At my job, we have a number system. To come in, pull a number and wait until we call this number. We have huge signs all over the place. As anyone who has worked retail (or read this site) can tell you, customers don’t read signs.

A million and one times a day I am calling out numbers and get a customer asking where the numbers are. While the big red number dispenser in the middle of the floor has four different signs pointing at it and is literally right next to your elbow.

This is fine, whatever. They take a number and wait. Until this woman.

Me: “Sixteen, can I please help guest number sixteen?”

Customer: “I have been waiting for twenty minutes! When is someone going to help me?”

She hasn’t. I literally watched her just walk in.

Me: *Cheery smile even though I can tell she’s going to be a nightmare.* “I’m so sorry ma’am. We have to help customers with the numbers they pull. If you pull a number from the red dispenser, we will give you a shout when it’s your turn.”

I gesture to the number dispenser and turn to number sixteen, a patient woman who waits for the other to walk toward the dispenser before asking me about a product. As I am helping my customer, I keep an eye on this woman. Some customers need ‘help’ getting a number. I got around the counter and show her the number dispenser and pulled out number twenty and hand it to her.

Me: “My coworker is helping seventeen and I will help eighteen. It shouldn’t be more than ten minutes.”

I am still smiling even as my teeth are starting to grind. She walks around looking lost and annoyed and bugs another coworker who checks her number and tells her she will be helped when we get to twenty. Somehow in two minutes she loses her number. I wrap up eighteen.

Me: “Number nineteen, please.”

She saunters up. I know she’s not nineteen. I keep my smile plastered on my face.

Me: “Sorry, ma’am, I am helping nineteen. You’re next after that.”

Customer: “I’m in a hurry so I am between eighteen and nineteen.”

The math doesn’t work but whatever. I want to tell her to get stuffed. I want to help nineteen who is standing behind this woman looking longingly at the bread behind my head. My manager has noticed the commotion and tells me to help the entitled brat. I get my coworker to take nineteen and I deal with her order.

It’s ridiculously complicated and time-consuming. She has this condescending tone that says she got exactly what she wanted. I don’t say another word except yes ma’am and no ma’am. Several items if ordered differently would be cheaper. I tell guests this usually, but she didn’t want to follow the rules. By inconveniencing everyone she lost money and I took my sweet time putting it together.

By the time I am finished the lobby has filled and emptied several times. If she had waited her turn, I would have helped her save time and money and I would have asked another worker for help. Oops.

I work at our family deli and grocery store with my brother-in-law. Most of our customers are regulars and we know them well. This particular customer is a nanny down the street who comes in almost every day. She’s a very pleasant young woman. One day, she buys a bag of shredded cheese and returns with it a couple of hours later.

Customer: “Um, this bag of cheese has dead flies in it.”

Brother-In-Law: “Are you serious? That’s so weird. Let me take a look.”

He takes a look.

Brother-In-Law: “You know this is pepper jack, right? Those aren’t flies; it’s just the pepper in the cheese.”

Customer: “I mean, my boyfriend looked, too, and said they look like flies. It’s weird, because it was sealed and everything. How did they get in there?”

Brother-In-Law: “Probably because they’re not flies. It’s pieces of pepper. But if you want to take another bag, go for it.”

She goes to the fridge and looks at the other bags.

Customer: “They all have dead flies in them! You should send them back to the distributor and get your money back! They must have been contaminated at the factory.”

Brother-In-Law: “I’m quite sure there are no flies. [My Name], come over and take a look. Are these flies or pepper?”

I inspect the cheese carefully.

Me: “That’s definitely pepper. Flies would have wings and legs, right?”

Customer: “I don’t know, they really look like flies to me. Pepper would be black and really small.”

Brother-In-Law: “Well, pepper jack has flakes of pepper. It’s not ground pepper, so the pieces are bigger. It’s black, green, and red peppers. How about a different kind of cheese? Cheddar? Plain Jack? You can choose whichever one you like.”

Customer: “Nah, I really want pepper jack. Are you sure those aren’t flies?”

Brother-In-Law: “Yeah, I’m sure. But let’s empty it on the deli counter and double-check.”

We empty the entire contents of the bag and sift through it. It’s 100% pepper. We invite her to take another look. We’re all picking pieces up and looking carefully. We even eat a handful to make sure it tastes good. She just can’t be convinced.

Brother-In-Law: “I have sliced pepper jack I can give you and you can shred it at home if you’d like?”

Customer: “Can I just have my money back? That’s too much work.”

Brother-In-Law: “Sure, no problem. But I’m telling you, the cheese is fine! You’re missing out on the pepper jack you really want.”

Customer: “I know, I really wanted it, but I just cannot get over it looking like flies. I really think it’s flies. You should get your money back, too.”

She looks so confused and sad as she walks out of the store with her refund. My brother-in-law and I start laughing.

Brother-In-Law: “Dude, those were totally pepper flakes, right?”

Me: “Definitely! But whatever, I don’t think there was any way to convince her. I just feel bad for her because she really wanted that pepper jack.”

He told me she asked about a week later if he had a new batch of shredded pepper jack. He did, and she bought a bag. It was identical to the previous bags. The next time she came in, she said it was great and she was happy she finally got her pepper jack.

I am out doing my regular run of [Food Delivery Service] work and have been at it for about seven hours when I accept an order for [Popular Burger Chain]. Within a few seconds of accepting the latest order, my phone rings, and because these gig services filter all customer contact through their own platforms, the caller ID says, “[Delivery Service]”. I accept the call.

Caller: “Good evening. Am I speaking with [My Name]?”

Me: “Yes”

Caller: “Great, I am [Caller] with [Delivery Service]. The reason I am calling you tonight is that the order you are on now was placed with a stolen debit card.”

Me: “Oh, wow!”

Caller: “We are going to remove the order and ensure you are compensated for your time. Could you please go into the [Delivery Service] app and unassign the order for [reason]?”

Me: *Does so* “Okay, I’ve removed the order.”

Caller: “Great, now could you please verify your ten-digit phone number so that we can ensure you are compensated for your time?”

I wait for [Caller] to recite my number.

Caller: “Hello?”

Me: “Yes?”

Caller: “Yes, could you please verify your ten-digit phone number?”

Me: *Thinks for a moment in confusion* “Yes, if you can read off my number, I can verify it for you.”

There’s an awkward pause.

Caller: “Could you please verify your number for me?”

There was a longer pause as I try to process this request.

The caller hung up.

What happened was an order was placed for nothing but some condiments which, when combined with a promo code, can let them make free/discounted orders for delivery, but more importantly, it gets them into the system as a customer and eventually gives them access to a gig worker via the app. Once the order is picked up, they call their victim, get the order canceled, and then get the worker to hand over their phone number. With the phone number in hand, the scammer can attempt an account recovery which requires a two-factor code sent by SMS to be entered. The scammer will say they are sending the worker a text to verify the phone number at the same time they are going through the recovery process, the worker recites the code thinking it came from the scammer, and the scammer logs into the account, changes the bank information, and extracts whatever balance the worker has on hand, leaving the worker high and dry.

Being that I work in IT for my day job, my brain had a short-circuit when THEY asked me for my phone number. No one calling me with a legitimate business purpose is going to need ME to provide THEM with my number; they will already have it. I recognized it was wrong in some way.

Now, I’d been at this pretty much all day for three days straight, it was late, I was tired, and if it weren’t for my tech tingles going off, I might well have at least given them my ten-digit. I ended up calling the support line for [Delivery Service] right away to report it, and the scammer’s account was likely closed and the details passed on to the fraud division. It’s an unfortunate fact that enough gig workers fall for this that it is a viable scam to run, so I hope sharing my story here will help others to avoid it.

A client brings their three-year-old German Shepherd to have his nails done. After they have checked in, the client takes a flea preventative out of her bag. She bought three individual pieces when she actually wanted the entire six-pack. Whether this was our error or the client’s error is unknown because she bought this two months ago and we would have deleted the voicemail request.

We aren’t allowed to return medication that has gone home. My supervisor is trying to work with her, but the lady is being unreasonable.

Supervisor: “Why did you wait two months to tell us that you got the wrong amount?”

Client: “I didn’t realize until now!”

Individual pieces come in a small clear plastic bag; six-packs come in a box. The price between the two sizes is noticeable.

Client: “This is your fault and I demand you refund me!”

Supervisor: “I’m sorry, but we are unable to refund you. Legally, we are not allowed to accept returns for medications that have been taken home, let alone medications that we were sold months ago.”

Client: “This is ridiculous! I demand a refund!”

Supervisor: “I’m sorry, but as I said, ma’am, I legally cannot refund you. I can put a note in your dog’s chart that the next time you request the flea preventative you want the six-pack, but that’s all I can do for you.”

The client and the supervisor continue to have a back and forth, with my very experienced supervisor remaining calm and polite while the client begins to get shrill and rude. The technicians have not grabbed the dog yet because they don’t want to interrupt the conversation, but it has already been at least five minutes and if we wait any longer, it might put us behind.

Finally, a technician comes up to the lady and gently interrupts.

Technician: “Hi! I’m here to take your dog back for his nail trim!”

The lady begrudgingly hands the dog off to the tech, and once the dog is behind a closed door — standard practice for nail trims; we do them in the back — she yells:

Client: “I bet that you people are going to hurt my dog and trim his nails really short to hurt him because you think I was rude to you!”

The dead silence that follows her statement is met only by the cold fury that my supervisor projects. In a clipped tone, my supervisor says:

Supervisor: “Ma’am. We are professionals. We would never do anything like that. For you to assume that we would hurt your dog in retaliation for your attitude is unbelievable. That is incredibly disrespectful, and if you ever say anything like that to us again, I will bar you from this clinic.”

The lady huffs and sits down without saying another word. The rest of the clients in the waiting room avoid her gaze. After the techs are done with the dog (with a proper and professional nail trim that results in no bleeding ends), the client pays us and walks out with a grumbled:

Client: “Sorry, thanks.”

You aren’t in the vet practice because you love money or people; you are there because you love animals! Show some kindness and understanding, especially when it comes to anyone in a clinic!

I am serving a very agitated middle-aged woman.

Customer: “You have to remake this! I can’t have dairy!”

Me: “Oh, don’t worry. It’s actually just apple juice and syrup. There is no dairy.”

Customer: “No, there’s foam on it. That means there’s dairy.”

Me: “That’s just what happens when you steam apple juice, but sure, no worries. I’ll remake it.”

Customer: “And no sprinkles. They have dairy.”

Me: “It’s cinnamon.”

Customer: “That has dairy.”

Me: “Nope.”

Customer: “Yes, it does!“

Me: *Pauses* “All right, so no cinnamon powder, no whip, no caramel drizzle.”

Customer: “What? No, caramel is fine.”

Me: “Caramel absolutely has dairy.”

Customer: “No, it doesn’t.”

Me: “Caramel is made with sugar and butter, often with condensed milk, too. You can find vegan options pretty easily, but ours is not dairy-free. Most caramels aren’t.”

Customer: “Oh, that’s fine. I can have butter. I just can’t have dairy.”

Me: “Caramel. Has. Dairy. Butter. Is. Dairy.”

Customer: “Fine! Just give me the caramel on the side.” *Long, awkward silence* “Just please don’t tell me that fudge has dairy!”

Oh, my God…

Me: “Ma’am. Yes, fudge has dairy in it, too.”

Customer: “NO! IT! DOESN’T!”