I work in a deli. When you buy fried chicken by the piece, it costs a lot more than if you buy the full eight-piece.

Customer: “I’ll take four fried breasts.”

Breasts are $2.29 a piece, so it comes out to over nine bucks plus tax.

Me: “Well, sir, I’ll just go ahead and give you the four breasts, but I’ll add two legs and two wings to make it an eight-piece, which would be a lot cheaper at $6.99. You can save a few bucks and get more chicken!”

He then looks at me like I’m an idiot.

Customer: “I don’t want that much. F*** this. I’m going to [Fast Food Chicken Place].”

Customer: “I’d like three whole salmons.”

Me: “Sure, you mean three sides?”

Customer: “No. Three eight-ounce pieces.”

Me: “These are all eight ounces. Which one would you like?”

Customer: “This one.”

I grab it and wait for her to pick out the other two. She stares at me for a while.

Me: “Which other one do you want?”

Customer: “I only want the one.”

Customer: “I want three tuna steaks, and I want these right here.”

Me: “I can’t—”

Customer: “Can’t what?! Count?!”

Me: “—see where you’re pointing from this side of the case.”

Customer: *Turns red*

The other day, the supermarket I work at had a pipe break and needed the water shut off through the whole store while it was getting fixed. We had no working bathrooms for my entire closing shift because of this. We got a warning ahead of time that the water would be shut off around 9:30, and the store closes at 10:00. This meant that we had to close our deli department early before the water shut off. This wasn’t much of a problem since, on a regular day, we get maybe three customers past 8:00 pm.

Around 9:00, this dude walked up.

Customer: “You’re closed?!”

Me: “Yes. Unfortunately, there was a plumbing issue so we’ve had to close early. However, we can still slice meat and cheese right now, and we have boxes of fried chicken.”

Customer: *Starting to walk away* “Isn’t there an 800 number I can call?”

Me: “For what?”

Customer: *Huffy* “To tell corporate how you guys are deciding to close early and didn’t tell anyone. This is ridiculous!”

Me: *Flabbergasted* “Um, well, if you’d like, you could talk to the manager in charge tonight.”

Customer: “No, I’ll just find the number online.”

He walked smugly away, after clearly putting me in my place with his comments.

I mean, I’m genuinely curious about what he believed to be the best course of action here. Are we expected to call everyone within a thirty-mile radius, letting them know that our already empty deli would be closing an hour earlier than usual? Or did he trust that our psychic link with him would alert us of his craving for a sub? I guess I’ll never know.

At my job, we have a number system. To come in, pull a number and wait until we call this number. We have huge signs all over the place. As anyone who has worked retail (or read this site) can tell you, customers don’t read signs.

A million and one times a day I am calling out numbers and get a customer asking where the numbers are. While the big red number dispenser in the middle of the floor has four different signs pointing at it and is literally right next to your elbow.

This is fine, whatever. They take a number and wait. Until this woman.

Me: “Sixteen, can I please help guest number sixteen?”

Customer: “I have been waiting for twenty minutes! When is someone going to help me?”

She hasn’t. I literally watched her just walk in.

Me: *Cheery smile even though I can tell she’s going to be a nightmare.* “I’m so sorry ma’am. We have to help customers with the numbers they pull. If you pull a number from the red dispenser, we will give you a shout when it’s your turn.”

I gesture to the number dispenser and turn to number sixteen, a patient woman who waits for the other to walk toward the dispenser before asking me about a product. As I am helping my customer, I keep an eye on this woman. Some customers need ‘help’ getting a number. I got around the counter and show her the number dispenser and pulled out number twenty and hand it to her.

Me: “My coworker is helping seventeen and I will help eighteen. It shouldn’t be more than ten minutes.”

I am still smiling even as my teeth are starting to grind. She walks around looking lost and annoyed and bugs another coworker who checks her number and tells her she will be helped when we get to twenty. Somehow in two minutes she loses her number. I wrap up eighteen.

Me: “Number nineteen, please.”

She saunters up. I know she’s not nineteen. I keep my smile plastered on my face.

Me: “Sorry, ma’am, I am helping nineteen. You’re next after that.”

Customer: “I’m in a hurry so I am between eighteen and nineteen.”

The math doesn’t work but whatever. I want to tell her to get stuffed. I want to help nineteen who is standing behind this woman looking longingly at the bread behind my head. My manager has noticed the commotion and tells me to help the entitled brat. I get my coworker to take nineteen and I deal with her order.

It’s ridiculously complicated and time-consuming. She has this condescending tone that says she got exactly what she wanted. I don’t say another word except yes ma’am and no ma’am. Several items if ordered differently would be cheaper. I tell guests this usually, but she didn’t want to follow the rules. By inconveniencing everyone she lost money and I took my sweet time putting it together.

By the time I am finished the lobby has filled and emptied several times. If she had waited her turn, I would have helped her save time and money and I would have asked another worker for help. Oops.