(I work in a coffee shop inside of a hospital.)

Older Man: “I have a dilemma.”

Me: “I’m sorry, what can I do to help?”

Older Man: “I left my wallet in my car, and it’s parked way on the other side of the parking lot. Could I get tea and then send you the money?”

Me: “Umm, how will you send the money to us?”

Older Man: “Oh, I can just mail it to you.”

Me: “No, we don’t have that service set up, so I can’t give you tea, but if you’d like some water I can get you some water.”

Older Man: “Come on. You can’t just donate tea to me?”

Me: “No, it’s not my product to give away. It’s $2.75 for tea.”

Older Man: “I’m not a bum; I’m good for the money!”

Me: “I’m sure you’re not a bum, but I can’t give away product, and we do not accept payment through the mail. Maybe the hospital cafeteria can help you?”

(The cafeteria gave him tea, but he made sure to come over to tell me he would pay them back next time he was here. Did he really expect to be allowed to mail his payment in? That’s not a thing that happens.)

(I work at the cafe in a large department store, generally by myself. It was three minutes until closing, so I had my oven turned off, which I’m required to do five minutes before closing down. This means that our made-to-order items can no longer be sent through. A guest and her daughter come up to my counter.)

Guest: “Can I get two orders of chicken tenders, please?”

(The chicken tenders are a made-to-order item, and take fourteen minutes.)

Me: “I’m sorry, we are closing in three minutes, and my oven is turned off for the night.”

Guest: *storms off angrily*

Daughter: *trying to defuse the situation* “I’m sorry! We’re sorry! Have a good night.”

Guest: *who is still in earshot* “DON’T APOLOGIZE TO THAT B****!”

(The daughter glared in her mother’s direction, then gave me one more apology before following her mother out the door. At least the daughter understood.)

(This takes place in a local coffee shop. It’s December, and I’m on my way home. The customer ahead of me has been hectoring the young lady taking his order because she speaks little or no English; he’s resorted to ordering by pointing at the items on the signs over the counter.)

Server: “Huit, trente-quatre, s’il vous plait, monsieur.” *$8.34 please, sir*

Customer: *scowls as he tosses money on the counter*

Server: *trying to keep her seasonal happy face on* “Merci, et joyeux Noël à vous.” *Thank you, and Merry Christmas to you.*

Customer: *glaring* “I’m getting f****** TIRED of people NOT SAYING, ‘MERRY CHRISTMAS’! It’s CHRISTMAS! CHRISTMAS! GET IT RIGHT!”

Me: “Dude, she said, ‘Merry Christmas.’ ‘Joyeux Noël’ is FRENCH for Merry Christmas.”

Customer: “Yeah? Well, she needs to learn ENGLISH!”

Me: “This is Quebec.”

(I’m in line for a coffee. The customer currently being served is paying.)

Cashier: “Sorry, you’re 50p short.”

(The customer picks up a handful of change from the collection tin in front of her, counts it, and tries to give it to the cashier.)

Customer: “Here you go.”

Cashier: *stepping back* “Umm…”

(Another employee behind him notices and takes over.)

Employee: “How much was it?”

Cashier: “£4.75.”

Employee: “Minus 50p.” *taking money out of the register* “Here you go, madam. Don’t come back.”

Customer: *affronted* “How rude!”

Employee: “You have just tried to pay with the charitable donations of strangers. I find that rude. Take your money and get out.”

Customer: *explodes* “HOW DARE YOU?! I WANT THE MANAGER. HE ALWAYS LETS ME USE THE DONATION TIN!”

(The employee puts her hands on her hips and shouts a name, and a man comes out.)

Employee: “You know this woman?”

Manager: “Yeah. She’s the one I told you about.” *to the customer* “I said you aren’t welcome here anymore. Get out before I call the police!”

(The customer turns red as the employee speaks to her.)

Employee: “So that’s the manager and the owner telling you to get out. But before you go…” *points to the ceiling corner where there is a camera* “I’ll be sure to stick your picture up, for future reference.”

(The woman turns and calmly walks out of the cafe, but the second she crosses the threshold she floors it.)

Owner: *to me* “Coffee, on the house.”

(It wasn’t the kind I wanted, but who am I to pass it up? I did put something in the collection tin, though. After that, it seemed rude not to.)

(I work at a coffee shop.)

Customer: “I want a cafe mocha, but hold the whipped cream. Well, don’t actually hold it, ’cause that’s unsanitary.”

Me: “Uh… Okay?”

Customer: *laughing* “Oh, my gosh, I am so sorry. It’s early in the morning!”

(The time was 3:30 pm.)