(My doctor has me on a restricted diet, which includes disallowing garlic and garlic powder. Yeah, it sucks. But if I eat it, I risk lying on the ground in agony and restarting my eight weeks of treatment. I am going grocery shopping and see a special on burgers.)

Deli Worker: “Let me know if you have any questions!”

Me: “Do the steak burgers have anything besides beef, salt, and pepper in them?”

Deli Worker: *upbeat and confident* “Nope! When it says, ‘salt and pepper,’ we mean only salt and pepper!”

Me: “Great! I’ll take eight.”

(It’s a friendly and helpful interaction, and I’m happy… until I get home, and my grocery bag smells distinctly of garlic. I read the printed sticker on the burgers:)

Ingredients: “Steak, salt, pepper, garlic, rosemary, other spices.”

(Great. I need to go back — a forty-minute round trip — and return these. I hate to ask for a manager but I figure next time they might accidentally kill someone by misinformation. I explain the issue to them during the return.)

General Manager: *stares at package* “You’re allergic to what?”

Me: “Garlic. But I was specifically told it only has beef, salt, and pepper when I bought it.”

General Manager: “Oh. People make mistakes, y’know?”

Me: “I could have been really ill if I hadn’t read that before eating it.”

General Manager: “Well, with that kind of allergy you really should check the packaging.”

Me: *sarcastically* “Silly me for trusting the people who work the deli counter.”

General Manager: “Yeah, well, sometimes we have new people… I guess I can go back and talk to them but you should really read the packaging.”

Me: “Good thing I did?”

(So, next time they accidentally land someone in the hospital, know that I tried. I really did.)

Coworker: “If these people are sent into endless spirals of paralyzing existential horror by having to choose between three kinds of turkey, why do we allow them to vote?”

I work in the delivery department of a well known retail store. I had been there three weeks and was getting the hang of everything and was comfortable with the meat slicer.

Customer(with her daughter): Can I see the bottom of that pastrami? I don’t want something with too much fat.

I showed her the bottom of the meat and with a nod of approval from her, she asked for 400 grams.

I was slicing away until I guessed I had reached 400. I placed the meat on our scale and was about to price it, when she saw the meat.

Customer: Can you remove those peices, there’s too much fat.

So I removed a few prices, but most of the prices had fat on them.

Me: They all have some fat on them.

Customer: Well can you cut it out, I’m not paying for fat.

Me: I’m sorry I don’t have the means to do that, let me ask another associate of she knows.

I asked my co-worker if we were allowed to trim off fat from meat, and she told the customer we never do that.

Customer: Well someone has done it for me before, and I want it done now.

I looked at her blankly.

Customer: Well then forget it, I’m not buying that. You should find a new job, because you’re not cut out for customer service.

I didn’t respond as she stormed off. Though the word bitch was on my tongue.

After awhile a manager came asking me what happened, with Customer behind her.

I told her everything and when I mentioned the customer wanted me to trim the fat off, my manager turned to the customer and said,’ Yeah we don’t do that.

Customer: Well someone has done it for me before.

Manager: Well whoever has done that will need to be figured out, because we won’t do that.

Customer walks away.

I got my first horrible customer, and I ended up getting brownie points because I didn’t backlask on the customer, and the customer looked like an idiot. In the end win- win!

(I’m not at my best here; in my defense, I’m still pretty new at my deli job at this point. I’m going about my duties when I see a woman hovering near, but not actually at, the sandwich counter. She’s closer to our grab-and-go station and not actually looking at us so I figure she’s just picking something up and go about my work. I look back at her 30 seconds to a minute later; she’s now staring daggers directly at me with a “why aren’t you helping me” glare. I internally brace myself and go over to see what she wants.)

Me: “Hi. Can I help you?”

Customer: “I want a ham and cheese croissant.”

Me: “Okay! Would you mind filling out a sandwich form out for me so I know what exactly you would like?” *attempting to walk her over to the actual sandwich counter*

Customer: “I want a ham and cheese croissant!”

Me: “Yes. But I need to know what kind of ham, what kind of cheese, and if you’d like any condiments or veggies.”

(Looking affronted at this indignity, the customer reluctantly walks over to the sandwich counter and fills out a form, giving it back to me with the greatest contempt. It turns out she really does want just ham and cheese on a plain croissant, but at least now I know which ham and cheese. I go to the counter to build her sandwich when tragedy strikes. I see no croissants.)

Me: “It doesn’t look like we have any croissants; is there another bread option you would like?”

Customer: *glowers silently at me*

Me: *suddenly hoping there’s a croissant storage I’m unaware of* “You know what? Let me grab a coworker and make sure we don’t have any.”

(I grab a nearby coworker, and she explains to me that we don’t typically keep croissants in the deli because of how quickly they go bad, but we can grab some from the bakery. I’m a little confused about the process of scanning out croissants from the bakery to the deli so it’s taking a little bit for my coworker to explain, but I’m doing my best to keep the lady involved in the conversation, apologizing for the delay and promising that we’ll get this figured out. Unfortunately, it’s a little too much for her, as she swings her cart around and storms off, hollering dramatically as she walks away:)

Customer: “You know what?! Fine! I will buy the ingredients and just make it myself!”

Me: *to the space that was previously a customer* “Okay, good luck with that!”

(A couple of weeks later, I was talking to a cashier coworker who regaled me with a tale of this horribly rude and cranky woman who came to her line buying cheese and croissants, ranting about how horrible and expensive it was that she was having to actually make her own sandwich, and how dare the deli not have croissants. I recognized the customer immediately, apologized to the cashier for having to deal with the aftermath, and let her in on the origin story of Angry Croissant Lady.)

Customer: “Hello, can I have a pancake with Nutella, please?”

Me: “Yes, sure!”

Customer: “Just a question. I am allergic to nuts; are there any nuts in Nutella?”

Me: “Yes, there are nuts in Nut-ella.”