(We’re on vacation from Nebraska and have just paid $90 to take a tram to the top of a mountain where there’s a small waffle house. There’s a sink in the corner behind the counter, and two fully operational bathrooms down the back hall.)

Me: “I’d like one Nutella waffle, please.”

Worker: “Anything to drink?”

Mom: “Can we just get a glass of water? Like, tap water, or something?”

Worker: “Sorry, we don’t get water pumped up here. We’re too high up. It won’t pump. We do have bottles.”

Mom: “$3.75 for a bottle is too high for us. We’ll just take the waffle.”

Worker: “Well, it’s so high because of all the manpower it takes to bring it up here. They can’t just drive it up on a truck, you know. They have to bring it 10,000 feet up the mountain. What do you think that costs us? Where are you from? Probably not around here. Do you know how high the cost of living is in this area? We have to adjust the prices accordingly, you know. It takes a lot just to get all of those bottles up the mountain. There’s a 13 million dollar tram that you rode up here, how do you think we pay for maintenance?”

Mom: “Um, why don’t you help your other customers?”

Worker: “It’s not easy bringing it up the mountain, that’s all I’m saying!”

(After helping his next few customers he kept going on and on about how difficult it was to put the water bottles on the giant tram lift to get them up the mountain. He was so insistent about their struggle that he completely forgot about my waffle.)

(Employee #1 has just returned from the bathroom.)

Employee #1: “I swear to God, my bladder is the size of a chicken.”

Employee #2: “…A chicken?”

Employee #1: “I couldn’t think of anything else small!”

(I overhear my coworker speaking to a customer.)

Customer: “Hi, I’m Ms. Cheng. I’m looking for an Alex?”

Coworker: “Oh, yes. That’s me. Please sit down, Mrs. Cheng.”

Customer: “Oh it’s just Miss. I’m not married.”

Coworker: “You aren’t Chinese, but your surname is.”

(Note: the customer indeed doesn’t appear to be Chinese, but looks white.)

Customer: “I get that a lot. One of my great grandfathers is, so I’m actually part Chinese. Guess I’m too far down the tree to look like it.”

Coworker: “Well, good thing you’re a girl. Your children won’t have a misleading surname.”

Customer: “…Excuse me?”

Coworker: “I hope you don’t have a brother to carry on that misleading surname.”

Customer: “Uh, can I get someone else to do my travel?”

(Luckily, the manager overheard all this and called the employee to the back for a talk, and had someone else take over!)

(I am shopping in a store where you pay for your items at a register in the back, then go up front to get the merchandise from the stockroom. I purchase a clock radio after asking the sales clerk to verify that they have the product in the stockroom. After handing over my receipt, and waiting for at least ten minutes, this is what follows:)

Stocker: “I’m sorry, but I can’t find this radio in the back.”

Me: “Your salesperson said you had two in stock.”

Stocker: “Let me go check again. Be right back…”

(He goes back to the stockroom for at least another ten minutes and then returns.)

Stocker: “Nope, we are out of stock.”

Me: “This is why I asked the clerk if you had any in stock. I guess I will just take a refund.”

(Note: the total sale on the receipt is $19.82.)

Stocker: “Fine.”

(He does the return and counts back the money. It comes to about $17.00.)

Me: “The total was $19.82.”

Stocker: “Yes, there’s a 10% restocking fee.”

Me: “What do you mean ‘restocking fee?'”

Stocker: “When you return an item, there is a 10% restocking fee for the return.”

Me: “But I didn’t return it. You didn’t even have it!”

Stocker: “This is a return. Store policy says there is a 10%—”

Me: “Get your manager.”

(A very young assistant manager joins us at the desk.)

Assistant Manager: “Can I help you?”

Stocker: “She doesn’t want to pay the restocking fee on her return.”

Me: “I want a refund for an item I paid for in the back, but you don’t have it in the stockroom. Your associate is charging me a 10% restocking fee.”

Assistant Manager: “Well, ma’am, there is a 10% restocking fee.”

Me: “I don’t think you understand. I am not returning the clock radio. I paid for it back there, but you didn’t actually have any in stock. I only want my money back for an item you don’t have.”

Assistant Manager: *very snotty* “No, ma’am, YOU don’t understand. There is a 10% fee for our inconvenience when you return an item.”

Me: “I DID NOT RETURN THIS ITEM. YOU DO NOT EVEN HAVE IT.”

(This goes on for about five minutes until I insist they call the store director at his home on his day off. The assistant doesn’t explain to him the real story, only that I don’t want to pay the return charge. I insist she give me the phone.)

Store Director: “Ma’am, store policy—”

Me: “Look, here’s the story. I bought the clock in the back, your computer said you had two in the stockroom, but when I got to the counter, the stockboy said there were none in the back. I want a return on an item I paid for that you did not have.”

Store Director: “Ah, okay. Give the phone to [Assistant Manager].”

(I hand the phone to the assistant manager. I can hear the store director yelling at her through the phone. The assistant manager eventually hangs up and turns to me.)

Assistant Manager: “So, your total was $19.82. Here you go!” *slaps the money into my hand, gives me a dirty look, and walks away*

(I never went back there. Not surprisingly, this company went out of business only a couple of months later.)

(My province of Ontario has mandatory car emission testing prior to allowing license plate registration, so I bring down my vehicle to the mechanic.)

Me: “Hi, how are you? Just here to pick up the results of my emissions test.”

Employee: “How are you?! I’ll tell you how I am… f***ing s****y! Want to know why?”

Me: “Okay…”

Employee: “A wasp stung me in the eyeball at a backyard party this weekend. I’m not talking around the eye. I mean right in the f***ing eyeball… right in the corneus!”

Me: “The cornea?”

Employee: “Ya, whatever you call it… the f***ing eyeball! So, I was rolling around on the grass for like ten minutes, and my buddy Hank goes, ‘Wanna lie down inside?’ No f***ing way I was gonna lie down! I was gonna kill every last one of those bastards! Hank’s a welder, so I asked him to go get his acetylene torch so I could blast them to extinction, but he goes to me, ‘I’m all out of acetylene!’ What kind of welder is out of acetylene? Answer me that!”

Me: “I don’t know. Actually, I have an appointment soon, so if I could just—”

Employee: “So THEN, I call up Tim ’cause I know for a fact he’s got a f***load of blowtorches, but his old lady answers the phone and she goes, ‘Tim’s passed out drunk on the lawn!’ Then, I got like the best idea I’ve ever had, and ran into Hank’s garage. Wanna know how to burn-up a wasp nest?”

Me: “I don’t have a wasp problem, so—”

Employee: “What you do is get a can of WD-40 and a lighter! Spray a bit at the nest to soak it, and then once it’s spraying you take a lighter to the stream! It’s like napalm! One can gives you like twenty seconds of burning. Trust me, that’s more than you need. I made those wasps pay… ALL OF THEM!”

Me: “Thanks, but I really need to get my emissions test.”

Employee: “Oh yeah, I’ve got the results right here. Your car did really well. In fact, these are some of the lowest carbon monoxide readings I’ve ever seen. Guess you’ll have to run a different car in the garage if you want to kill yourself!” *laughs*

Me: “Okay, will do.”

Employee: “Times are tough, man. This car won’t do the job. You need some old clunker that belches out monoxide!”

Me: “I don’t want to kill myself. I like my life.”

Employee: “In case you change your mind, think late-model car!”

Me: “Thanks…”