(I work at [Coffee Shop] as one of the closers. Almost every night, a girl comes in around ten minutes before closing. My coworkers hate it, but she’s always polite and tips, so I try to not be annoyed. Lately though, she’s been coming five minutes or less before closing, annoying my coworkers and managers. One night, she comes in at 9:59 and one of the workers who’s covering the closing but works mornings greets her.)

Coworker: “Hey! Back again for more coffee?”

(The customer blushes but nods, places her order, and leaves her usual tip. After she leaves my coworkers begin to talk.)

Coworker: “I get that we have to provide service until 10, but that doesn’t mean she can walk in at 9:59 for freaking coffee. What on earth does she need caffeine for at this time of night?”

Shift Coverer: “She’s actually a night chef. She works overnights and also has a second job across the street at [Restaurant] as a line cook. She probably needs all the caffeine she can get. Besides, at least she’s nice and has simple orders.”

(After that, it was a little hard to get mad at her for walking in so late and keeping us around an extra five minutes. And it taught me a lesson about judging.)

(We are a collision repair facility, and there is another collision repair facility about a mile up the street. I am the office manager, and I get a phone call.)

Caller: “I need to find out when my appointment to get my car repaired is.”

Me: *after checking our computer system* “I’m sorry, I can’t find you anywhere in our system. Are you sure you had an appointment at this location?”

Caller: “Yes, I do have an appointment, and it’s unacceptable that you have lost my appointment! If you are this incompetent in making my appointment, how can you repair my car?”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir; I will check into this, and call you right back.”

(I call the other repair facility down the road and find that the caller has an appointment there the next day.)

Me: *calling the customer back* “Sir, I have checked, and you have an appointment at [Competitor] tomorrow at 10:00 am. I have confirmed your appointment. Here is their phone number.”

Caller: *click*

(I am calling my doctor’s office to make an appointment and she is asking for basic information like my name and date of birth.)

Receptionist: “And when is your date of birth?”

Me: “February first, ‘94.”

Receptionist: “Is that 1994?”

Me: “Well, unless I’m from the future or look great for 123, yes, 1994.”

Me: “I need the oil changed. And also, I think you’d better check the alignment, as I bounced off a curb pretty hard recently.”

(I sit in the waiting room. Within 20 minutes, I’m called to the service desk.)

Service Guy: “Your car’s ready. You owe [low amount].”

Me: “Are you sure? There hasn’t been time to check the alignment, and you haven’t charged me for it.”

Service Guy: “I don’t know about that. You’d have to talk with the technician.”

Me: “Could I talk to the service manager, please?”

Service Guy: “He’s not here.”

Me: “Then I’d like to talk to the technician, please.”

(He looks a bit startled, but gets the tech from the back.)

Me: “I asked to have the alignment checked. Did you do it?”

Tech: “Yeah.”

Me: “I don’t see anything on the paperwork documenting that.”

Tech: “We had it up on the rack to change the oil, and I looked at the alignment. It’s fine.”

Me: “You know, I’m pretty sure checking the alignment is a lot more complicated than that.”

Tech: *condescendingly* “Lady, I looked at it! It’s fine!”

Me: “Would you put that in writing?” *I turn over the paperwork and hand it to him, with a pen*

Tech: “Sure!”

Tech: *writes* “I looked at the alignment and it’s fine.”

Me: “Be sure to sign that, please.”

(He did. I thanked them, paid, and left. The next morning I called and talked to the service manager, explaining what I was told. He asked me to bring the car back in, which I did at my convenience. End of story: free alignment check, and free realignment, because it was way off. And I’m guessing the tech learned not to sign things he wasn’t certain of!)

(I’m currently between jobs, so I stop into a coffee shop to browse job postings on my laptop and send out my resume. While doing so, I have headphones in so I can listen to music. After being there for about ten minutes, I see a middle-aged woman about two tables away waving frantically to get my attention.)

Me: *takes out headphones* “Um, can I help you?”

Customer: “What are you doing?”

Me: “Drinking coffee, I guess.”

Customer: *sigh* “No! What are you doing on your computer?” *moves over to the table next to mine, bringing two duffel bags with her*

Me: “I’m job-hunting online.”

Customer: “What kind of work do you do?”

Me: “I manage fundraising for nonprofits and political causes.”

Customer: “Politics, huh?” *looks over at the restroom and sees a handicapped sign* “Well, Mr. Politics, what’s your opinion on the handicapped?”

Me: “What about the handicapped?”

Customer: “What is your opinion on them?”

Me: *pauses* “I’m in favor of them.”

Customer: “Well, it doesn’t seem like you know all that much about politics, after all; that’s probably why you are unemployed.”

Me: “Ma’am, was there something you needed?”

Customer: “Jeez, I’m just trying to make friendly conversation.”

Me: “I’m not interested in that, thank you.”

(I put my headphones back in and stare at my screen but don’t put any music back on so I can eavesdrop on this woman.)

Customer: “How rude! I bet you’re probably one of those serial killers. Probably looking at p*rn on that computer!”

(I continue acting like I can’t hear her, and I avoid making eye contact again while she keeps waving and trying to get my attention. She eventually moves to the table behind me and begins bugging the people there, telling them that I am looking at p*rn in the coffee shop — even though this table has a full view of my computer screen — and about how I am probably a serial killer. The couple behind me doesn’t last as long as I did and quickly gets up to leave. She turns her attention back to me and screams.)

Customer: “HEY!”

Me: “What?”

Customer: “I need you to watch my bags; I’m going to go buy cigarettes.”

Me: “No.”

Customer: “Well, why not?”

Me: “Because your bags are not my responsibility.”

Customer: “WELL, I NEED TO GO, SO YOU NEED TO WATCH MY BAGS!”

(Before I can say anything else she storms out. I go to the counter to let the barista know what happened.)

Barista: “I’m really sorry about that. She comes in here every couple of weeks, and after the last time we kicked her out she called corporate to file a complaint about us. Now, we can’t kick her out unless someone actually complains. We were kind of wondering how long it would take you to speak to us.”

Me: “Does she still need to be here for me to complain? I’d rather leave before she gets back.”

Barista: “No, man, feel free to get out of here. I’m just glad we can kick her out now when she gets back.”

(I left after that, but felt bad for the barista who had to deal with her when she returned.)