(We are a deli and convenience store in a very affluent and entitled community which gets SLAMMED at lunchtime. From 11:30-1:30 parking is hard to find. A woman calls the counter where I am taking orders and working register.)

Customer: “This is unbelievable! I’ve been waiting for a parking spot for over ten minutes! I’m a busy woman; you need to bring my order out to my car and I will give you the money! You also need to pick up some–” *lists a bunch of snacks and sodas* “–and bring it to me.”

(I’ve noticed the customer’s Maserati in the middle of the parking lot holding up traffic. She’s been waiting not more than 90 seconds.)

Me: “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but it is the lunch rush hour and no employee can leave the counter. Also, we do not gather your drinks and snacks. That is a service we do not provide, nor is bringing your order out to your car. You must get them yourself and bring them to the register to be checked out.”

Customer: “I have to bring my child’s lunch to school. I’m already 20 minutes late from the nail salon! I demand you bring my stuff out to my car!”

Me: “Ma’am, you want me to spend 10 minutes gathering your snacks for you, ring it up at the register, run to your car, get your money, go back to the register to get your change, and then run your money out to your car again, making every single other person’s order late?”

Customer: “Yes, or I am never coming back here again!”

(I didn’t end up doing any of that, and she screamed at us that we provided horrible customer service and she was never coming back again. Lo and behold, she was back the next day three times to buy her family breakfast, lunch, and dinner.)

(I just interrupted the task I was working on to serve a customer. When I’m done with the customer, I don’t remember what I was just doing.)

Me: “Now… was I doing things, or was I doing stuff?”

Coworker: “You were doing stuff.”

Me: “Stuff it is!”

Customer: “Can I have a pound of turkey, please?”

Me: “Which kind would you like, ma’am?”

Customer: “I’m sorry… what do you mean, ‘which kind’?”

Me: “We have over a dozen different kinds of turkey.”

Customer: “Oh, no, no, no. I’m not making decisions. I’m on vacation. You’re not getting me to make any decisions. I’m on vacation so I won’t have to deal with that stuff.”

Me: “Then how can I know which kind of turkey you want, ma’am?”

Customer: “Turkey. TUR-KEY. You know, gobble gobble! What’s so hard about that?!”

Me: “Well, do you want plain, sweet, smoked or spicy?”

Customer: “NO! I’M NOT MAKING DECISIONS! YOU CAN’T MAKE ME MAKE A DECISION! I WANT F***ING TURKEY!”

Me: *deadpan* “You want me to pick for you.”

Customer: “YES!”

Me: “All righty.”

(I grab the nearest package of turkey without looking at it and cut her a sample slice.)

Customer: “This is gross! Why would you pick this flavor?!”

Me: “Well, that’s what sometimes happens when you don’t pick the flavor you want, ma’am.”

Customer: “Whatever! Just give me a pound of that gross s***!”

(I work in a little deli/cafe as a part time job in a very small village. It’s an extremely informal atmosphere and everyone is always joking with each other and our regular customers. The owner is also the chef (and an extremely good cook); unfortunately, he is also the only chef we have at the moment so he’s been working every day including weekends since January. We also have some problems with telemarketers. Despite being told explicitly, and sometimes angrily, that we’re really not interested and not to call again, they continue to do so up to about six times a day. The biggest problem with the calls is that we only have one phone line and they often call when we are very busy, like around lunch time. This means that it blocks incoming take away orders and distracts one of people working. On this particular day we’re just calming down from a rush but the front counter is still very busy but the kitchen is okay so when the phone rings the owner picks it up in the kitchen. Normally he just tells them to “F*** Off” and puts the phone down, but he seems to be in a bit of a silly mood.)

Owner: *talking on the phone* “Hello, this is [Deli]… Look you’ve been told before we’re really not interested! STOP. CALLING. US! The owner doesn’t work here so there is no one you can talk to… Me? I’m just the chef, mate; I have no control over who our energy supplier is… All right, then. Bye.”

(The front of house is now clear so I feel like a bit of banter.)

Me: “So, [Owner], you’ve demoted yourself? What did you do?”

Owner: “Oh, it’s been a steady series of f*** ups. My constant insubordination, slacking, and undermining my ability to manage my staff didn’t help either.”

Me: “Sounds awful. I’m surprised you put up with yourself for so long.”

Owner: “Yes and the final straw came when he did a poo on table two.”

(We exchange blank looks at each other through the hatch as I don’t quite know how to respond and I don’t think he knew he was going to say that.)

Owner: “I took it too far, didn’t I?”

(I’m working in a deli at a popular store. We have roughly fourteen items in the hot box still waiting to be bought. I’m the only one there and so I go to make a call over the PA to the customers in the store. I end up saying the following instead of my original plan.)

Me: “Good Evening, [Store], and welcome to customers. If you’re wanting a nice late night feed, head over to the the hotter box for some great meals for a late night feed. All items up to 80% off, so why not steal a feed and feel good about it. Thanks for shopping at customers, the fresh food people!”

(A coworker has returned back to the deli without me knowing. I turn around, and he looks at me and states:)

Coworker: “What the heck did you just say?”

Me: “That we had food in the hot box to go?”

Coworker: “Not quite, [My Name]. Not quite exactly.”

(Meanwhile, a customer has come over to the hot box and approaches us.)

Customer: “Is this where I can steal a feed tonight?”

(Needless to say, no one has let it go with me yet.)