(I work in a cafe and this exchange happens at least weekly.)

Me: “That’ll be [price], then, please.”

Customer: “What?!”

(Cue back and forth where I explain to them that yes, the prices are the same as on the massive menu board directly above their head, and yes, you DO have to pay for your drinks… which are also listed on said menu board.)

Customer: “Well, I never! I’ve never heard of such prices! And you have to pay extra for [extra item], too?! This is outrageous!”

Me: *sick to my back teeth of hearing this* “I’m afraid I don’t have any control over the prices, sir. I can take some items off for you if you like?”

Customer: “Yes, I know it’s not up to you; there’s no need to get all defensive! It’s not you that I’m pissed off at!”

Me: *internally* “Funny, for someone who claims to know it’s not my fault, you sure enjoy yelling at me for something I have no control over.”

(I work in a fairly busy pub and have picked up a number of funny stories, but this one has to be the strangest. A new coworker comes up to me and informs me that a homeless man is bothering some guests who are eating at one of our outside tables. She doesn’t know how to deal with it and the duty manager is sorting out a problem in the cellar, so as the most experienced employee around, I have to deal with it. It’s late October, and though it’s a sunny afternoon, it’s still quite chilly out. I go to see what the problem is and find a drunk man holding a half-empty bottle of wine — a brand that we don’t sell — with no lid, harassing a mother and daughter at our outside table. At the next table over is a family of tourists, including some young children, who are also visibly disturbed.)

Me: “Excuse me, sir, I’m going to have to ask you to move on.”

Homeless Man: “What for?”

Me: “You’re bothering our guests.”

(He seems beside himself with rage and starts sputtering.)

Homeless Man: “If your guests are, are experiencing botherations, then that’s no business of mine!”

(He proceeds to set the wine bottle down on the women’s table, pull off his shirt, kick off his shoes, drop his trousers, and run down the street in his boxers. I’m shocked, the two women are shocked, the tourist family is shocked, and the doorman, drawn over by the sound of commotion, is also shocked.)

Doorman: “What did you say to him?”

Me: “I just asked him to move on!”

Doorman: “Well, he’s f****** moving!”

(I work as an IT Support person, answering phone calls and emails about IT problems. We work remotely so we are never physically at a customer’s site.)

Me: “Hello. How can I help you?”

Caller: “Hello! Our printer won’t stop printing! Please help! It’s going through a lot of pages!”

Me: “Okay, can you tell me which computer the printer is connected to? Has the print queue been cleared?”

Caller: “I’m not sure. I think it might be PC1, but we’ve stopped it for the moment.”

Me: “No worries. I’ll connect. You say you’ve stopped the printer; have you unplugged the printer?”

Caller: “No, we’ve put a spoon in it.”

Me: “Sorry, you’ve put a what in it?!”

Caller: “A spoon! We jammed it in the front. The paper isn’t moving now… Was that bad?”

Me: “Well… To be honest, it’s not great…”

I worked once in a shop that, amongst other hobby items, sold air rifles, which are legal in the UK for those over 18 if under a certain power. No permit is needed, but we have to take a copy of your passport or licence to log with the police that you’ve bought one.

We used to have to do a bit of a safety talk. New customers appreciated the ins and outs of how to look after and use the guns safely, and customers who’d had guns before understood why we had to do it and found it quite amusing, especially, “When shooting, point it only at the target; when not shooting, point it at the ground but not at your feet.”

This did prompt the question, “Surely that’s obvious,” to which my manager would respond, “If people didn’t do it, I wouldn’t have to say it.”

After getting mugged, which involved several kicks to the head, I came to in A&E a bit concussed but otherwise okay-ish.

I had been out for a few hours, and as a smoker, my nicotine levels were way down. I asked if I could use my vape as I’m allergic to the glue they use on most of the commercial patches. The answer was that an anti-allergenic patch would be provided.  I ask what specific brand it is, as I am severely allergic to some.

A tech turns up and tapes a patch to my arm, complaining that this brand is awful for staying on.

It is ninety seconds from patch to, “Oops, we stopped your heart as part of the massive response to what you told us not to do.”

I’m now allowed to vape in bed if I can keep it discreet, or I can go down to a vape spot if there’s a nurse or someone willing to go with me. Given that half the medical staff are smokers, I’m proving popular.