(When I was in high school, I was pretty goth. Growing up I haven’t changed much, other than altering it to what I jokingly call “Casual Vampire Goth Mom,” now that I have a daughter who is currently six and a half. I just have a darker wardrobe with bold lipsticks. One day on Facebook I see one of those text pictures saying, “My daughter is the sweetest, most beautiful, evil, psychotic creature you will ever know,” and I share it with a story from this week.)

Daughter: “Remember when you used to take me to play funerals?”

Me: “Play funerals?”

Daughter: “Yeah, play funerals!”

Me: “Um… What did we do there?”

Daughter: “Ugh, play funerals! I was like three, there were moms, and lots of kids, and toys, and we would play while you talked to each other.”

Me: “You mean play group?!”

Daughter: *starts laughing* “Oh, yeah. Play group.”

(My mother comments on the post.)

Mother: “Where have you been taking my granddaughter and telling her it’s fun?!”

Me: “You mean you never took me to play funerals when I was little? What kind of childhood did I have?”

Mother: “You used to have play funerals with your cousins; I wanted nothing to do with that.”

Me: “Oh, my God! I forgot about that! I’ve been goth since I was a wee baby, and now my own wee baby has it in her blood!”

(I work in the hot foods section of a deli in a busy mall. I make the pizzas. I get an order from a customer who is notorious for returning and complaining about pizzas, in order to get free food. Towards the end of this night, our pizza oven isn’t working properly and it is cooking pizzas a little bit slower. After giving the customer his pizza and checking with him that it is all right, he returns no more than five minutes later.)

Me: “Did you need something, sir?”

Customer: “Yeah, uh.. I don’t think the chicken on my pizza is cooked. I think it’s raw.”

Me: “That’s impossible; our chicken is actually precooked before we put it on the pizza. In fact, all of our meats are precooked.”

Customer: “No, no… It’s definitely raw.”

(I open the pizza box to have a look and the pizza is perfectly cooked.)

Me: “I’m sorry sir, but your pizza looks perfectly fine to me. I’d be happy to remake one for you, but unfortunately our oven isn’t working properly tonight and it may take 30 to 40 minutes for your pizza to cook. Would you mind waiting?”

Customer: “No, that’s too long. My kids are hungry. [Grocery Store] is supposed to be one of the best in Canada! This is ridiculous; I just want my pizza!”

Me: “Well, sir, your pizza is perfectly safe to eat. The chicken is cooked, if that’s all your concern is about. You can either take this pizza, wait half an hour for another one, or you can go to customer service and get refunded. Which would you prefer?”

Customer: “I just want a pizza.”

Me: *internally screaming* “Yes. Are you taking this one, or would you like to wait? Or would you prefer to speak with a manager?” *hoping the manager will get him to make a decision*

Customer: “I just want a pizza!” *stares at me for a moment* “Actually, get your manager.”

(I page for the store manager to come to my department. The manager comes up to me first to see what’s up, and I tell him what happened.)

Manager: *to the customer* “So, what’s the problem here?”

Customer: “My chicken isn’t cooked. I want a new pizza and she says it will take half an hour! I can’t wait that long!”

Manager: “Well, I can tell you right now that your chicken is, in fact, cooked. It comes to us already cooked. It comes from a bag, and they top your pizza with it.”

Customer: “Well, it’s raw!”

(I’m holding his pizza box and open it to show the manager.)

Manager: “There’s nothing wrong with your pizza; it looks perfect! In fact, there’s almost too much chicken.” *winks at me*

Customer: “Well, I don’t like the chicken. My kids wanted [Grocery Store]’s pizza.” *gestures towards the food court behind us* “They could have picked anything out there. What are you going to do to fix this?”

Manager: “Look, you can take this perfectly fine pizza, you can wait 30 minutes for another one, or we can refund you and you guys can eat elsewhere. Those are the only options; which would you like?”

Customer: “Well, the pizza is cold now!”

Manager: “[My Name], you can stick this pizza back in the oven for him, can’t you?”

Me: “Yeah, no problem! Five minutes and it will be nice and warm! Is that okay, sir?”

Customer: “Yeah… I guess. I’ll be back in five minutes.” *walks away*

Manager: “It’s one of those nights. He just wants free food. Your pizza looks amazing; I’ll actually take a slice of pepperoni!”

Me: “Yeah, we all know him over here. He’s notorious for returning and complaining.”

Manager: “Well, I know him now. He won’t be getting away with it anymore!”

(He ended up taking the pizza. I can’t wait until he comes back to complain!)

(I’m at the hardware store, speaking to a manager, since my water tank is broken and I have not heard back from the plumber.)

Me: “I’m waiting to be called by the plumber. I was told they would call within 48 hours.”

Manager: “Yeah, you have to wait for their call. There’s nothing I can do.”

Me: “But it’s been more than 48 hours.”

Manager: “No. It’s within 48 open business hours.”

Me: “Seriously?”

Manager: “Eight hours per day.”

Me: “Right, so… six days?!”

Manager: “Probably.”

Me: “But I need the tank. I have no hot water.”

Manager: “Maybe you’d like the emergency service, then? It’s $200 extra, and it’s within 24 hours.”

Me: “You mean three days?”

Manager: “Well… no. A day is 24 hours.”

While visiting a seaside town, I was dining at the sushi bar inside a big seafood restaurant right on the water. Part of it extended on a pier out over the bay. I had seen some mad lads catching themselves a free crab dinner nearby the day before, just by leaning over the edge with a pair of rakes and grabbing.

I was quite surprised to overhear the owner and a waitress discussing what to do about a customer who was irate about their meal — I forget what, but maybe pasta — coming with that vile from-frozen fake crab instead of the real crab the menu promised.

The owner apparently was sick to death of shelling crabs and decided he was not prepping any more crab that day. That’s his choice, but he should have just said he was out!

Obviously a diner is going to be expecting real crab when A: the menu says that’s the meat, B: there are swarms of the critters almost within reach of their table, and C: it’s the best-reputed seafood restaurant in a seaside vacation town.

But no, he just tried to substitute a vastly inferior ingredient without warning anyone, and acted annoyed that the diners had the nerve to call him on it!

I ate there many times over the years, and he seems like a good guy, who usually prides himself on quality, but on that day he was Not Always Working, for sure.

(I work at a thrift shop. For our Halloween season, we have our own merchandise for sale; that is, it’s not used or a donation. We have already set up our Halloween section, as it’s the busiest time of year for us. I’m working as a “Costume Consultant,” which means it’s my job to help customers find their perfect costumes. I see a customer looking at some costumes and looking confused.)

Me: “Hello! Did you need any help in Halloween today?”

Customer: “Yes, I was looking at these costumes.”

Me: “No problem! Was there something else you wanted to add to your costume, or did you have a question about the product?”

Customer: “I was wondering if there was a bigger size.”

(I go to look through the costumes for the sizes, when I notice in big block letters along the front it says, “ONE SIZE FITS MOST.”)

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am, but there is only one size for this costume. If you’d like, you can take it to the fitting rooms to try on.”

Customer: “Oh, no, I just came from the fitting rooms. It’s too tiring to try it on again. Just find me the biggest one.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but these are all the same size. There isn’t a ‘bigger’ one.”

Customer: “I know that you guys have a bigger one! I can’t possibly fit into these ones!”

(The customer is not overweight by any means, and the costumes are fairly stretchy.)

Me: “I’m certain you can wear these ones. I have bigger hips and bust than you do, and I wore this costume last year.”

Customer: “No, we’ll just have to look through all of them.”

(The customer then takes every costume off the rack, and stretches them all out to see which one is “the biggest.”)

Me: “Ma’am, I would appreciate if you didn’t stretch the fabric so tight. It could tear. Now, I can promise you, on my life, that these are all the same.”

Customer: “Well, I guess I’ll go with this one. It’s the biggest.”

(The customer then just walked away. I was left standing there, confused.)