(Brockville is just half an hour across the Saint Lawrence Seaway from Albany, New York, but the nearest border crossing for vehicles is almost an hour away,  This is approximately one am on a Saturday night drive-thru shift in August.)

Me: “Welcome to [Restaurant]. How may I help you?”

Customer: *obviously inebriated* “What country am I in?”

Me: *thinking I am being pranked* “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Passenger: *in the same car, also inebriated*  “What country is this?”

Me: “Canada. Can I take your order?”

Customer: “Canada? F*** ! Are you sure?”

Me: “Yes, sir, this is Canada. Would you like to order?”

Passenger: “S***. Yeah, get me a cheeseburger, medium fries, and Sprite. Canada, f***!”

Customer: “We don’t have f****** time to eat!” *to me* “Get me a Coke, large onion rings, and a bacon cheeseburger!  Are you sure this is Canada?”

Me: “Yep, this is Canada. What would you like on your burgers?”

Customer: “You’re not f****** with me, are you?”

Me: “No, I’m sure this is Canada. What would you like on your burgers?”

Passenger: “Ketchup, mustard—”

Customer: *interrupting* “I told you we don’t have time to eat if we’re in f****** Canada!” *to me* “I want ketchup and onions.”

Passenger: “If you can f****** eat, so can I. ‘Sides, we can eat in the car, a**hole.” *to me* “I want ketchup, mustard, onions, and extra peppers. We’re really the h*** in Canada?”

Me: “Yes, you are really in Canada! Your total comes to [total].”

(I’m biting my lip trying not to laugh. They drive through to the window.)

Me: “Hi. Your total is [total]; would you like ketchup for your fries and onion rings?”

Customer: “You’re not f****** kidding, are you? This is really Canada?!”

Me: “I’m not kidding. I was born here and I am positive that this is Canada. Would you like ketchup?”

Passenger: “H***, give me the ketchup, since we’re in f****** Canada!”

(I’m taking really deep breaths trying not to laugh, and I’m now also trying to figure out what being in Canada has to do with wanting ketchup on fries.)

Customer: “Do you take American dough?” *under breath* “How the h*** are we in f****** Canada!”

Me: “Yes, we take American money at [percentage], so your total is [total].”

Passenger: “S***. You’re an a**hole!” *hiccups, looks at me, collecting the money* “Oops, not you; he’s the f****** idiot. You’re pretty!”

Me: “Thank you! Here are your food and your change. Enjoy!”

Customer: “How the h*** am I supposed to do that? We’re in f****** Canada?”

(They speed off, leaving me with my head sticking out the drive-thru window trying to get enough air to breathe as I am laughing so hard. Five minutes later, I finally collect myself enough to get back to work, and as I head into the back, I hear my manager call me in a raspy voice. As I enter the office, I see she is still bent over in her chair at the desk with tears on her cheeks.)

Manager: “Are you sure we’re in Canada?”

(I work at a popular Canadian coffee chain, largely credited for coining the term “double double,” and we get a lot of foreign tourists or immigrants who aren’t familiar with the menu.)

Me: “Hi! What can I get for you today?”

Customer: “I want a double double, medium size, one milk, three sugars.”

(We’re actually quite used to this happening, as some people seem to think “double double” is the name of our coffee. We’re encouraged to gently educate people unaware that it’s not.)

Me: “Oh, sir, a double double is actually just a phrase that means two creams and two sugars. For future reference, just order a medium one milk three sugars to avoid confusion!”

Customer: “No, I want a double double.”

Me: “So… you want one coffee double double, one milk three sugars?”

Customer: “No, double double! One double double!”

Me: “O… kay.”

(I proceeded to tell the coworker making my orders — who was at this point quite confused — the customer’s actual order. The customer got the coffee and paid the total, and then left with some angry-sounding muttering and a harsh glare. My supervisor who happens to speak the language the man was muttering in informed me he’d just called me a useless b****. Ah, people.)

(I work as a cashier. Sometimes, if people have more than one of the same item, they will only put one up on the belt, and I can change the quantity manually. This customer has seven juice containers but only gives me one to scan.)

Customer: “And times this by six.”

(I look in her cart and see that she has a total of seven items.)

Me: “You actually have seven of these.”

Customer: “No, I said times it by six.”

Me: “But you have seven. Or did you want to put one back and only buy six?”

Customer: “I don’t think you understand. I said times it by six!”

Me: “Okay…”

(I scan the item, change it to six, and put it behind me with the items to go back on the shelf.)

Customer: “What are you doing? I want them all!”

Me: “You said you only wanted six.”

Customer: “No, I said times it by six. You don’t even understand what I’m saying! I want all of them!”

Me: “So, you do want all seven of them?”

Customer: “Oh, my God, this is ridiculous. Listen to me. You scan that item, and you times it by six!”

Me: “But you have seven of them. If you want all seven, then I have to charge you for seven.”

Customer: “Have you been listening to me at all? You times it by six; this isn’t complicated.”

(The customer has been sighing and rolling her eyes at me the whole time, like she can’t believe my stupidity. I decide to stop trying to explain it to her, scan the seventh item, and put it in her bag. She looks confusedly at the screen showing her order for about two minutes, making me worry that she’s going to yell at me for charging her for seven, before finally paying.)

Customer: “My God! Just ridiculous!”

(She stormed out in a huff, leaving me to wonder when counting to seven became so difficult.)

(In the early 2000s, I work as a cashier for a beer retailer. As you would expect, we have a good mix of customers, some friendly, some not so much. It is about five minutes to close when a customer shows up. There is only one person working besides me.)

Customer: “Give me [beer order].”

([Coworker] goes to get the order.)

Me: “Your total comes to [total].”

Customer: “Oh, s***! I forgot my wallet at home. Stay open until I get back!”

Me: “Sir, we close in five minutes. I can’t promise we’ll be open.”

Customer: “You stay open or I’ll drive my f****** truck through the window!”

(Ten minutes later, he comes back. We haven’t closed off the till yet, so we let him back in to buy his beer.)

Me: “Sir, we’re just part-time employees doing our jobs. There’s no need to threaten us.”

Customer: “Have you heard about the bank robberies in the neighbourhood?”

(There have been two or three bank robberies in the area in the past few months.)

Me: “Yeah…”

Customer: “Maybe you’ll be next!”

(With that, I typed up a report of what had happened, which both my coworker and I signed, and left it for the store supervisor. We also included the guy’s license plate number, which the store supervisor included in his police report the next morning. The customer was banned for life when he next returned.)

(I work in a call center. Our workstations are set up in groups of four — two positions side by side facing the other two positions side by side. One evening, the agent beside me gets a call where the customer is challenging her on procedure and demands to speak to a manager. She complies. After a few minutes, the manager, also a woman, comes out and asks me what the procedures are; it isn’t the manager’s job to know how we do our jobs. I tell her exactly what the agent beside me has said and she goes back and gives the customer that information.)

Coworker: “You said exactly what I said.”

Me: “Yep. Your customer was a man, weren’t they?”

Coworker: “How did you know?”

Me: “Unfortunately, some guys won’t take information unless it comes from a man’s mouth.”

(We go back to work.)