(The store I work in is being re-modeled and the closest bathrooms are downstairs.)

Customer: “Where is the bathroom?”

Me: “Downstairs. The elevators are just over there.”

Customer: “Is it far? My son really has to go.”

Me: “It’ll take you two minutes to get there.”

Customer: “I don’t think he’ll make it.”

(She walks away at this point with her son. I turn to my coworkers to figure out who is going to clean the jean wall, empty the dressing rooms, and straighten the tables. I do the jeans.)

Coworker: “OH, MY GOD! I JUST TOUCHED PEE PEE!”

(She really says, ”pee pee,” as it is the kids department. The woman has let her son pee on the clothes in the dressing room. I put trash bags on my hands and grab the trash can.)

Me: “I’ll pick it up. They could have peed on the cheap clothes. He peed on the Dockers.”

(That’s when I picked up the top pair and found the poo poo.)

(We close at 7:00 pm on Sundays, which is fine in winter, because it’s dark out and most of the time, people don’t really come in. When it gets lighter out, however, we get an after-dinner rush and have to coax a lot of people out of the store. My coworker is pulling out the cash drawers when a customer walks in during closing.)

Coworker: “Oh! I’m sorry, ma’am. We just closed.”

Customer: “Oh! What time?”

Coworker: “Just now, at seven o’clock.”

Customer: “Isn’t it two minutes before seven?”

(She is referring to the large clock behind our register, which is always slow.)

Coworker: “No, ma’am, I’m sorry; it is exactly seven o’clock. But maybe we can ring up a book for you. Do you know exactly what you want?”

Customer: “No, but can I just browse for a couple of minutes or so?”

Coworker: *pained smile* “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

Me: *jumping in* “Don’t worry. We open every day at 10:00 am. You can come in then!”

Customer: “Oh. Well, I suppose you’re closed.”

(She proceeds to sigh and stand in front of the cash registers, quietly and somberly, for at least ten seconds before finally, slowly, shambling out. Whether or not she thought silently pouting would actually get us to change our minds about staying open for her is beyond me!)

Customer: “Do you clean coats?”

Me: “Yes, we do.”

Customer: “How much is it?”

Me: “It depends, miss. Some coats are longer, and the fabric is thicker; those will need more dry-cleaning chemical to soak in and more time to dry, and will therefore cost more.”

Customer: “Okay, so, how much for a long coat?”

Me: “You’ll have to show me the item, because I can’t estimate the cost until I’ve seen it. I’m sorry.”

Customer: “Here’s my stuff.”

Me: “These coats are wool and are as long as a person. They will be $18.95 each. That blouse is white silk, but the problem is that there are yellow stains on it and we cannot guarantee it will be cleaned fully or even at all, due to the apparent age of the stain. Would you like to clean it still?”

Customer: “Yeah, just try it.”

Me: “Okay.” *processes the ticket order for the customer*

Customer: “I also want to pay for it now.”

Me: “Okay. The total for two coats and that blouse is $39.85.”

(The customer pays and leaves. One week later:)

Customer: “Okay, I’m here to pick up my stuff.”

Me: “I remember your name. Here it is.”

(The customer picks up and leaves. Two hours later:)

Customer: *brings in blouse* “Uh, this isn’t cleaned.”

Me: “I did mention to you that we would try, but we couldn’t promise or guarantee you that it would be cleaned fully. It spread out, but it’s not noticeable to the naked eye unless people look at it carefully. You said you still want to dry-clean it despite my protests.”

Customer: “I understand, but I believe that it is in good business practice to give me back a portion of the money I paid, since it wasn’t cleaned properly.”

Me: “We could not complete the cleaning; our chemicals would’ve been too harsh if we kept trying to get the stains out and would have disintegrated the silk fabric, and then it would have been ruined for good. We will not refund you all of your money for that item, but some, okay?”

Customer: “Okay.”

Me: “Here is your money.”

(I refund $3.50 out of $6.95 for cleaning said blouse.)

Customer: *looks down in shock* “When I said, ‘portion,’ I meant this amount.” *points at $18.95*

Me: “That was for the coat, not the blouse. Since that was cleaned properly and stains from that coat were gone, we will not refund you for that.”

Customer: “I still believe it is good business practice that you refund me a portion of the payment.”

Me: “You mean half of the bill, right?”

Customer: “Well…”

Me: “We will not, and it’s up to you to choose whether accept the $3.50 or not.”

Customer: “Fine. I’ll just never come back here again, then.”

(I said nothing more, and the customer left when they realized they weren’t getting anything else.)

(I’m at the pharmacy in my doctor’s office with my mom. I’m 26, and my mom is in her late 50s. We are waiting for my name to be called, chatting and doing work on our phones, when a man who seems to be in his late 50s to mid 60s approaches us.)

Man: “Excuse me, ladies.” *sounding affronted* “You put those down now!”

Mom: “What?”

Man: “If you’re on those, then you won’t be able to say, ‘Good morning.’”

Me: “Good morning.”

(He nodded and walked off, looking smug. My mom and I shared a look. It irked us that he thought he could make insinuating comments to strangers like that, as if we were being totally frivolous and inattentive to people around us just because we were using our phones. For sure, people use them more than they should, but why does that give you the right to police others’ phone use? It was patronizing and totally weird.)

(I am working at a coffee shop. We are a popular place for people to go before they start their commute to work and, as such, we’re always slammed in the morning. This morning is no different, with a line out the door. We have three registers open, but the drinks still funnel to the one person making drinks, so wait times can be rather long. I am at a register ringing people up.)

Me: “Can I help the next customer?”

Customer: “Yes, I would like a large, non-fat, bone-dry cappuccino.”

Me: “All right, a large, non-fat, bone-dry cappuccino. Just to make sure I understand you properly, you want two shots of espresso and a cup full of non-fat foam?”

Customer: “I said, ‘bone-dry,’ didn’t I?”

Me: “Just making sure. Your total is [amount], and your drink will come up over on the counter. Can I please get a name for the cup?”

(The customer gives me her name, pays, and moves over to wait for her drink. I ring up a few more customers before my manager comes over and asks me to take over for the person at the bar, as they need a break. I move over and start making drinks. I eventually get to the bone-dry cappuccino. One thing to know about non-fat milk is it doesn’t make great foam. It takes a lot of time, patience, and skill to get 20 ounces of usable foam. I end up steaming two pitchers of milk to get enough foam for her drink. I am newer at the time and don’t have all that much skill yet. I finish the drink and hand it out.)

Me: “I have a large, bone-dry cappuccino for [Customer].”

(The customer comes over and picks up the drink.)

Customer: “What is this? It’s empty!”

Me: “It is your bone-dry cappuccino; it is not empty.”

(The customer takes off the lid and looks in.)

Customer: “This is nothing but foam! Why would I want a cup of foam? I asked for a hot chocolate! How hard is that to get right?!”

(I put on my upset customer smile.)

Me: “I’m very sorry about that. I can remake it for you.”

(I take back the drink, make a hot chocolate and hand it out a minute later.)

Me: “Here you are, one large hot chocolate. I hope you enjoy your day!”

(The customer takes a sip of the drink.)

Customer: “This has milk in it, and I don’t taste any coffee! I’m lactose intolerant; are you trying to kill me?!”

Me: “Ma’am, you ordered a non-fat cappuccino and then decided you wanted a hot chocolate. At no point did you ask for something with soy, which is our only non-dairy option. Did you want a soy latte?”

Customer: *shouting* “No! I don’t drink soy! It makes you into a f****** [homophobic slur]. All I asked for was a large black coffee, and you are too stupid and slow to figure out how to make one. I’ve been waiting 20 minutes for a black coffee! How incompetent are you?!”

(At this point the entire cafe is silently staring at this woman. I walk over, get a coffee, and put it down on the counter in a controlled manner.)

Me: *in a very measured tone* “I hope you have a wonderful day.”

(The customer looks at me and then at everyone else. She looks like she wants to say something. After a minute she finally takes the coffee and flounces out.)

Manager: “I’m going to take over for you. Why don’t you go into the walk-in for a few minutes. Just so you know, it is sound proof.”

(And I did, and it was sound proof.)

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