(I work in the in-store bakery of a major supermarket in the UK. One of the things we do is slice our fresh-baked loaves for customers. Unfortunately, our bread slicer broke a few days ago and we are waiting for a replacement part, so we can’t use it. A customer comes to the service door. She looks to be in her late thirties, while I am nineteen.)

Customer: *thrusting bread in my direction* “Excuse me, can you slice this for me?”

Me: *walking over to her* “I’m terribly sorry, but our slicer is broken. We’ve been unable to slice bread since Wednesday afternoon.”

(The customer leans to the side.)

Customer: “I can see the slicer right there. Slice it for me.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. I know the slicer is there but, as I said, it’s broken. It cannot be used.”

Customer: *huffing* “You people are all the same; your generation is so lazy! All I’m asking you to do is slice this loaf. That’s not so hard.”

Me: “Again, I would love to slice it for you, but I can’t. The bread slicer is out of order. We’re waiting for a part that needs to be ordered directly from the manufacturer.”

Customer: “Look, let me make this simple: you either slice this bread instead of being so lazy, or I get your manager.”

Me: “Our manager knows the slicer is broken. He was the one who had to authorise us ordering the part. You can speak to him if you like, but he’ll tell you the same thing.”

Customer: “Well, this is disgusting! All I want is to get some bread sliced and you’re refusing.”

Me: “I’m not refusing; I just can’t slice bread on a machine that is broken.”

Customer: “There you go with those lazy excuses. You know in the time you’ve made all your lies you could have sliced this bread!”

Me: “Madam, I really don’t know what to tell you. The machine is broken; it needs a specific part replaced and it’s going to take time to get here. In the meantime, we can’t use the machine. If I could slice your bread, I would. But I can’t.”

Customer: “Well, get a bloody knife and cut it for me!”

Me: “I’m sorry, that’s not something I can do.”

Customer: *smiling triumphantly* “See, your machine isn’t really broken! If it was, you’d have said yes.”

Me: “Not really. We don’t have any knives suitable to slice bread in here. Plus, if you’re going to cut it with a knife, you’d be better off doing it at home.”

Customer: “Fine. Let’s see what your manager has to say about this. I hope you enjoy being unemployed!”

(The customer leaves. My manager does not come over. I decide to make up a few temporary paper signs to put around the bakery aisle to inform customers of our technical difficulties. We didn’t before because all our other customers understood, even if they were a little disappointed. After I put the sign up, I notice the woman is skulking about in the bakery aisle. I wonder what she is up to, so as I put up the signs, I keep an eye on her. Then, an elderly couple, probably in their seventies or older, picks out one of our baked-in-store loaves, and the woman practically jumps on them.)

Customer: “You know they refuse to cut these now? Their staff can’t be bothered. They’re hiring all these young, uneducated people who are too lazy to cut it for us! I tell you, this generation is so lazy!”

(The couple stare at her and then me.)

Elderly Woman: “Oh.” *points to signs I just put up* “Their slicer is broken, deary. I guess you’ll have to make do like my generation did without the luxury of electric slicers and cut it yourself at home with a bread knife instead of being lazy and relying on somebody else to do it for you.”

(The customer was speechless. She turned bright red and left without a word. It made my day.)

(I’m a female in my late twenties living with my mother due to the fact neither of us can afford living alone. The rule is that one person cooks, the other does the dishes. Mum is locked in the mind-set that I am a child and thus cannot cook, so she always cooks, and I do the dishes. I have washed up all the pans and dishes from our dinner/tea/evening meal, bar the roasting tin, as Mum siphons off the fat — another thing I’m not allowed to do because she is locked in the mind-set that I am a child — and usually does it the morning after, so I empty the sink of the water. This has never been an issue before until this moment.)

Mum: *really angry* “Why did you let the water out?!”

Me: “Er, cause the washing up was done?”

Mum: “The roasting tin isn’t, though!”

Me: “Yeah, but you do the fat part first thing in the morning, so I let it out.”

Mum: “I’m going to do it now! And now I have to use more water!”

(We’re not on a meter, so it doesn’t affect our bills, and we’ve never ever been on a water meter.)

Me: “Sorry.”

Mum: “Next time, leave it in!”

(From then on, I leave the water in whenever we’re using the roasting tin. This goes on for months. Then, one evening, this happens:)

Mum: *really angry* “WHY DID YOU LEAVE THE WATER IN?!”

Me: “What? But you told me to!”

Mum: “Why would I say that?!”

Me: “For the roasting tin!”

(There is a pause.)

Mum: “Empty the sink of water in the future!”

Me: “…”

(I am looking for another place to live.)

(I work for a pensions company in the transfers department. My job is to process people switching from their current pension company to us or from our company to another. I have been dealing with this particular customer for almost a month; there was an issue that was delaying the transfer because the company he was moving from was really dragging their feet. Throughout all this, the customer has been wonderfully understanding, and because of his good nature I have been going above and beyond, chasing the other company at every turn, keeping the customer informed. Unfortunately, we’re still waiting on a few last important details from the old company, but I am due to go on annual leave. I have spoken to a colleague who I know will keep up the same level of work. I call the customer to give him to latest update.)

Me: “Hello, Mr. [Customer]. It’s [My Name]. How are you today?”

Customer: “Oh, hello, [My Name]. Has [Other Company] pulled their finger out yet?”

Me: “I just chased them up; they promised to get the paperwork we need with us by Monday. Unfortunately, I am not going to be in the office for a few weeks, so I am handing your case over to a colleague to deal with it. He has promised—”

Customer: “What? Where are you going?”

Me: “I have some annual leave that has been booked for some time.”

Customer: “But I don’t want to deal with anyone but you.”

Me: “Don’t worry; I’ve fully briefed my colleague, and he has worked for [Company] for twenty years. If anything, he knows more than I do, so you’re in safe hands. He has promised to chase up [Other Company] and keep you in the loop at every turn.”

Customer: “No, no. This is not good enough. You’re going to have to cancel your holiday. This is important. I don’t want to deal with anyone else but you!”

(I’m a little surprised at this point, because this customer has been nothing but congenial and reasonable the whole time. It takes me a moment to respond.)

Me: “I’m unable to reschedule my annual leave, but I promise you that my colleague is more than capable. Besides that, once your pension has been transferred, somebody else will be dealing with your account. I only deal with transfers. Eventually you’ll have to trust somebody else with your account.”

Customer: “I understand that, but I need you to stay in the office. You can’t go on holiday. I won’t let you!”

Me: “I’m terribly sorry, sir, but you don’t have any say in whether I take annual leave or not. This is leave I am required by law to take, and it was booked a long time ago. I understand you are a little nervous, but again, I can assure you that my colleague will take excellent care of you.”

Customer: “Of course I have a say in when you go on holiday! My taxes pay for your holiday!”

Me: *slight pause* “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “My taxes pay for your holidays!”

Me: “I’m not sure I understand. My employer pays me my annual leave. Your taxes have nothing to do with it. In any case, that’s irrelevant. I’m very sorry, but again, I’ve left you with the most competent employee in the department with decades of experience.”

Customer: “Well, that isn’t good enough! This is terrible customer service! In fact, I’m thinking of cancelling the entire transfer if this is how badly you treat your customers!”

Me: “I’m sorry you feel that way. If you want to cancel the transfer, that’s your decision.”

Customer: “Well, fine! I will!”

(The customer hung up. I sat, flabbergasted. I was a little bit flattered, but also very annoyed that after all my efforts of going above and beyond my job description that the customer felt he had the right the dictate when I took my annual leave and that he found this to be terrible service. It didn’t matter, though; when I got back from annual leave, I came back to an apology letter from the customer and my colleague said he had been fine with him. It turns out that he was just having a bad day. He even wrote me a letter of commendation, thanking me for all my efforts, which won me an award at work for going above and beyond the call of duty.)

(I’m a guy who has been trying to get a job at the same place my husband works night shifts, on the same shift as him, which I made clear when I first applied. Attending the drug and alcohol test, the recruiter made it clear that that specific shift was unlikely to have any openings in the near future, and suggested another night shift, finishing and ending two hours earlier.)

Recruiter: “So, these are the hours; it’s only two hours difference to [Husband].”

Me: “Let’s do it. It’s better than waiting for months, but I wanted to have the same rota as him.”

Interviewer: *looks confused*

Me: “So we can have the same days off?”

Interviewer: *seemingly completely baffled* “Oh… Why?”

Me: “So we can… do things together?”

(He was seriously confused by the concept that a couple would want to share their days off. I don’t want to know what his relationships have been like for that to be such a foreign concept…)

(When I moved into my first home, I got a phone line installed. However, after a few months, I kept coming home to messages on my answering machine with customers leaving their account numbers and all sorts of sensitive information, sometimes even PINs! I deleted them all right away, but eventually one customer mentioned the bank name in their message. I reported this to the bank, and it turned out that my phone number was one digit different from a new one they had just gotten, so lots of customers were simply misdialing. Horrified, the bank put up notices in the bank and sent out letters reminding customers not to leave such sensitive details in messages, but also about how many had been leaving this information on the answering machine of a personal residence and to be extra careful when dialing. They were in the process of changing their number, but they said it would take a while. Because I had only recently gotten my own number, my phone provider wouldn’t change it without charging, so I decided to wait for the bank to change their number, instead; after all, I had gotten mine first. All the while, I kept receiving the messages, which I always deleted, but occasionally I would be home when somebody called. This is one such occasion.)

Me: *answering the phone not long after waking up* “Hello?”

Customer: “Well, that’s not a very professional way to answer the phone.”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “Ugh. You’re new. In my day, we trained staff to be respectful to customers whether they phoned or came into the branch in person. Young people are always so disrespectful; you really don’t deserve your jobs.”

Me: *finally clicking* “Oh. You’re looking for [Bank].”

Customer: “Yes, dearie, or is that too taxing for you? Get me your manager; I will not tolerate this.”

Me: “Oh. Sorry, this isn’t the bank—”

Customer: “Oh, trying to wiggle out of this, are you? Well, it won’t work! You’ll be lucky to get hired to scrub toilets after I’m done talking to your manager! Get him immediately!”

Me: “You’re calling a private residence. This is not the bank.”

Customer: “Wait, are you hacking their phone line? I’m phoning the police! You’re going to steal all my money—”

Me: “No, the bank’s new number is one digit different from mine. I have told them, and they’ve sent out letters to all their customers. They’ve also put notices up in branch. It’s the last digit. A lot of people accidentally misdial it. The banks are going to change their number, but they said it will take a while. Hopefully it’ll be sorted soon.”

(There is a long pause.)

Customer: “I don’t believe you. You’re a thief trying to steal my money! I am going to go to the bank and tell them right away! I hope you enjoy prison! They won’t tolerate your rudeness, either.”

Me: “Sure. Go to the branch. You might see the bright yellow notices up there telling you about this.”

(I hung up. I never heard anything after that, but a few weeks later, all the calls stopped. I guess the bank finally sorted it out.)