Customer: “What comes in a Caramel Macchiato? Do you guys make a better one than [Competitor #1]?”

Me: “Well, sir, we make it with [ingredients], while [Competitor #1] makes it with [Competitor #1’s ingredients], and [Competitor #2] makes it with [Competitor #2’s ingredients].”

Customer: *stunned* “Wow! How do you guys know that?!”

Me: “Well, I’ve worked at all of those other places before I got here, so I know a few of their tricks.”

Customer: “Man, you’re, like… Super Barista!”

(The man orders a caramel macchiato and pays happily. The next day, he catches me in the middle of taking out trash. Rather than removing my apron, I simply turn it backward to avoid getting it dirty, inadvertently making it appear as if I’m wearing a cape. Suddenly, the customer from the day before comes driving by.)

Customer: “SUPER BARISTA!”

(I am a customer at an outlet shoe store in the White Mountains region of New Hampshire. We often get French Canadians who come to New Hampshire for vacations and buy things here to avoid the high taxes they pay in Canada. Most of them speak perfectly fine English, but some of them, particularly some of the older people, can have some trouble. I speak French fluently, so I’m helping an elderly couple who is having trouble translating the sales signs.)

Me: *in French* “It says that if you buy one pair of shoes, you get the second pair half-off.”

Elderly Customer: *in French* “Thank you. My English is not good, and some things just don’t translate well—”

Other Customer: “Don’t do that!”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Other Customer: “Don’t pander to them! If they want to live in this country, they should learn to speak English!”

Me: “I think they are just visiting.”

Other Customer: “Bulls***! Once they get into our country, they never leave! That’s why we need a fence.” *turns to the elderly couple* “Go back to Mexico!”

Me: “They’re Canadian.”

Other Customer: “Don’t lie to me. I heard you speaking Spanish!”

Me: “That was French. Canada is bilingual. Plenty of people in Canada speak French as their first language.”

Other Customer: “We need a fence!”

Me: “They are from Canada!”

Other Customer: “We need TWO fences!”

(I am working the overnight shift at a gas station when a young woman approaches and asks for a pack of cigarettes. She looks a bit young, so I ask for an ID. I glance at it and see that she is indeed old enough, but there is something just a bit off about the ID. We’re instructed to verify some information when we’re not sure if an ID is real or not.)

Me: “Okay, what’s your date of birth?”

Customer: *correctly states the DOB on the ID*

Me: “Good, what street do you live on?”

Customer: “Washington.”

Me: “So far, so good. One last question. What class did we have together our freshman year?”

Customer: “Uh…”

Me: “Nice try. I can’t accept this ID. Say hi to your sister for me, though.”

(A drink order is passed down the line to me. After reading it several times, I have to clarify it with the customer.)

Me: “Sir? This says you want a large mocha with whip, but no espresso. Um, did you maybe want decaf instead? Or… uh…” *puzzled silence*

Customer: “I get it all the time at [chain coffee shop]! God, is it really SO HARD to get my drink right?”

Me: “Well… I’m just confused… because you apparently paid $1.00 extra for a… a hot chocolate.”

Customer: “Jeez, call it whatever you want, just make the thing! Mochadopacoppio, whatever! You just go right ahead and fix me one of your fancy HAAAWT CHAAAWC-LATES!”

Me: “Thank you for calling. How can I help you?”

Caller: “I want to make a payment on my account, please.”

(Suddenly, the fire alarm starts screaming its little mechanical head off.)

Me: “Sir, I apologize, but our fire alarm is going off and I have to leave the building. You’ll need to call back.”

Caller: “I don’t give a d*** if you burn to death. You’re going to take my payment right now!”

Me: “Not happening, sir. Please call back.” *I hang up the call*

Manager: “Why are you still sitting there? Get out! Do you want to burn to death?”

Me: “Well, the customer wanted me to!” *I grab my purse and run out*