(I am a sixteen-year-old female, working as a server at a small town cafe. A woman, looking to be her late 20s, wearing rose/pinkish tinted sunglasses and a pink purse, walks in and sits down in a booth. The woman seems already angry about something, but I serve her as I do with all my other customers. She orders a chicken tender meal, which I later bring out to her. I check back in a few minutes later only to find the woman’s face contorted with RAGE and DISGUST.)

Me: “Is everything okay, ma’am?”

Customer: *begins yelling* “How dare you serve these to me? What is f****** wrong with you, you fat b****! Are you trying to kill your customers?!”

Me: “I’m terribly sorry, ma’am? What seems to be the issue with the chicken?”

Customer: “Are you blind? They’re clearly raw!”

(I looked at these thoroughly-cooked chicken tenders, and, not being bold enough to call out the woman’s pink-tinted sunglasses, tried to apologize to get her to calm down. Take into account that the woman was still wearing her sunglasses inside a cafe… at night time. I tried to compensate for the food by offering her a free meal and different food, but nothing seemed to be a good enough offer for her. She became so enraged that she finally took off her sunglasses, and her eyes locked on her “raw” chicken. The light-bulb finally turned on. Her rose/pink tinted sunglasses had made inside of the chicken tender appear raw. She shot a look of pure hate into my eyes before storming out without paying for her meal.)

(I have a customer that comes in every single day, two minutes before we close, and orders a sixteen-ounce Americano with room for cream. He is never overly friendly, but not necessarily rude, so I don’t have a problem with him… Until one day, when I don’t give him enough room.)

Customer: “Do you not know what ‘room’ means?”

Me: “I’m sorry; you didn’t specify, so I just gave you as much room as most people.”

Customer: “Do you not know what ‘room’ means or do you think I’m stupid? Remake it, and put room in it.”

Me: “I’ll remake it, but next time you could ask a little nicer. It was an honest mistake.”

Customer: “Nice has nothing to do with it!”

Me: “Nice has everything to do with it!”

(It took me months to be able to make his drink again, because whenever he walked up to the counter I would refuse to make it and another barista would do it for me. He’s still incredibly rude, and if I have to make his Americano, I use decaf. I do not feel bad.)

(I work at a drive-thru coffee shop that shares a parking lot with a burger joint. One day a woman comes through my drive-thru.)

Me: “Welcome to [Coffee Shop]. What can I get for you today?”

Customer: “Yeah, give me a [specialty burger] and a large fry.”

Me: “Ma’am, this is [Coffee Shop].”

Customer: “You’re not [Burger Chain that has no stores on this side of town]?”

Me: “No, ma’am, this is [Coffee Shop].”

Customer: “Are you sure?!“

Me: *looking at my apron and all the espresso equipment* “Yes.”

(There is a regular who always makes a big deal of making her order and spelling out her name in a very slow, condescending tone. When I am resolved to leave for another job, I finally have had enough of it.)

Customer: “I’ll have the [usual]. That’s the [uuuuuuuuuusual], okay? And that’s for Pam. That’s Peeeeeeeeeeeee, Ayyyyyyyyyyyyyy, Emmmm—”

Me: “Hold on; slow down. B?”

Customer: *huffily* “AHEM, PEEEEEEeeeeee! Ayyyy—”

Me: “Whoa, whoa. D?”

Customer: “PEEEEEEE—”

Me: “G?”

Customer: *turning red* “P!”

Me: “Steve?”

Customer: “NO, it’s PAM!”

Me: “Oh, Pa-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-aaam.”

(She glared at me, snatched her ticket without another word, and moved on down the line. The next time she started in, I played dumb again and wrote down her name as “Pem” with a backwards E.)

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(I work at a coffee franchise. The particular location is nestled into the corner of a gas station, and as such, we have no area for customers to sit and eat their food. It’s almost nine pm, and a middle-aged man walks up to my register, and I’m the only senior employee in the store at the moment.)

Customer: “I’ll take a large [coffee] — two milk, two sugar — your soup of the day, and a BLT.”

Me: “Okay, will that be everything for today?”

Customer: “Can I get the food in those china dishes you guys have?”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, we don’t carry china dishes at this location. If you’d like, I can direct you to [Other Location nearby with a dining area, owned by the same person as my location].”

Customer: “Bulls***! I know you guys have those d*** dishes; I got my food in them just yesterday!”

Me: “I’m not sure what you want me to do, sir; we don’t have any dishes at this location. We have no tables, as we’re in a gas station, so there is no reason for us to store them here.”

Customer: “I see plenty of f****** reason! I want my food in them! I want to speak to your supervisor.”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but she is only in from six until three. However, I’m currently acting supervisor as the senior employee right now.”

Customer: “Well, f*** you, then! I’m going to [Place I told him he should go to]!” *storms out*

New Hire: “Well, that was interesting. Are you worried he’s going to complain?”

Me: “Nah, the camera’s are recording everything, and [Manager] knows me better than that. There’s no way she’s going to take the word of some dude who wants to eat soup on the floor of a gas station over me.”

(As I predicted, my manager called me in during a shift next week to bring up the complaint from the man. She had gone over the tape and heard the whole exchange. Apparently he had gone to the other location and threw a tantrum because, as it had passed nine pm, they had tossed their soup because were going to close in a half-hour. She told me I did all I could, and even tried to make sure the owner still got a sale.)