(I work at a commercially owned deli within a large chain store, where we get the weirdest customers. One day, I was waiting on a customer when another approached in the middle of the conversation. Keep in mind, Customer 1 was a very pasty gamer/nerd kind of person, almost stereotypical and very obviously white. He was also wearing a shirt that said, “I wish every day was Taco Tuesday.”)
Me: Oh, you must really like Mexican food!
Customer 1: Heh, yeah. I really do.
Customer 2: Hey! That’s really rude and rather racist of you to say something like that just because he’s Mexican!
(I was rather taken aback by this and couldn’t respond before the first customer turned to the woman.)
Cust. 1: Lady, I don’t really know what you’re talking about… I’m pretty sure she was just commenting on my shirt. And I’m definitely not Hispanic.
(Customer 2 gawked for a bit before awkwardly walking away, not even getting her deli order in. I haven’t seen her since.)

A lady purchased some pork brawn earlier that day (all the old people buy it), and came back later to complain that it wasn’t made the right way.
She also brought in a friend for “moral support.”
Her: “This is just rubbish, you should throw this all out. it’s not made to the original recipe”
Me: “Sorry ma’am, this is made by another company, and I’m not able to do that since I am not a supervisor”
Her: “Well just don’t sell it! It’s rubbish, and you should never sell this again! I’m going to speak to (Store Owner) about this. I want to speak to (Store Owner) about this”
I got my supervisor and steered clear of that lady

(It’s about 7:40 pm. The deli stops serving hot foods at seven, and deli clerks are to clock out by nine. We are behind as it is. My coworker and I are cleaning the deep fryers, washing dishes, and the like.)

Customer: *approaches hastily* “Are you guys closed?”

Coworker: *stops washing dishes* “Yeah, we are. Sorry.”

Customer: *annoyed* “Well, that’s just great! When do you normally close?!”

Coworker: “We close every night at seven, ma’am.”

(The customer lady checks her phone to see the time and just grunts annoyingly.)

Customer: “So, you’re telling me I can’t get four chicken tenders?!”

(There is a pan of old, kind of burnt chicken tenders in the now turned-off display case. It’s not been heated for way over the ten-minute rule and was dried out even before we turned off the heat. I stop in the middle of cleaning the deep fryer and turn to her.)

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. But we stop serving food from that side of the deli at seven. I can get you something from our salad bar—”

Customer: *interrupting me* “You’re telling me you can’t give me four chicken strips?!”

Me: “No, ma’am…”

Customer: “Then what’re you gonna do with them?!”

Me: “Normally at seven, if the tenders are still fresh, we put them in the fridge to be packaged up tomorrow and sold as cold food. But those have been sitting for a while even before we closed, so—”

Customer: *interrupting again* “You can’t give me four d*** chicken tenders?!”

Me: “I just said—”

Coworker: “Sorry, we can’t. It’s the rules.”

Me: “Yeah, it’d be against code for me to serve them to you.”

Customer: “Fine! Whatever!” *leaves*

(My coworker and I exchange looks and then get back to what we were doing. The customer comes back not two minutes later.)

Customer: “So, you’re telling me I can’t get four d*** chicken tenders?!”

Me: *internally screaming* “No, ma’am. You cannot. If you really want some, we do have some cold packaged tenders over at the cold display case.”

Customer: “But isn’t that stale, too?”

Coworker: “No, it’s not, ma’am. It was cooled and packaged before it was stale, keeping it mostly fresh for you—”

Customer: “So, you’re telling me that the packaged tenders are stale?”

Coworker: “No… It’s not. It’s more like…” *starts trying to explain to her how bacteria in food and temperature works like on our food handlers test*

Customer: “So, the packaged ones are filled with bacteria.”

Coworker: “No. It’s…” *starts repeating himself*

Me: “It’s not how it works, ma’am. And it’s just too late. The hot food is closed down for the night. We’re just following the rules.”

Customer: “I just want four chicken tenders!”

Coworker: *starts explaining again*

Me: “We’re not supposed to, ma’am. We don’t make the rules.”

Customer: “So, you’re telling me the packaged tenders have bacteria in them?!”

Coworker: *getting really tired of repeating himself*

Me: “Look, I’m sorry, ma’am. But we just don’t want to give you bad food and get in trouble. All right?”

(That seems to have done it, because she then leaves again and doesn’t come back.)

Coworker: *after a few minutes* “I miss her.”

Me: “Me, too… If she comes back, I wanna make sure to throw those tenders into the compost right in front of her.”

(In our deli, we have to change gloves when switching from handling meat to cheese, but not usually when switching between other cheeses or meats. As a result, our line moves more quickly and we use fewer gloves if we handle one kind of product for as long as possible before switching. This exact conversation happens multiple times each day.)

Me: “Hello, welcome to the deli. Are you getting any cheese today?”

Customer: “Half a pound of ham.”

Me: *after changing gloves and slicing their ham* “Anything else?”

Customer: “A pound of American cheese.”

Me: *changes gloves and slices their cheese while wondering when it became okay to ignore someone once they put on a name tag*

(I am working the night shift. A young man approaches my register:)

Customer: “Pack of [Popular Cigarettes]!”

Me: “ID, please.”

(I have the cigarettes in my hand and am waiting for his ID. He does give it to me but there is one problem; it is split down the middle, lengthwise. It literally is in two pieces. Even besides that, I can’t read the dates on it as the protective covering is gone. Everything is faded but the picture. I put the cigarettes back and hand him his ID back.)

Me: “Sorry, I cannot accept this!”

Customer: “What do you mean, you can’t accept my license? It is perfectly acceptable and valid! You’re just a b****!”

Me: “First off, I can’t read the dates, and that is not a valid license. I can be fired. Not even a cop will accept that!”

Customer: “YOU ARE GOING TO REGRET THIS, B****! Just wait; you will regret not treating me with respect!”

(The entire time he is screaming at me, he is walking to the door. At the door, he points at me and then walks out.)

Manager: “What was his problem?”

Me: “I denied him cigarettes because his license was broken in two.”

(My manager walks away, laughing. The next day, I get called to come in early.)

Store Owner: “Yesterday, did you deny someone cigarettes because his license was cracked?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, but for the record, his license was in two pieces and the protection cover was gone, so it was hard to read the license!”

Store Owner: “Well, that idiot is my son-in-law, so don’t worry about him! Plus, good job.”

(She was true to her word, especially when I found out that my manager had even spoken on my behalf about his attitude. I did see him again, but he couldn’t look me in the eye and his wife was the one I helped while he stood by the door. It was the best knowing my bosses had my back.)