(I work in a small deli. It’s a quiet afternoon and I have my back turned to the counter while I’m cleaning the chicken oven. I get the feeling I’m being watched.)

Me: “Oh, hi! Didn’t know you were there. What can I get you?”

Customer: “I want [product].”

Me: “Okay.” *gets the item, prices it for them*

Customer: “You should get some kind of noise maker so you know when people are here.”

Me: “Well, we do have a bell, right there on the bench. Or you could say hi, and I’ll know you’re there.”

Customer: “I don’t see a bell.”

(It’s literally right in front of them, and I point that out as calmly as possible.)

Customer: “Well, I bet it isn’t loud enough; I doubt you would hear it.”

Me: “Oh, I can assure you that when someone bothers to use it instead of just staring at my back, I can definitely hear it. Anything else I can get you?”

Customer: “You should get a better bell.”

(So many customers seem to think I have eyes in the back of my head. How hard is it to say hi or tap a bell?)

(I work in a grocery store deli. A mother and two kids, probably around 11 and 8, walk up to the hot bar. The customer’s kids are each demanding their mom get them something from the hot bar. After they go back and forth for a few moments, the customer finally orders.)

Customer: “I want some macaroni.”

Me: “Okay, what size would you like? Small or large?”

Customer: “Do you have a medium?”

Me: “No, ma’am.” *reaches for the cups to show her the size, now holding up both cups* “Just small and large, 8 and 16 ounces.”

Customer: “Which one is bigger?”

Me: *losing faith in humanity while I hold the large cup a little higher* “The large.”

I was shopping for deli meat when I found a bag of sliced ham with a bad seal that was so green it looked like it was soaked in green food coloring. I handed it to the person stocking some hotdogs and continued on my way.

I turned around and he was placing it back in its spot on the shelf like it was perfectly good.

(I am working in a small deli. We have a few “signature” sandwiches that are listed with the ingredients — meats, cheese, veggies, sauces — but customers can also make their own; there is a limit on how many toppings they can get. There are three people in line. The first two, both Caucasian, order a signature sandwich and the third, Asian, makes their own. I am Caucasian and I’m making the sandwiches; my coworker, who is Indian, is taking the orders.)

Me: *to the first two customers* “Would both of you like everything on your [Signature Sandwich]?”

Customer #1: “That sounds good, but could you add mayo?”

Customer #2: “Everything with ranch on mine.”

(I finish wrapping theirs while my coworker rings them out.)

Me: *to [Customer #3]* “What toppings would you like on yours?”

Customer #3: “Everything.”

Me: “Your sandwich doesn’t come with toppings; I need to know what you want.”

Customer #3: “I want everything. Everything. All of what you have there.”

Me: “I can’t give you everything. I’m only allowed to give you four toppings of your choice. I just need to know what they are.”

Customer #3: *to coworker* “Why won’t she give me everything on my sandwich? She gave those other two everything on theirs.”

Coworker: “Oh, they both got [Signature Sandwich], which comes with set toppings. You have to tell her what toppings you want.”

Customer #3: “Oh, I understand. I just want lettuce and pickles, then.”

(I finish her sandwich and hand it to her with a forced grin. As I turn away, I hear this little gem.)

Customer #3: “I didn’t know they had ordered specials. I thought she was just racist.”

(After she left, my coworker burst into laughter and I had to excuse myself to the back to fume. I called my district manager and explained what had happened because I was floored at being accused of being racist over sandwich toppings. My manager was legitimately confused because she knows me and my husband… who is Asian. For the record, I don’t agree with our topping limit policy, but I get paid to follow it. I’m not going to lose my job over a few slices of tomato.)

Customer: “Do you have any mayonnaise packets?”

Me: “Sorry, we’re out right now.”

Customer: “YOU’RE OUT?! HOW CAN YOU BE OUT OF MAYONNAISE?! WHAT KIND OF DELI IS THIS?!”

(She throws the food she was holding at me and stomps away.)

Me: “Well, that was a bit of an overreaction.”

Coworker: “Dude. Old, white people have nothing in their lives but church, mayonnaise, and Trump. You literally just took away a third of her entire existence.”