(I work in a bakery at a chain grocery store, but I am also cross-trained in the deli department, which is connected to the bakery. We just hired some new people, and I am scheduled to work in the bakery at the same time as a trainee is working in the deli by herself. The manager asks me if I can keep an eye on her in case she needs help, and I happily agree. It’s also important to note that we just switched some of our deli meat brands and flavors after we finished training our new employees, so some of the meats that we had when she first started training we either no longer carry or we carry it in a different brand. I’m working in my department when I hear this:)

Coworker: “Good afternoon, sir. Can I help you with something?”

Customer: “I would like some oven-roasted turkey.”

Coworker: “Okay. Would you like [Brand #1] or [Brand #2]?”

(Somehow, this question sets him off. He turns red in the face and starts yelling at my poor coworker.)

Customer: “You are so incompetent! Do you not know what you are doing? How hard is it to slice some meat?!”

(He goes on, and my coworker is too shocked to say anything. I step in to see if I can defuse the situation.)

Me: “[Coworker], are you okay?”

Coworker: “I just asked what brand he wanted because I couldn’t remember if we had the same flavor in another brand…”

Me: *to the man, as sweet and cheery as I can be* “Can I help you with something, sir?”

Customer: “NO! This entire store is filled with incompetent people! I just asked for some meat and she can’t slice it for me? How hard can it be to slice some meat?! I just want some meat!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir. We are currently switching our brands, and my coworker was confused about which brand of turkey you wanted, Did you want [Brand #1] or did you want [Brand #2]?”

Customer: *throwing a temper tantrum at this point* “I just want some meat! How hard is that?! You are all incompetent, and I will never shop here again! I’m about to leave and I will never come back!”

(I can deal with rude customers, but at some point, a switch just goes off in me, and I’ll be d***ed if I’ll let a customer talk about my coworkers like this. However, instead of blowing up at rude customers, I have a different tactic.)

Me: *with a sweet, peppy smile* “All right, sir! Well, you have a good day! Thank you for shopping at [Grocery Store Chain].”

(The man looks like he is about to lay an egg — just totally shocked. He shakes out of it, and angrily grabs his cart and goes to check out.)

Me: *to coworker* “You okay?”

Coworker: “Yeah… I just asked him a question.”

Me: “Don’t worry about it. Some people are just jerks.”

(I went back to my work and our shifts continued normally. He must have had a bad day, because there is no way that turkey is so important that you have to have a meltdown in the middle of the store over it. That employee left a couple months later; most people don’t stay too long. I still work here, but I graduate school soon, so hopefully, I will never have to deal with rude customers like him again! If I do have a rude customer, I just kill them with kindness.)

Customer: “I want five pounds of the [Low-Quality, Bargain Brand] ham, chipped.”

(I groan inside, as this order will take a long time and a lot of elbow grease. When I’m about a third of the way done, the man looks displeased.)

Customer: “G**d***, boy! What the h***’s takin’ so long?”

Me: “Sorry, sir. This is going to take a while.”

Customer: “The guy who helped me last week didn’t take this long!”

(He might not remember that I was the one who served him last week, but I do, because of his attitude and his politically provocative hat, which he’s wearing again today.)

Me: “Last week you didn’t order this much, and you didn’t want it chipped, sir.”

Customer: “Yeah? So?”

Me: “You asked for more meat, sliced thinner, so it’ll take more time.”

Customer: “You’re just lazy!”

Me: “It’s not a question of that, sir. It’s like a distance-rate-time problem.”

Customer: “The h*** are you talkin’ about?”

Me: “Like from algebra class. Distance equals rate times time; therefore, time equals distance divided by rate. Increasing the distance and decreasing the rate both increase time, like driving down a longer road at a slower speed.”

(The customer looks at me like I put on a chicken costume and started tap-dancing. Then his face lights up.)

Customer: “You’re talkin’ about that liberal f****** math and science voodoo s***!”

Me: *deadpan expression* “Yup.”

Customer: “I don’t need that s***! I got Jesus!”

Me: “Well, Jesus won’t make this go any faster, either.”

Customer: “Kiss my a**!”

(I work at a regional grocery store’s deli. This particular day, I am asked some… basic… questions about a popular potato salad.)

Customer #1: “Does your deviled egg potato salad have egg in it?”

Me: “Yes, it does.”

(Later that same day:)

Customer #2: “Does your deviled egg potato salad have potatoes in it?”

Me: “Yes?”

(An older gentleman walks up to the counter when I’m working and starts looking at the cheeses.)

Me: “Hi. What can I get for you today?”

Customer: “Is the Vermont Cheddar the yellow American?”

Me: “No, it’s cheddar.”

(I pull out the yellow American, and place it on the counter for him to see.)

Me: “What are you going to be making?”

Customer: “Well, my list says I need Yellow American… I’m making grilled cheese with it.”

Me: “Well, typically grilled cheese is made with American cheese.”

Customer: “I don’t know. I don’t want to get the wrong thing.”

Me: “I’m sure this is what you’re supposed to get. You said American was on the list?”

Customer: “I don’t know…”

Me: “Well, would you like to try it?”

Customer: “No, just give me the cheddar. I’m sure that’s what she wanted.”

(I work at a deli that also serves hot food during the day. We have a hot case with various pieces of chicken and potatoes to make combo meals from. It’s the very end of the day and we’ve run out of breasts to make the combos with, so it’s by-piece or bust. It should be noted we have a discounted eight-piece meal that’s incredibly popular at the moment, so it’s a quick grab for most. It features two of each piece: breasts, thighs, wings, and legs. A customer walks up about twenty minutes to close, an older gentleman with frazzled hair looking a bit… out of it.)

Customer: *looking over the meals* “I want some chicken.”

Me: “Can do, but fair warning that we’ve run out of breasts, so I can’t make you any combos. Can’t substitute for ’em.”

Customer: *seeming a bit out of it* “That eight-piece chicken.”

Me: “Sorry. No more breasts for the night; can’t do any combos.”

Customer: “That eight-piece chicken.”

Me: “No breasts? Single pieces are all we have.”

Customer: *quietly, with a tinge of annoyance* “I want an eight-piece chicken!”

Me: *sighing internally, trying a different tactic* “I can give you thighs and other pieces, but no breasts—” *gesturing to the case FULL of the other pieces* “—perhaps a few of those?”

(At this point, the customer stares off into space, as if this decision would blow up a sun somewhere in the universe. He pauses for a minute.)

Customer: “Oh. Uh.” *stares* “Chicken?”

Me: “I, um… How about I just grab you a few of each and make you a box?”

Customer: *hazy* “Chicken?”

(I just nodded and made him a box. He ended up requesting five of everything, something close to nearly $25 of chicken. I handed it over, and he happily tottered off to the checkout. Enjoy the chicken, eight-piece dude.)