(I manage a very popular athletic shoe store. A lady in her mid to late fifties comes in with her two grown sons, one of whom I recognize from the summer camp for autistic individuals where I volunteer.)

Customer: “Can you help my son?”

Me: “Yes, of course. What can I do for you?”

Customer: “He needs these in a size 9.5 wide.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but we only carry standard width. But this style runs a little wide; would he like to try them, anyway, just in case?”

Customer: “[Son], do you really want them?”

Son: “Uh-huh.”

Customer: “No, I don’t think he wants them. We will try a size 9.5, though. And a 13 in this one for my other son.”

(I go in back and find the shoes, and when I come out I set both boxes on the bench.)

Me: “Here is the size 13, but unfortunately I didn’t have a 9.5 in the other one. I brought out a 10, though; would you like to give it a shot?”

Customer: “Where is the 13?”

Me: “Right here, ma’am.”

Customer: “Don’t be rude! Let my son get this one in 9.5, instead.”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. That’s the same shoe. I only had 10, remember?”

Customer: “That is not the same shoe; open your eyes. This one is a little higher.”

(I take both shoes from the shelf and hold them side by side.)

Me: “No, I’m afraid they are the exact same. I can maybe check to see if we have 9.5 in the other color, though?”

Customer: “Son, do you really want the size 10?”

Son: “Uh-huh!”

Customer: “Okay. I will take the 13 and the 10.”

(I take the shoes to the register and ring her up. After she pays…)

Customer: “Why were you so mean to me?”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “You were so mean to me. You are just like my husband. He is so mean to me, and then when I get angry, he says that I am the one being mean. Why would you be so mean to me? I am a customer. I spend thousands of dollars here; I am in here every week. You shouldn’t be mean to me.”

(This is the first time I’ve ever seen her, and she has only let her sons look at clearance shoes.)

Me: “I apologize if I came across as mean, ma’am. I am suffering from really terrible allergies, so my voice is a little harsh.”

Customer: “No, you are just a mean-spirited girl. I don’t think my son wants these after all. I want to return them.”

Me: “Okay, I just need to take some information to do a return. Can I get your first and last name, and your phone number?”

Customer: “So you can call me and Goggle me and keep being mean? I don’t think so! Just give me my money back!”

(Yes, she did say, “Goggle.” I did the return, just for the sake of getting her out of my store. My district manager called later to say that he received a complaint about me, but never found out what the complaint was because the caller started accusing him of being mean to her.)

(I’m the customer in this scenario. I’m around 16, shopping in an alternative-clothing store. The staff are all people with various tattoos, piercings, and dyed hair. The cashier is clearly gay, is wearing all black, and has a nose piercing. My hair is short, and I’m wearing a band shirt, skinny jeans, and combat boots.)

Cashier: “Would you like to sign up with our rewards program? You get coupons and all kinds of deals year-round.”

Me: “Sure, why not?”

Cashier: “Okay, can I have your email?”

(Note, my last name is my email.)

Me: *tells him my email*

Cashier: *looking very scared all of a sudden and stepping away from the register* “N-nazi?”

(The last four letters of my last name are N-A-Z-I.)

Me: *realizing he thinks I’m a white supremacist* “Oh, no, I’m Jewish and that’s my last name.”

Cashier: “Oh!” *starts chuckling nervously*

Me: *laughing* “And if it wasn’t, I probably wouldn’t be shopping here!”

Cashier: “Oh, yeah, fair point!”

(I am meeting with the leader of a volunteer organization for my son’s school to interview for the treasurer position. As we are talking, conversation gets around to where I work, and I mention I work for [Fast Food Restaurant]. When I say this, the club president gets an annoyed look on his face.)

Club President: “You don’t work for [Fast Food Restaurant] in [Town #1], do you?”

Me: “No, I work for the one in [Town #2].”

(He looks relieved and goes on to tell me about his last visit to [Fast Food Restaurant] in [Town #1].)

Club President: “Oh, good. Those people who work there are useless. They are so stupid. I went there a few weeks ago at like two in the morning and they had their drive-thru all blocked off.”

(I used to work for this store, which is a 24-hour restaurant; however, they do have to close for about four hours every three months to have their exhaust hoods serviced. Since the hood cleaners need to have their truck close to the store and the roof access, the drive-thru is blocked off with large caution cones, and a brave employee will generally park their car at the entrance of the drive-thru to prevent someone running over the cones and entering the drive-thru, anyway. Signs are posted on the doors, the drive-thru window, and the drive-thru speaker, letting guests know about this. I am about to explain this when he continues.)

Club President: “Yeah, they had cones and a car right there so no one could get in, so I had to drive my truck over the curb.”

(I am pretty surprised at this. While he has a large truck that could easily do this, in all my years at that store I had never heard of someone seeing the cones AND a vehicle blocking the drive-thru and deciding to jump the curb, instead of trying to come inside to see what is wrong.)

Club President: “I get to the speaker and no one answers. I’m sitting there for ten minutes and no one is answering. I can’t leave because there is this truck just parked in the drive-thru, not moving, and there were a bunch of cars behind me that went over the curb when I did, so I can’t get out. I finally manage to get out, and I go to the door, and it’s locked. There is this little midget inside, and she won’t open the door for me.”

(I know the employee he’s talking about, and while dwarfism does run on one side of her family, it is considered very insulting to call a little person a midget. The club president is a VERY large man, and I could totally see a small young woman not wanting to open the door for a very angry man who is at least six times her size.)

Club President: “So I walk around to the drive-thru window, and finally the midget opens it for me, I ask her why the hell the drive-thru is blocked, and why the doors are locked. She gives me this annoyed look like I’m stupid and says, ‘Umm, because we are closed.’ I ask her if I could order now, since I am there, and she won’t even take my order! How useless is she? I’m glad you don’t work for those losers. I won’t go there ever again, if they don’t even know how to run a business!”

(He changed the subject after that, and I didn’t try to correct him. I didn’t want to cause a personality conflict when I was just trying to help my son’s school. He turned out not to be bad to work with, aside from trying to make me change my voicemail message on my personal cell phone, because it was inappropriate — it was an iconic character from a fast food chain saying I was his wing-man. The club president and his wife did a lot of wonderful things for my son’s school.)

(I’m working near the checkout line at my store, recovering items from the floor. A large biker man gets in line, talking to his two young girls and younger boy as he goes.)

Customer: “Girls, we’re getting in line. Stop touching things.”

Daughters: “Okay.”

(About thirty seconds later, both girls curiously pick up some of the items set around the queue line.)

Customer: “Hey, I said not to touch anything else.”

Daughter #2: “But why?”

Customer: “We’re going to buy our stuff. You have to put those back where you got them.”

Daughter #1: “I want to look at it.”

Customer: “You don’t see [Son] touching things.”

Daughter #2: “That’s because he’s sitting in a cart.”

Customer: *pause* “True.”

I work at a retail liquor store.  A couple of days ago, I received a weird phone call.  I answered the phone in the back warehouse.  Not verbatim but close:

Caller: “Do you have any red Beringer wine?”

Me: “I’m sorry?” (as it was hard to hear due to background noise in the store)

[Immediately after my reply she sounded annoyed or something]

Caller: “*Repeated the question*. I know they have a White Zinfandel and white wines but do you have any reds?”

Me: “Yes, I believe we do have some of their reds in stock. Is there a particular red you were you looking for?”

Caller: “Obviously I’m bothering you. *Click*

Me:  *Confused*