(When it’s not busy, we’re allowed to find things to do to pass the time. Usually, I do things like making paper stars to fill up our tip jar, to make it seem fancier.)

Customer: “What are those things inside your jar?”

Me: “Those are paper stars. Do you want one?”

Customer: “I’d love to have one!”

(She then takes one from the jar and pops it into her mouth.)

Customer: “Thanks!”

Me: “Wait! Wait a second! That’s paper! That’s not edible!”

(Her eyes widen and she spits it into her hand.)

Customer: “I thought this was a mint!”

(I happen to have a gift card from a bookstore; however, I’m not really sure whether I’ve spent it or not yet, because I’ve had it a long time. Since I need to pick up some things, I just decide to get it checked out in the store.)

Employee: “Hello! Did you find everything okay today?”

Me: “Yeah. Also, can you check how much money is on this gift card for me, please, before you ring me up? I don’t know how much is on here.”

Employee: “Sure.”

(She checks and immediately says it’s empty. After that, she becomes almost hostile, and is adamant on keeping the “empty” gift card.)

Employee: “There’s nothing on it; you should just get rid of it!”

Me: “Um, no, thanks. I’m just going to take it back, please.”

(She hesitated, but gave me the card back, and I bought my things with my own money. When I got home, I tried to see if there was another way to check the card, and there was a number on their website. I called, and the representative told me that there was still $92 on the card. After that, it just seemed like the employee wanted my card for herself. I haven’t been back to that location since.)

(Chicken leg quarters are a flyer special this week for 99 cents a pound. We have just opened Monday morning, following a busy weekend, and we ran out of the quarters on Sunday. The store is family-owned, and for whatever reason they don’t offer rain-checks.)

Customer: “Where are the chicken legs for 99 cents?”

Me: “I’m so sorry, but we’re sold out. There should be more in later today, but we don’t know when the truck will get here.”

Customer: “What?! It’s Monday morning! How can you not have it in stock on Monday morning?! That’s when everyone does their shopping!”

(I look around at the empty store and wonder what planet she’s from.)

Me: “Again, I’m sorry, but it does happen, unfortunately. Hopefully it won’t be too long before it arrives, but I don’t know for sure.”

(The woman continues to loudly complain to her friend and to me about how I personally should be ashamed of the fact that we ran out of the featured item. This goes on for several minutes. I continue to try to be sympathetic, but it’s getting difficult.)

Me: “It is disappointing, and I apologize for the inconvenience—”

Customer: “Never mind that; give me a rain-check.”

Me: *deep breath, because I know what’s coming* “I’m so sorry, but the store doesn’t give rain-checks.”

Customer: “What?! What do you mean?! You have to! You give me a rain-check right now!”

Me: “I don’t have any rain-checks to give you.”

Customer: “Well, get some!”

Me: “Look, ma’am: it’s not in my power to do that. The store doesn’t give rain-checks.”

Customer: “Why not?!”

(I have actually asked this, and the only answer I ever got was, “Because Mr. [Owner] doesn’t want to.”)

Me: “I don’t know; it’s their business decision. You could try asking at the customer service desk.”

Customer: *preparing to storm off* “I will!”

(I’m breathing a sigh of relief, as I now think she’s somebody else’s problem, but she stops before leaving, and turns back to me.)

Customer: “How much will I be able to get on the rain-check they give me?”

Me: *groans internally* “I’m sorry, ma’am, but they’re not going to give you a rain-check.”

Customer: “WHAT?! You have to give it to me! IT’S MY RIGHT!”

(I wonder where the right to rain-checks appears in the Charter of Rights and Freedoms, while the woman berates me at length. I offer to get the manager, but she ignores me. Finally…)

Me: “You are arguing with someone who has absolutely no authority. You can keep yelling at me if it makes you feel better, but it isn’t going to change anything.”

(This finally shuts her up.)

Me: “If you would like to make a complaint about store policy, or about me, the place to do it is at the customer service desk.”

(She walked away, complaining bitterly to her friend the whole time. I heard later that she kicked up a huge fuss at customer service, who called the meat manager over to talk to her. I really wish I could have been there to see that, because he is notorious for being snippy with customers. At any rate, she left without a rain-check, and I never heard a word of complaint from my boss.)

(A good friend of mine goes to school to become a dental assistant. After a horrible, traumatizing experience when I had my wisdom teeth removed, my friend has convinced me that the dentist she works for is very gentle, listens well, and will ease my fears. She is right, and I start visiting him regularly. One night out at a club with that same friend, I am taking a drink of beer from a glass bottle, and she knocks into me, causing the bottle to chip my front tooth. I stay at her house that night, and she takes me to her office the next morning.)

Friend: “[My Name] is here to have her front tooth filed, due to an uneven edge.”

(I smirk, because I can tell she doesn’t want to admit to her colleagues that she, a dental professional, caused the “uneven edge.” We are taken back into a room where the dentist comes in and examines me.)

Dentist: “That’s a decent chip. How did you say that happened?”

Me: “[Friend], why don’t you tell him?”

Friend: “Well, um, we were out last night, and I may have… um, bumped her, which pushed her teeth into a bottle and… chipped it.”

(She is blushing profusely. Her boss and I are cracking up.)

Dentist: “Well, I did tell you to bring in new clients.”

Me: “I already come here!”

Dentist: “Job security, then? Let’s smooth that out.”

(It was a relatively painless experience, all in, and a great story we never let my friend live down.)

(This customer comes through the drive-thru.)

Customer: “Hello. I’d like an iced capp, please.”

Me: “What size would you like?”

Customer: *raises his voice* “An iced capp.”

Me: “Okay, sir. What size would you like?”

Customer: *practically yelling* “What’s so f****** difficult to understand? I want a f****** iced capp.”

Me: *I raise my voice a little* “Okay, sir. I understand you want an iced capp, but what size would you like?”

Customer: “Oh, uh… large.”

(When he drove up to the window, he was completely silent and said nothing to the cashier.)