(I do custom sewing out of my home. I’m in the last few weeks of my pregnancy, so I’m slowing down operations so I don’t make commitments I won’t be able to keep.)

Customer: “Hi. I want this outfit made for [Event about six weeks from now].” 

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m having a baby at the end of this month, so I don’t think I’ll be able to make your deadline. But here’s a list of local commercial vendors that can accommodate you and alter it, if needed.” 

Customer: “What if I paid you extra? Can you have it done then?”

(Dude, what part of “I’m about to give birth” do you not understand?)

(I am eight months pregnant with an UNMISTAKABLE pregnant belly. I am being a bridesmaid for my sister tomorrow and need some special underwear to avoid a visible panty line under my bridesmaid dress, so I visit a popular lingerie store.)

Me: “Hi. I’m a bridesmaid tomorrow and I need some underwear for going under my gown that won’t show. Do you have any low-waisted, seamless knickers? Something that will sit under my baby bump?”

Worker: “Oh, no, not any low-waisted ones. I’d probably recommend our very popular shapewear.”

(She gestures to a pair of those squeezy knickers designed to act like a corset that goes all the way up to under your boobs — not remotely accommodating to a giant baby tummy. I stare at her, dumbstruck, for a full minute before I can find some words.)

Me: “Um… and where would the baby go when I’m wearing these?”

Worker: “Oh… um…”

Me: “I think I’ll try somewhere else.”

(I work in a men’s clothing store, and we offer tailoring services for our customers that need them. There are also several more stores of the same franchise in our city. One day, this guy walks in and looks kind of confused.)

Customer: “Hi, uh, I’m here to pick up my suit jacket?”

Me: “All right. I’ll go check the rack with tailoring jobs and get right back to you.”

(I walk in the back and see that we have no clothes for due for tailoring or ready for pick-up.)

Me: “I’m sorry; it seems we have no jackets ready for pick-up at the moment. Are you sure it was due today?”

Customer: “I’m not sure. I delivered it sometime before Christmas.”

(It is now February.)

Me: “I’m sure we would have noticed if we’d received a jacket from our tailor and it hadn’t been picked up within a few weeks. Are you sure you left it here, and not with [other stores in our city]?”

Customer: “I’m not sure. I can’t really remember, to be honest. Can you check again?”

Me: “I assure you that we have no clothing in the back that has returned from the tailor at the moment. I can, however, contact the other stores to see if any of them have it.”

Customer: “Nah, that’s fine. I got some time to kill today, anyway; I’ll stop by the other shops to check with them.”

Me: “Very well. Feel free to contact us again if you can’t track down your jacket.”

(Some days went by, and I got a call from one of the other stores, which was located in a mall, and they told me how they had the same customer stop by the shop. He had checked with all the other shops in the city, and no one had his jacket. During the conversation, the manager of a dry-cleaner located at the same mall stopped by and noticed the customer, and asked him if he was ever going to pick up his jacket from dry-cleaning.)

(My store has a really lenient return policy. We’ll even return things past the return period as long as the customers have their receipt, albeit for the item’s current, often much reduced, price.)

Me: “Hi. How are you doing today?”

Customer: “I need to return this s***.”

Me: “Oh… kay… Do you have your receipt?”

Customer: “Yeah, yeah, right here.”

(She has two bags of kids’ summer clothing. It is April and the receipt is from a year ago, WELL past the full return period of three months.)

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but these are from last summer.”

Customer: “So what? I have my receipt! They’ve never been worn; they have their tags on and everything!

Me: “Yes, but I can’t give you the full refund. It says right at the bottom that returns must be made within ninety days for a full refund. I can return them for you, but only for their current prices.”

Customer: “And how much is that gonna be?”

Me: “Probably not much, to be honest. These items are from last year.”

Customer: “So, how f****** much?!”

Me: “All right, well…”

(I scan a few of the items and they come up about a fifth of their original prices.)

Customer: “WHAT? YOU’RE RIPPING ME THE F*** OFF!”

Me: “I’m sorry you feel that way, but this is our policy.”

Customer: “You’re all a bunch of liars and scammers! I didn’t have time to come here before now!”

Me: “That—”

Customer: “My mother has cancer!”

Me: “I’m… sorry about that.”

Customer: “Yeah! I haven’t had any f****** time to do anything! I’m with her twenty-four-f******-seven. I take care of her!”

Me: “I am really sorry, but there isn’t anything I can do. You can talk to a manager, but I don’t even think they can override this.”

Customer: “I can’t believe this. You won’t give me my money back because my mother is in the hospital dying of cancer.”

Me: “…”

Customer: “This is bulls***. You’re bulls***. This place is bulls***. You’re f****** scamming customers and screwing me out of my refund. It isn’t my fault my f****** mother is dying! She has cancer!”

Me: “…”

Customer: “I can’t believe you. You must hate people with cancer, like MY MOTHER IN THE HOSPITAL WHERE I HAVE TO TAKE CARE OF HER DAY AND NIGHT.”

(She crams stuff back into her bags until they rip. I give her new bags but have no idea what to say.)

Customer: “My mother is dying and f****** has cancer and she’s in a coma, and you a**holes won’t refund me even though I have my receipt and had no idea there was a time limit.”

(She walked out, still ranting. To this day, I have a weird suspicion that she was lying about her mother with cancer, just from the way she was talking about it, probably as some kind of sympathy ploy, which frankly makes her behaviour even WORSE.)

My three siblings and I all started work in the service industry as soon as we were old enough, and out of all our experiences, my favorite Crazy Work Story is my younger sister’s.

She works in a store in the mall that sells very fun but very expensive clothing and accessories and that actually has a policy allowing employees to confront shoplifters. One day, a young guy — college-age — comes in wearing a bulging, heavy coat. Everything about his demeanor and the way he tries to avoid the employees screams, “Shoplifter!” from the moment he enters. My sister tries to keep an eye on him until he asks to go in a fitting room.

Their fitting rooms aren’t groups of stalls separated by sex but actual closet-sized rooms behind regular doors in the wall. They can only be opened from the outside by employees with keys, but, of course, customers can open them from the inside without a key. My sister unlocks a room for him and continues to keep an eye on it after he goes inside. As soon as he leaves, his coat now bulging even more, she peeks inside and sees that the room is full of anti-theft tags.

She catches up with him and asks him what all those anti-theft tags are doing in the fitting room he was using. He silently shakes his head, holds up his arms, and shrugs. The motion causes two of her store’s hats to fall out of his coat. According to my sister, “It looked like he just gave birth to them!” I can’t picture the scene without hearing a sitcom laugh track.

Well, mall security is called, and an empty-your-pockets ritual is conducted in her store’s back room. He hands over thousands of dollars’ worth of stuff from multiple stores in the mall, completely covering the table, including several very expensive gadgets from a certain computer store. Charges are pressed, and my sister is tasked with returning all the failed-to-be-stolen goods back to where they came from. (I am livid that the computer store, which had stood to lose the most money had she not caught the guy, didn’t give her a gift card or something as a reward!)

I guess the moral of the story is, if you get away with stealing thousands of dollars’ worth of stuff, quit while you’re ahead and don’t push your luck trying to steal a few hats.