On a trip to the coast in a quaint tourist town, I decide on a sandwich for lunch. I end up in a deli that promises “freshly made sandwiches, hot and cold”. There is quite a variety on the menu.

Me: “Hi. May I have a cold cheese and ham baguette, please?”

Server: “No problem.”

I see her take a baguette already filled with cheese from the counter. She turns round to where all the cold meats are, and I expect her to put some ham in the baguette. However, she bags it up and passes it to me.

Me: “Did you put ham in that?”

Server: “I did not, sir, as you said you wanted it cold.”

Me: *Utterly baffled* “Err, can you not just put the ham in now?”

Server: “I’m sorry, sir, but we can only do a ham and cheese baguette hot.”

Me: “So, are there some already hot?”

Server: “No, sir. I need to make it up, put it in the oven, and then serve it hot.”

Me: *Increasingly baffled* ”So, you make it cold before you put it in the oven. Can I have one before you put it in the oven?”

The server looks at me as if trying to work it out.

Server: “I can do that, but it would need to be in one of these—” *holds up a ciabatta roll* “—as those are the only ones that we can do hot.”

I realised that any further argument was pointless and simply accepted a cold cheese and ham ciabatta roll. I left the shop still trying to work out what had actually happened and went and sat on the sea wall to enjoy my “cold ham and cheese baguette”.

I work in a deli where we make an assortment of food. We have screens to tell us how people want it made. We also have a screen to let us know what has been paid for and still needs payment. There is a policy that we have signs up for basically saying you need to pay first.

Toward the beginning of our shift, we started getting busy and hit with orders. We took orders for two ladies.

Me: *In a cheerful customer service tone* “If you’re waiting on food, please head up under the big sign up front to pay and your food should be up shortly.”

They looked, and I thought they heard me. They walked away a bit to go stand and talk and wait. We didn’t even see them standing there until we handed out the next order.

At least ten more orders went out, and I repeated my line between every. Single. Order. I made it sound like a general announcement to everyone around us, so I didn’t get turned on for calling them out. They were standing close enough to hear for their order number but ignored the announcement every. Single. Time.

After the tenth order was called, one of the ladies went off.

Lady #1: “Where is our food?! Order sixty-six and seventy-one?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, if you just go up under that sign and pay, your food will be right out.”

Lady #1: “I don’t want to go up there. I want my food first!”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but due to policy—”

Lady #1: “I don’t care about that. I want my food!”

My manager had been making orders with me and heard every announcement.

Manager: “Ma’am, we can’t give out food until it’s paid for.”

Lady #2: “We can just go pay for it first so we can get it.”

Lady #1: “I don’t want to! I come here all the time!”

First off, no one cares, because we are in that building more than you will ever be; that doesn’t mean we can change policy. My manager tried to explain again, and this is where I started to laugh.

Lady #1: “I WANT TO SPEAK TO YOUR MANAGER!”

Manager: “I am the manager.”

Lady #1: “Whatever. Who cares?”

She was clearly still angry, but her friend eventually persuaded her up front.

Then, she came back.

Lady #1: “There should be signs up if you’re going to change your policies!”

Me: “We do have signs up. And I made several announcements, as well.”

Lady #1: “I’m not arguing with a child!”

I’m in my mid-twenties and normally have people overshoot my age. How nice of her, right?

Me: “Have a great night!”

Lady #1: *Sarcastically* “You, too.”

Me: “And have a safe trip!”

Lady #1: *Super angry* “You have a super nice night!”

Those two ladies are regulars, so I’m sure they will be back, but they know they have to pay first.

Customer: *Holding a package of ground veal* “Is this pork?”

Me: “It’s veal.”

Customer: “So… lamb?”

Me: “Um… no. It’s calf.”

She gives me a blank stare.

Me: “It’s… ah… very young cow.”

Customer: “So like a baby… cow?!”

Me: “Basically.”

She gives me a look of disgust and throws the veal down.

Customer: “How can you be part of an industry that would do that to a baby?! I’ll just take ground beef.”

The phone rings.

Me: “Meat department, how may I help you?”

Customer: “Hi. Did you serve an older man in his early fifties with salt and pepper hair? He would have been buying a couple of steaks?”

Me: “Um… I’m not sure. We’ve served a bunch of customers today.”

Customer: “I’m in there all the time with my husband. He’s really tall and good-looking. I’ve got short brown hair. Did you serve him?”

Me: “I mean, it’s possible. Was there a problem with the steaks?”

Customer: “No. I’m out of town. I think my husband is cheating on me. That’s why I wanted to know how many steaks he bought. It’s just him this week; he shouldn’t be buying two. Can you guys check the transactions?”

Me: “That’s not really something we can do. I’m sorry.”

Customer: “Next time I come in, I’ll introduce myself so you can keep an eye out.”

I work on the deli counter of a large supermarket chain. When people ask for four ounces or “a quarter” of an item, we usually ask, “Just under or over?” as sliced items don’t always weigh exactly four ounces. A mother and teenage son are shopping together, and he has an attitude.

Mother: “A quarter of ham, please.”

I lift a few slices onto the scale and show her that four slices is “just under” and five slices is “just over.”

Mother: *Smiles* “Just over, please.”

The son mutters and glares at me.

Son: “We asked for four ounces.”

He folds his arms and continues to glare angrily at me, while his mother moves onto cheese, of which we cut off a large block.

Mother: “Four ounces of the cheddar, please.”

I’ve been doing this long enough to cut accurately to weight, but he thought I was about to do it “wrong” again. I looked him dead in the eye as I cut the cheese and placed it on the scale for it to weigh exactly four ounces. It was very satisfying for him to register what had happened, blush, and storm off. His mother just gave me a knowing smile.