(I’m the manager at a busy gas station with a convenience store. There has been a major power outage in our little town; power has been out for seven hours at this point and nothing is open. Still, people pull in hoping to gas up or buy some snacks, and I spend a good part of my day telling people we are closed as I can’t leave the building. A lady pulls in, gets out of her car, and starts walking to the door, so I open it to talk to her.)

Me: “Sorry, ma’am, power’s out and we’re closed.”

Customer: “I know, but can’t you just sell me one little bag of ice?”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I can’t. Not today, anyway.”

Customer: “You can’t even sell me one single bag of ice?”

Me: “I’m afraid not. Sorry.”

Customer: *in an angry, sing-song tone* “Well, how am I supposed to keep my food cold if you won’t sell me any ice?!”

Me: “Ma’am, we can’t even keep our own food cold. I’m sorry, but I don’t know what else to tell you.”

Customer: “What the h*** am I supposed to do, then?!”

Me: “Well, you could cross the bridge in to [Town three minutes away in another province]. I know for a fact that they have power, and they sell ice, as well.”

Customer: “I don’t go to [Town] because I don’t like bridges! So there!”

Me: “Oh, okay, then. I’m sorry. Have a good night.”

(As she walked off, I looked over at our electric ice freezer that had been sitting out in the hot sun for seven hours and wondered how she thought we were keeping our ice frozen. They were basically bags of slush at that point.)

A young man came into our restaurant, drank two beers, ate a meal, and then dine-and-dashed on one of our servers. A few weeks later, he comes in alone again. We believe that we recognize him as the dine-and-dasher from a few weeks before and keep a close eye on him. At the end of his meal, when he believes no one is looking, he picks up his backpack and speed-walks out the front door. This time, however, our kitchen manager is lurking behind the podium and follows the young man outside. A few moments later, they both return, the young man looking rather sheepish. He apologizes to his server profusely for “forgetting” to pay before he left. He then produces a wallet with several cards. 

The first one does not work. He slips it into his pocket.

The second doesn’t work. He slips it into his pocket.

“Just one minute,” he says, “I’ve got another card in my truck.” He drops his backpack on the seat of the booth, goes outside for a few minutes, and comes back with another card. This card also does not work. The young man is becoming very anxious and is starting to shake. Fifteen minutes have passed and it is obvious that he has no way to pay for his meal. He pulls out his iPhone and calls somebody. He tries another card. No dice. The card goes into his pocket. 

Then, he hands his wallet to the server and says that he is meeting someone outside and they will come in and pay for his meal. He takes his backpack and leaves. He does not come back. 

We open the wallet to find two unregistered [Coffee Shop] loyalty cards, one [Burger Joint] gift card, and an expired condom. That’s it.

We don’t have to pay for walk-outs; of course, we did our due diligence. But we think we embarrassed him enough that he will not be back.

(I work at the order desk for a company that supplies drugstores with all of their merchandise – pharmaceuticals, candy, cigarettes, you name it. Drugstore employees call me and give me their orders, which I enter on my computer. I work in the office area, and all of the items are stored in a separate warehouse. I can depend on having a conversation like this at least once a week:)

Customer: “I want some cigarettes.”

Me: “Sure. What kind?”

Customer: “Uh… I don’t know the name. You know, the ones in the red box.”

Me: “Sorry, I don’t know which ones those are.”

Customer: “The red box.”

Me: “I’ll need a name, sir, plus a quantity.”

Customer: “Tell you what, honey. You run over to wherever you store those things, find alllllll the ones in red boxes, write down the names, and then come tell me what they are.”

Me: “I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir–”

Customer: “Let me guess; too much work?”

Me: “No. I mean that the cigarettes are stored in a warehouse, and I don’t have access to it.”

Customer: “Yeah, right. Wait— You’re new, aren’t you?”

Me: “No, sir. I’ve worked here for six months.”

Customer: “Then you should know which cigarettes come in red boxes!”

Me: *sigh*

(We’re at a museum on a family vacation. We’re at the front desk paying to get in.)

My Mom: *studying the prices* “Four stuniors.”

(She has mashed up “two seniors” — my parents — and “two students” — my brother and me.)

Employee: “How about a family pass?”

(As a small casual dining restaurant, we get our fair share of rude or clueless customers. Note that even after closing time, we usually only lock the entrance door once we’ve finished all our closing duties and every employee is out the door. This sometimes results in a customer or two walking in past closing time while we’re cleaning up or even while we’re just about ready to head out. When that happens, we simply inform them that the kitchen is closed. Usually, they understand, maybe buy a ready-made combo from our front fridge if we have any left over, and leave. The following is a collection of stories in which certain customers have been… memorable. Incident #1. A customer walks up to our door, stares at our posted opening hours on the door for a while, checks his phone, stares at the opening hours again, and then finally opens the door and walks in.)

Coworker: “Sorry, sir, we’re closed.”

Customer #1: *with genuine surprise* “Really?”

(Incident #2:)

Customer #2: *walks in and grabs one of our menus to look over*

Cashier: “I’m sorry. As we’re closed, we can’t take any more orders.”

Customer #2: *huffs and puffs* “What? Why not?”

(The cashier explains our closing time and that the kitchen is closed for orders.)

Customer #2: *flustered and indignant* “Well, why didn’t you guys lock the doors, then, huh?! If I’m able to walk into here, then that means you’re open! You guys should be able to take my order! I don’t understand!”

(He continues to throw a fit until he finally leaves. Incident #3: We’ve finished all closing duties and everyone is gathered in the front with our bags as our manager flips off all our lights. Just before she goes to set the alarm, we hear the chime of the front door.)

Customer #3: *walks in, talking to her husband presumably*

Coworker: “Umm, we’re closed.”

Customer #3: *looks at all of us, startled* “You are?”

Us: *standing in the complete pitch dark with all our bags and none of us in uniform* “Yes.”

(Incident #4: In this one, it is the rare instance we do lock the door before we start closing duties, due to being so busy that it is past closing by the time we finish all our orders. A customer walks up to the door and starts jiggling the locked door unsuccessfully. One of my coworkers pauses her cleaning to go up to the door and speaks up to be heard through the glass.)

Coworker: “I’m sorry, madam! We’ve been closed for over thirty minutes!”

Customer #4: *sees my coworker approaching and starts shouting through the glass* “HI, YES, I WOULD LIKE TO ORDER ONE OF YOUR BOWLS, TO GO. I WANT THE SALMON ONE, WITH WHITE RICE—”

(Eventually, my coworker was able to get her to understand that we were closed.)