along to my manager.”

Customer: “No, I already asked someone, and it’s been two weeks and nothing is done! Your manager makes millions of dollars a month; he can afford to come down here and fix it himself! Like, b****, get your a** down here and fix it!”

Me: “…”

Customer: *continues yelling and complaining*

Me: “I will pass it on to my manager.”

Customer: “I expect it to be fixed when I come back.” *crumples receipt and stuffs it in his pocket*

(No wonder his receipts fade. Also, he could have just gone to another till…)

(I am the night audit supervisor on a quiet night at a four-and-a-half star hotel when I get a call from one of the guests, a pilot with the British Royal Air Force.)

Me: “Good evening, front desk. How may I help you?”

Pilot: “Yeah, I want this girl out of my room.”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir? Did someone get into your room?”

Pilot: “She’s in the bathroom; I want her out.”

Me: “Is this woman a guest of yours?”

Pilot: “Well… Yeah, but she won’t come out!”

Me: *rolling my eyes, guessing what type of “woman” is in his bathroom* “Okay, sir, I can ask security to come by and help you to convince her to come out.”

Pilot: “Yeah, okay… but what about my money?”

(I hesitate, as my first instinct is that the guest is asking us to refund his room for the inconvenience, but he cuts me off before I can say a word.)

Pilot: “She’s got my money.”

Me: “The woman in the bathroom, sir?

Pilot: “Yeah, I want my money back.”

(I am smirking silently to myself for having confirmation of the type of “woman” who is in his bathroom. I have a bit of a discussion, back and forth, with the guest, explaining that while security might help convince the woman to come out of the bathroom and leave, he cannot force her to return the money. The pilot then decides to call the police and hangs up. I shake my head to myself, fully knowing what the cops will do. After a while, two police officers get to the hotel and I escort them to the pilot’s room. The female officer walks in very slowly, comes around the corner from the entrance, and sees the woman — who has come out of the bathroom in the meantime — in the corner of the room. She smiles, points to the woman and joyfully shouts out:)

Policewoman: “CINDY!”

(The pilot’s jaw must have been going at Mach-3 as it dropped to the floor from realizing that the cops, of course, would not force a prostitute to return money she got in an illegal transaction with a mark.)