A regular customer of ours gets coffee every day, and it always comes to $3.23. He hands me $3.

Customer: “We’re good, right?”

Me: “No, I still need $.23”

Customer: “But then I have to go out to my truck for change.”

Me: “That’s okay! I will wait.”

Customer: “Ah, come on! I’m here every day. I thought I had it like that.”

Me: “No, sir, you do not, “have it like that”. It’s $3.23. If I did this today, next time it’s, “Oh, I forgot my wallet,” and it spirals.”

Customer: “But I come in every day!”

Me: “So do most of our customers.”

Customer: “Well, I want this for $3. I’ll pay the rest tomorrow.”

Me: “Okay!”

I take the coffee and take a big gulp out of it.

Me: “That should be about $3 worth now.”

Customer: *Stares at me shocked.*

Me: “We’re good, right?”

Still shocked, he silently walks out with his now-smaller coffee. 

He paid with his card every day after that…

It’s been a bad day filled with very difficult clients, and I’m on the phone with a coworker as we jointly try to figure out how to help a triad of clients who have already been bounced around a great deal.

The person who works the front desk has gone home with a medical emergency, but I still have clients scheduled to come in today, so I can’t just lock the front door. However, I’m also busier than a three-legged dog in a flea convention, so I’m not answering phones, which are ringing off the hook.

We’ve got a service that’s supposed to answer them and set up appointments, call backs, and take messages after they ring three times without an answer, so I’m not worried.

I’ve got two returns open physically on my desk, a third open on my computer, and I’m on the phone with a coworker talking through these interlinked returns while I shovel something that’s pretending to be lunch into my mouth. 

A woman comes in. I check to see if she’s my client by asking her name, which is not the name of my appointment, and I say:

Me: “I’ll get to you when I’m able.”

Honestly, I expect her to get sick of the wait and walk out. SHE DOES NOT HAVE AN APPOINTMENT. This is my scheduled time for shoveling food into my mouth and discussing these three returns with my coworker. THAT IS WHAT IS ON MY SCHEDULE FOR THE NEXT FIFTEEN MINUTES, unless my next client comes in early, and it’s been a client coming in early sort of day.

A few minutes later, she quite rudely interrupts my discussion with my coworker by reaching over and unplugging my headset.

Her: “I can hear you discussing sensitive details of other clients, which is making me quite nervous about how my own data security will be handled. Now, I have been waiting ten minutes, and I’d like to be seen.”

Keep in mind, since I am aware she’s present, I’ve neither been saying any names nor discussing specific numbers, just talking about tax law and talking about the three clients’ living and financial situations and how that affects it. They’ve got a complicated living situation, which isn’t important to the story, and an even more complicated financial one that’s even less important. The point is that what I’m sharing is not ‘identifiable’ information.

Me: “Okay. What do you want?”

Her: “I’d like to make an appointment.”

Me: “We’d prefer you call in.”

Her: “No one’s been answering.”

If the service hasn’t been doing what they’re supposed to do, that’s concerning, but many clients just hang up when the line transfers. I’m not sure which it is in this situation, but I make a memo to let my supervisors know.

Me: “Okay. What do you need the appointment for?”

Her: “I need to do an amendment.”

Me: “Okay. Any particular reason?”

Her: “I filed my taxes with you guys, and I need to file a Schedule H.” 

For those of you who are curious, a Schedule H is something you must file if you have ‘in-home employees’ such as nannies and au pairs.

Me: *Confused.* “The Schedule H should have been filed with the original return?”

Her: “It wasn’t. That’s why I need to file an amendment.”

Me: “Okay, so was it our error that led to that?”

Her: “No. I got the schedule H done elsewhere with another accountant, and now I need to file it with my taxes.”

Me: *Internally.* “Why. Why, why, why, why, why, would you do that?!”

Me: *Externally.* “Okay. Since it wasn’t our error, you’ll have to pay for the amendment. It’ll be a $29 fee for the federal amendment, a $70 one for the state amendment, and… I don’t have the price of a schedule H memorized, but I think that’s in the $50 to $70 range this year.”

Her: “Wait. Why are you charging me for the Schedule H?”

Me: “Because it’ll be part of the amendment.”

Her: “But I already paid to get it done elsewhere.”

Me: “Yes, and we’ll have to redo it to file our amendment.”

Her: “But I already paid to get it done elsewhere.”

Me: “And we’ll have to redo it.”

Her: “But why?”

Me: “Ma’am, if you walked into a sandwich shop and asked for a roast beef sandwich, and then brought your own roast beef and tried to get them to use it and demanded a discount for it, would you expect them to do so?”

Her: “What I… You’re very rude.”

Me: “I am.”

Her: “Is it possible to file an amendment myself?”

Me: “It is.”

Her: “I think I will.”

Me: “Okay. Goodbye.”

I plugged my headset back in and turned my attention away from her and got back to work. I did hear the door ding as she left.

A customer in the charity shop where I volunteer wanted a bag for her purchase. We usually charge for a new one, but I offered her one from the pile we keep, which comes with the donations inside. 

She opened it up, stuck her head inside, and had a good sniff.

Customer: “I’m very fussy about my bags.”

Me: “Perhaps you would rather have one of our new ones? They are 10p.”

She took one look at the new bag and said:

Customer: “I’m not paying 10p for that!

She took the “unsmelly” one!

I’m currently working at a department store that has a very generous return policy, and customers can return anything at any time. I’m going through some opening duties when the manager comes storming over to me:

Manager: “Why is corporate grilling me on customers complaining that they can’t buy anything in the store?! We’re losing sales!”

Me: “What do they mean by not buying anything?”

Manager: “They said there was no one to check out their items! That’s your department! What do you have to say for yourself?!”

Me: “Well, that’s one of my departments. You’re not hiring more people, so we’re always short-staffed.”

Manager: “Yes, but you’re not on your own, so if you organized yourself better then—”

Me: “—actually, I am. I open every morning, and the mid-shift person always comes in around 11 AM. I’m by myself for three hours, dealing with returns, checking out, opening fitting rooms, helping with sizes, and many other things.”

Manager: “Well, you should still be able to multitask and—”

Me: “—not to mention that many customers return bunches of stuff like forty items, and I have to stick with them for almost an hour. And you can bet that these are the customers with no proof of purchase, so I have to look for every single transaction on their account, as per store policy.”

Manager: “…Are you done?”

Me: “Are you?”

Manager: “…yes.”

Me: “Then I’m done. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I still have fifteen tasks to complete before we open, and you’ve put me behind.”

My manager assigned two people to open after that. When corporate complained about the extra hours, he reminded them about the lost sales and customer complaints, so told them to pick the lesser of two evils. They’ll find another way to figure out how to get one minimum-wage person to do the jobs of three people soon, but for now, it’s a small victory.

I work for a fast-food place in the USA with a reputation for having the nicest/friendliest employees, and always ending each customer interaction with “my pleasure.”

Customer: “Yeah, I want [deluxe] chicken sandwich.”

Me: “Sure thing! That will be [price], please.”

Customer: “What? H*** no! I’m not paying that much! I usually pay [lower price].”

Me: “That’s for our standard sandwich, ma’am. You asked for the deluxe, which is [price].”

Customer: “I want the deluxe for the standard price.”

Me: “I’m afraid I can’t do that, ma’am.”

Customer: “I thought y’all were supposed to be nice.”

Me: “I’m happy to help you explore our menu for other options within your price range, but the deluxe is a set price and there’s nothing I can do to lower it, I’m afraid.”

Customer: “It’s a good thing y’all behind that glass or I’d come in there and beat yo’ a**.”

Sadly, in this neighborhood, threats like that are not uncommon.

Me: “Ma’am, I will ask you to either make an order or leave.”

Customer: “Fine. Regular sandwich.”

Me: “That will be [price].”

Customer: “Y’all supposed to say ‘my pleasure’!”

Me: “That would be lying, ma’am, and lying isn’t nice.”