(I work in a coffee shop. Two ladies are taking their sweet time ordering, talking as if the barista is invisible, and getting frustrated as he attempts to figure out what they want. They order frozen drinks. One very specifically asks for almond milk; the other does not but asks for extra whip. I make the drinks and call them… and call them… One of the ladies finally gets up, now on her phone. I try to tell her to enjoy her beverage, but she aggressively ignores me. Two seconds pass and the almond lady comes back up to my station.)

Customer: “EXCUSE me?!”

Me: “Yes?”

Customer: “You gave my friend whipped cream but not me!”

Me: “Yes?”

Customer: “Why didn’t I get whipped cream?!”

Me: “Because your drink is made with a dairy alternative, it doesn’t get it automatically.”

Customer: “But I want it!”

Me: “Okay, I can give it to you, but there is no dairy-free whipped cream.”

Customer: “What?! Why not?”

Me: “We—“

Customer: *cutting me off* “Whatever. I still want it.”

(I give her a small amount.)

Customer: “NO, more!”

(A regular amount.)

Customer: “MORE!”

(I fill the cup.)

Customer: “THANKS!”

(The following evening, the almond lady returns!)

Customer: “Yeah… I got this drink yesterday.”

(I cut her off.)

Me: “Yes, I made it.”

(Her face freezes. She knows she’s been caught, and deciding whether to abort. Nope, she proceeds.)

Customer: “Well, it made me sick!“

Me: “Because of the whipped cream that I told you wasn’t dairy free?”

Customer: “Yes… but it made me sick?”

(Silence.)

Customer: “Can I get a free drink?”

(I scream mentally.)

Customer: “IT MADE ME SICK!”

(A customer orders.)

Coworker: “So, that was a medium double-double and a medium iced coffee?”

Customer: “Yep.”

Coworker: “A medium double-double and an iced coffee come to [total]. Is that everything?”

Customer: “Yep.”

Coworker: “All right, we’ll have that at the window for you.”

Me: *at the window* “Hi! One medium coffee and one medium iced coffee?”

Customer: “Mmhm.”

Me: “All right, that will be [total].”

(The customer pays. I go to hand them their iced coffee.)

Customer: “Oh, that wasn’t what I ordered.”

(While I am working on cash, a customer comes into the coffee shop, outraged.)

Me: “Hi! Welcome to [Coffee Shop]. How may I help you?”

Customer: “I was in the pathetic drive-thru, and they only filled my cup halfway! See?” *shoves a cup in my face*

Me: “I am so sorry. Let me get you a new one right away. What drink was it?”

Customer: “A double-double.” *hands me his old cup aggressively while cussing continuously* “Give me one of those free drink coupons, as well.”

Me: “Of course.”

(He’s literally shaking as I hand him his new cup and coupon; he snatches them from my hand and leaves.)

Manager: “Don’t worry; he did that yesterday, too.”

(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.)