I work in a burrito place. One day, a customer comes through the line and orders a burrito bowl.

Me: “Would you like black beans or pinto beans?”

Customer: “Black beans, but only six.”

Me: “Six scoops?”

Customer: “No. Six beans.”

Me: “Six… individual black beans?”

Customer: “Yes. Exactly six.”

I carefully separate six black beans from the serving spoon and place them in her bowl.

Customer: “Count them.”

Me: “There are six.”

Customer: “I want you to count them out loud so I can make sure.”

She leans over the counter and watches closely as I point to each bean.

Me: “One… two… three… four… five… six.”

She studies the bowl for a moment, apparently satisfied that I haven’t smuggled in a seventh bean.

Customer: “Okay. Now you can add the rice.”

I put the rice on as quickly as I can, before she starts demanding an exact number of grains. This seems to upset her.

I hate working in fast food so much. So. So. Much.

I am a manager at a pizza place. One evening, a customer calls absolutely livid about a problem with her pizzas.

Customer: “This is completely unacceptable! I want you to fix this!”

Me: “I’m sorry about the problem, ma’am. Let me see what I can do.”

I spend several minutes offering every solution available to me, but she refuses all of them.

Me: “I’m trying to resolve this for you, but you’ve rejected every option I’ve offered. What would you like me to do?”

Customer: “I want your name.”

Me: “My name is [My Name], and this is store number [number].”

Customer: “Now give me your address.”

Me: “Our address is [Store Address].”

Customer: “No! I want your home address so I can make sure I mention the right person.”

Me: “You are crazy if you think I’m giving you my home address.”

She starts ranting and cussing, so I hang up. A few moments later, she calls back and gets my manager instead.

Customer: “The person I just spoke to refused to give me his home address. I need it so I can identify him properly in my complaint.”

My Manager: “Certainly. His home address is 100 Not Happening Lane, Yikesborough; it’s the house past all the red flags.”

Then he hangs up too.

I used to work as a waitress in a French-themed sandwich shop. Note that we were not, in fact, in France. The only truly French things about us were that we used baguettes for our sandwiches and one of our sandwich guys was from France.

An exasperated older lady approaches me.

Customer: “Is the butter you use actually French?”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “Do you actually ship it in from France?”

Me: “No, ma’am. We don’t ship our ingredients in from France.”

She starts getting upset.

Customer: “But your shop has ‘France’ in the name! It’s right there! So how could your butter not be French?!”

Me: “Just because a location is in the name doesn’t mean everything is from that location, just inspired by.”

Customer: “Don’t be stupid! Of course it is, or it would be a lie, and I would sue you!”

Me: “In that case, I have some bad news for you about Kentucky Fried Chicken, Outback Steakhouse, California Pizza Kitchen, and China Wok…”

I bring the soup out to a customer and warn them:

Me: “Careful, this is very hot!”

Customer: “Any way it could be hotter? I love hot soup.”

Me: “When I started bringing this out from the kitchen, it was already boiling.”

Customer: “So could you make it hotter than that?”

Me: “If we make it hotter, it won’t be a soup anymore; it’ll be a gas.”

Customer: “Oh… okay.”

I’m putting down the other diner’s appetizers, and then his eyes go wide:

Customer: “Oh… is that why they call it gas-tronomy?!”

I used to answer the non-emergency 101 police calls. I would get calls like “there’s a seagull on my balcony” and “why is my printer not working”, which I admit are not emergencies but also not within our purview.

Then, a woman calls demanding that I tell her why a van is parked outside her house.

Caller: “There’s a van parked outside my house.”

Me: “Is it blocking your driveway or causing an obstruction?”

Caller: “No.”

Me: “Is anyone inside it behaving suspiciously?”

Caller: “I don’t know. I don’t recognise it.”

Me: “Does the van have a business name or phone number on the side?”

Caller: “Yes.”

Me: “Then you could speak to the people from the van or call the business number and ask why it’s there.”

Caller: “You expect me to go and talk to them?”

Me: “If you want to know why they’re there, that would be the quickest way to find out.”

Caller: “I shouldn’t have to tolerate unfamiliar vehicles on my street!”

Me: “Unless it’s parked illegally, causing an obstruction, or connected to suspicious activity, there isn’t anything the police can do.”

Caller: “What if I speak to them and they turn out to be miscreants or robbers?”

Me: “Then you call the police.”

Caller: “I’m doing that now!”

Me: “So you’ve already established that they’re criminals, have you?”

Caller: “Well… no, but criminals often drive vans!”

Me: “Madam, call the number on the side of the van. Talk to them. There’s nothing I can do from here.”

Caller: “Fine! But I hope they’re criminals because then I can call you back and tell you I told you so!”