(I work for a major shipping company. We offer packing services in addition to shipping. A customer comes in and the following occurs:)

Customer: “Can someone help me bring in what I need shipped? It’s heavy.”

Me: “Sure, I’ll grab it for you.”

(I’m expecting it to be a box, but when she opens her trunk all I see is a carpet of candy wrappers, empty soda containers, and assorted garbage. I’m so distracted by the sea of bright colors I don’t see what she needs me to carry right away. Then, I see two brackish, twisted, and rusted pieces of metal that I assume are car parts. They look absolutely disgusting. Already regretting every choice I ever made that lead me to this point, I grab one in each hand. They aren’t heavy at all, despite being metal; they are completely hollow. When I set them on the scale, they weigh less than 25 pounds combined and my hands are completely coated in black grime. I give her a blank stare.)

Customer: *in a completely cavalier, not sorry at all tone* “Sorry.”

(She just didn’t want to touch them. Why the f*** couldn’t whoever put them in her trunk for her wrap them in a garbage bag, at the very least?)

(I’m working in customer service, answering phones and emails.)

Me:“[Company], [My Name] speaking. How may I help you?”

Customer: “I just wanted to check if my parcels were already delivered and could be picked up.”

Me: “Sure thing! Let me just check.” *he tells me his account data and I pull up his account* “It looks like there is one parcel from Amazon ready to be picked up. It was just delivered this morning.”

Customer: “Only one? I’m expecting two parcels.”

Me: “Sadly, yes. Could you tell me the second parcels tracking number so I can check the online tracking?”

Customer: “I did not get one.”

Me: “In that case, you could contact the sender and ask for it. They should be able to tell you.”

Customer: “It’s Amazon, as well. I only got the tracking number for the parcel that was delivered today. The second one is a gift.”

Me: “That’s strange. You should still get a tracking number if you have Amazon send it as a gift.”

Customer: “No. I ordered the parcel you received today and checked ‘gift.’ So, Amazon will send me a gift!”

(I had to explain to him that no, checking “gift” did not prompt Amazon to send you something for free and yes, I was sure about that. He seemed rather crestfallen and when I told my colleague about it she laughed and suggested trying it, as well.)

(This is right after the 2016 US elections. An elderly man comes into the store. He’s got that urgent look on his face people usually reserve for when they’re trying to overnight tax paperwork to their accountants.)

Me: “How can I help you?”

Elderly Man: “I need to send a telegram.”

Me: “Do you mean a fax?”

Elderly Man: “No.”

Me: “An email?”

Elderly Man: “No.”

Me: “Are you trying to send money?”

Elderly Man: “No. I want you to get on the wire and send this message!” *holds up a legal pad with handwriting on it*

Me: “Sorry, sir. They don’t really… do that anymore. If you have an address, I can send it for you.”

Elderly Man: “But how do I make sure only the recipient gets it?”

Me: “I can send it Certified Mail with a Restricted Delivery. You just need the address.”

Elderly Man: “Okay.” *goes out to his car*

(He’s back about an hour later with an envelope in hand.)

Elderly Man: “I need to send this that way you were talking about so only this man gets it.”

(I took the envelope from him. It was addressed to Donald Trump, Fox News, Tampa, Florida. I then had to explain to him how addresses work. He didn’t seem to understand, but he let me know that he had a great idea that was going to solve a major social issue and he needed to send this message. Sorry, everyone. I’m apparently directly responsible for the lack of a resolution to the current [social issue] crisis.)

(This is right after the 2016 elections:)

Customer: “I need to overnight this to [City in South Florida].”

Me: “All right, anything hazardous, liquid, toxic, or perishable?”

Customer: “It’s liquid.”

Me: “All right, what kind?”

Customer: “Why do you need to know?”

Me: “Because there are some liquids that can’t go overnight because they aren’t safe in the pressurized hold of an airplane.”

Customer: “This won’t go on an airplane. It’s only going four hours away.”

Me: “Actually, [City in south Florida] is outside the distribution area for [Local Terminal], so this item with be flown out tonight to [Central Hub] where it will be sorted with other packages meant for [Destination Terminal] and flown back in tonight.”

Customer: “That’s stupid! Trump is gonna fix that!”

Me: “Trump is going to change [Major Global Shipping Company]’s entire business model and stop them from using central distribution?”

Customer: “Yeah. It’s stupid.”

Me: *dead inside* “Okay. I still need to know what kind of liquid it is.”

(It was alcohol. We’re not licensed to ship alcohol. When he asked why, I wish I’d been smart enough to tell him that Trump hasn’t fixed us yet.)

(I work at a shipping store. Most of my job revolves around typing in shipping and return addresses. All information is saved under the customer’s phone number for future shipments. This transaction takes place during the Christmas season. The customer is a middle-aged woman.)

Me: “I can help whoever is next.”

Customer: “Yes, I need to ship this box to California.”

Me: “We can handle that. Looks like you need a shipping label, so can I start by getting your phone number?”

Customer: “…” *silently glaring at me*

Me: “Can I get your phone number, please?”

Customer: *with obvious annoyance* “You shouldn’t hit on people at work; it’s very rude.”

Me: *now a little wary* “I’m sorry, let me clarify. Our computer saves your name and address under your phone number for future shipments, so if you come back later we won’t have to type in all your information again.”

Customer: “No! You were hitting on me. I want to speak to the owner.”

Me: “If you insist. He’s right here.”

Owner: *has been listening the whole time* “He’s not lying; we need your number for our computer for contact info and future shipments.”

Customer: “This is ridiculous. Do you harass all your female customers like this?”

Owner: “Ma’am, we are trying to help, but we cannot ship your package without your information.”

Customer: “Bull! You are all a bunch of stalkers!”

Owner: “I’m sorry you feel that way, but if you’re not going to cooperate, then you need to leave. We are very busy today and I don’t have time for this.”

Customer: *now yelling* “This is insane! You’re all sexist pigs! You’ll be hearing from my lawyer you—“ *slew of insults and foul language*

Owner: “I’m done. Get the h*** out of my store and don’t come back.”

Customer: *turns and starts walking out*

Me: “Next customer over here!”

New Customer: *talking loudly so the first customer can hear* “MY NUMBER IS [Number].”

Me: *bursts out laughing* “Thank you for that. You just made my day!”