I’m outside guiding cars onto the track when a customer in a compact SUV rolls down his window halfway and looks concerned.

Customer: “Uh, does this take the bugs off?”

Me: “Yes, sir, especially with the premium wash. The brushes and pre-soak are made for that.”

Customer: “Good, because I drove through like… I don’t know, a moth apocalypse last night.”

I walk around to check the front of his car, and his description is shockingly accurate. I easily count over twenty dead moths on his windshield alone.

Me: “Were… were you aiming for them?”

Customer: “They were aiming for me!”

We were able to clean his car, but I also asked him where this happened so I can plan an alternative route!

I’m a Norse Pagan, meaning I worship Odin, Freya, Loki, Thor, etc. I have a haircut similar to Ragnar Lothbrok on the show “Vikings”, as many of us Pagans have that haircut.

A weird thing happened to me whilst I was at work. I work at a car wash where we manually clean the cars. As I was scrubbing a car, the woman driving jumped out of her car and ran to me with a cross in her hand.

Woman: “SATAN, BEGONE! REMOVE YOURSELF FROM THIS PERSON! TURN THEM AWAY FROM SATAN!”

Me: “What the actual f***?”

My coworkers removed her. Apparently, she had seen my haircut and said, “That is Pagan hair — the hair of Satan!”

Shortly after that, her husband stepped out and apologised for his wife’s behaviour. I actually got to have an early break and had a sit down with him, as the car wash had a cafe. He told me their son had come out as gay four days earlier, and his mother didn’t approve, so she’d been — and I quote — “OVERLY RELIGIOUS” lately.

But the dad accepted him, so that was good.

The good news is that the woman is banned from the car wash. We have a no-tolerance policy for customers who get violent or verbally abuse employees. Luckily, the husband didn’t.

I work at a gas station with a car wash. Some people get confused as to how buying a wash is supposed to work. You can pay three ways. You can drive right up to the machine kiosk and use your credit card — but ONLY your credit card — and it can be a little tricky. Most people either like to pay inside by cash or pay at the pump while they’re getting gas. This is easier. Then, they’re given a code number on their receipt to enter at the kiosk, which will start their car wash.

An already inconvenienced old man comes to the counter.

Customer: “My receipt didn’t print out! I couldn’t get the car wash that I paid for!”

This happens commonly enough that I know well that I can just call up the pump transaction on the register and reprint his receipt with his car wash code on it. Naturally, the first thing I ask him is:

Me: “What pump number are you at?”

Customer: “Nine!”

I’m not getting any readout from pump nine. Now, this can happen, too; sometimes the network is slow. He’s getting more and more upset that his car washing wants aren’t being instantly gratified.

Customer: “I’m going to send in a complaint!”

And off he stormed to his car in protest.

It wasn’t too busy, so I looked out the window after him and noticed that there was NO car at pump nine. This irate old man was heading to pump eight, where his vehicle was waiting. I called up the screen to pump eight, and there was his car wash code. I printed it out, and I even had a trainee run out there and give it to him, but he was still determined to be cranky as he accepted it.

An innocuous encounter reminded me of an incident a few years back. Having filled my car up with fuel, on the spur of the moment, I decided to wash it, also. (We’d had some bad weather, but a period of nice weather was now predicted, and it was filthy.)

The automatic car wash was out of order, so I pulled into the bay for the self-service jet wash. I chose the cheapest option as I knew it gave me just enough time to give the car a basic wash, and off I started.

Midway through, I was approached by a lady who ignored the fact I was in the middle of washing my car and, holding out a piece of paper, asked me for directions. I politely asked her to wait a couple of minutes until my time ran out. I had to raise my voice a little as I hadn’t stopped my task and the jet wash was a bit noisy.

I certainly did not speak in anger, and I thought I smiled. But this lady obviously took it the wrong way and went off on me, shouting that I was rude, that there had been no reason for me to shout at her, that she was a lady in distress, etc. I was flabbergasted but, mindful of my time, I just kept going, intending to try and clarify my response once I was done — which would be in less than forty-five seconds now according to the large digital countdown clock.

Before I ran out of time, the lady finished her rant, and stomped off to her car, throwing a “Thanks for nothing” comment over her shoulder, and peeled out of the forecourt.

When I was done, I just stood there for a long moment trying to comprehend what had been going through that lady’s mind. If I’d stopped, I would have had a half-washed car, and I’m sure she wasn’t going to stump up for more time!

Doubly bizarre was that within ten metres was a full forecourt of other people who could have helped, as could the attendants in the station itself.

The incident that brought this to mind? I was approached again and asked a question today whilst washing my car at a different car wash. Before I could even reply, the lady realised and said, “Oh, sorry. It can wait until you’re finished.” And she did wait. Once done, I helped her, she said thanks, and off we both went on our way

A few years ago, I was working a couple of days a week in a car wash in my city. The work was backbreaking, and the pay was minimal, but at least I had fun with most of the colleagues there.

This car wash was part of a big national chain and sold store cards on which customers could put money. Using this card would net you a small discount.

One day, I was manning the POS [Point Of Sale], greeting customers, and taking their orders. Usually, this is a pretty straightforward process. You tell me what program you want, I punch it in on the register, you pay by cash, card, or store card, and you can drive on into the washing area. Most people purchased a wash program at the register and went through the program without issue. This person, though, was just… special.

Me: “Good day, sir. Which program would you like?”

The man in question didn’t even look at me when he said what program he wanted and held his store card out for me to take. I punched in his program and scanned his card.

Me: “I’m sorry sir, it seems there isn’t enough credit on this card left to purchase any of our programs.”

The customer still wasn’t looking at me.

Customer: “Scan it again.”

I scanned it fine the first time, but I scanned it again just for show. Of course, there was still not enough credit on it.

Me: “I’m afraid there’s not enough credit on the card. Would you like to put some money on it now?”

He finally looked at me.

Customer: “There’s a couple hundred euros on there!”

Me: “Well, the system says there isn’t. Maybe that was on a different card?”

It’s not that unusual for customers to have multiple different cards with us — for example, one for personal use and one for company use.

Customer: *Raising his voice* “I’ve put loads of cash on that card. Are you calling me a liar?”

Me: “No, sir, I’m simply telling you what our system says is on your card. I can’t process your order without any credit. You could pay some other way if you want.”

Customer: “I’ve put hundreds of euros on that card, and you lot stole it from me!

I simply didn’t know what to say against this absurd accusation.

Customer: “This whole chain stinks! Don’t you know who I am? I could buy this whole garbage heap in a heartbeat if I wanted to!”

At this point, for some reason, the customer flipped open his sun visor. Another store card fell out of it into his lap. He stopped ranting and handed it to me without looking at me. To my satisfaction, his face turned very red.

I took his card and scanned it. Lo and behold, THIS card indeed had hundreds of euros of store credit on it. I processed his order and handed it back to him with the biggest, smuggest smile I could muster.

Me: “There you go! Have a nice day!”

The customer then drove off without so much as a word.

Some part of me wished that I could do more to chastise his entitled a**, but my supervisor always said to “kill ’em with kindness” and I think I give it the old college try.