(I’ve been feeling a bit ill, and my friend suggests I get some food since I haven’t eaten all day. The nearest fast food place has recently gotten self-service kiosks, which I really like using. After paying for my food, I go to the pick up area, and there are several other customers waiting. Three young boys, probably 12 to 15 years old, are stood flush against the counter, leaning over it and trying to claim every order the servers bring forward, loudly proclaiming that it is their food. The servers aren’t stupid, and do their best to work around them. One of the boys already has a bag of food; I don’t know if it is his or not. My order has some special food items in it, so it is taking a little while longer than most of the other orders. I’ve seen these jacka**es try and pull this stunt with about twenty people’s food by the time I see a server put my order together and bring it forward. One of the boys leans forward, grasping for bag.)

Child #1: “That’s mine. Give it here.”

Server: *doing their best to ignore him and keep food out of his reach* “Number 875?”

Child #1: “Come on, d**k. Give me my food.”

Me: *stepping forward, holding my numbered ticket aloft* “Me, thanks.”

Child #2: *reaching to grab food as it’s handed over* “Give it, b****!”

Me: *snatching it, drawing back, and giving these punk kids my best death glare* “If you try to take my food, I will f****** bite you!”

(I’m in my mid-twenties but I often get mistaken for being much younger.)

Child #3: “What did she say?”

Child #2: “She said if we take her food she’ll bite us.”

Child #1: “Please, you’re like twelve!”

(I take a step forward to challenge them, but they all take a huge step away, clearly wary I’ll follow through on my threat. I leave with my food and message my friend to tell him what just happened.)

Me: “You won’t believe what just happened.”

(I tell him.)

Friend: “See? I told you food would get you back to normal.”

(I am working on the customer service desk when a very angry woman comes up and demands to speak to a manager. I radio for one, after establishing that she doesn’t want my help, and the store manager is the one who answers. This was the exchange that I witness.)

Customer: “I’ve just been to your disabled toilet and there was no toilet roll, so I would like a refund.”

Manager: “I’m sorry about that, but what do you need a refund for exactly?”

Customer: “Well, because there was no toilet paper, I was forced to use my bra to wipe myself, so I would like the cost of my bra back.”

Manager: “I’m sorry, madam, but I am able to give you any money for that, as it was your choice to use that particular item. No one forced you to use it!”

Customer: “But it was expensive!”

Manager: “Then I suggest that you don’t use it as toilet paper!”

(He then walked away, leaving me desperately trying not to laugh at this woman! I don’t understand why she didn’t use either her underwear or sock if she was that desperate?! Why choose the item that requires the most effort to remove and costs the most money?!)

(I am running late and don’t have time to make lunch in the morning, so I think I’ll treat myself at a nearby fast food restaurant that has a drive-thru. I pull up to the speaker, and ask for a [chicken sandwich], no mayo.)

Employee: “What mayo was that?”

Me: “No mayo, please.”

Employee: “Hot mayo?”

Me: “No. NO mayonnaise, please. None. No mayo.”

Employee: “So, like, plain?”

Me: “I guess.”

(At the first window, as I pay, I confirm that the sandwich will have all the salad, etc., just no mayo.)

Employee: “Yes, no problem.”

(I’m sceptical. Luckily, there’s nobody immediately behind me when I pull up to the second window to get my food, so I check. Yeah, it’s missing all the salad; it’s literally just a chicken burger in a dry bun. I ask for it to be rectified, and the lady argues with me that I ordered it plain, so it came plain. Eventually a manager comes over,and tells me the same thing. Apparently, it is impossible to order a [chicken sandwich] without mayo but still with the other bits. By now, they’re showing me the ordering system screen, so I can see their predicament. They don’t understand that I don’t care, and all I want is for them to stick their token lettuce, onions, etc., in the thing so I can at least pretend to be vaguely healthy. They go through all the permutations of ordering the [chicken sandwich] until I suggest something.)

Me: “Choose, ‘spicy mayo.’”

(They did it. An option then appeared for “no mayo.” Their system was set up that they had to choose one of the three mayo options — cool, spicy, chilli — to able to remove it. And it took someone who had never seen that system before to work it out.)

Related:
A Big Mayo No No, Part 4
A Big Mayo No No, Part 3
A Big Mayo No No, Part 2
A Big Mayo No No

(I’m working in the white goods department of the electronics store, and I get sent to an old boy in his 60s who wants a microwave. This exchange happens:)

Me: “Hi, what can I do for you today?”

Customer: “I want this microwave.”

(I choose this point to ask him:)

Me: “Would you like me to take it out to the car for you?”

Customer: “Oh, yes. I have arthritis in both hands, you see.”

Me: “All right, I’ll help you out.”

Customer: “It makes it very difficult to play with yourself.”

Me: “…!”

(I couldn’t help but laugh. At least he had a sense of humour!)

(It’s a busy afternoon at our large store, and I’m working on the customer service desk. Opposite our desk is a display with two canvases. One is printed with a retro comic book and priced at £8.99. The other is a Doctor Who canvas priced at £12.99. A middle-aged woman with two children in tow approaches one of the cashiers.)

Customer: “This Doctor Who canvas is labelled as £12.99; is that how much it is?”

Cashier: “That’s right.”

Customer: “The other one is priced as £8.99, though. Check the Doctor Who canvas to make sure!”

(He scans it through the till and confirms it’s £12.99.)

Customer: “Ridiculous! The other one is £8.99!”

(She marches up to the customer service desk.)

Customer: “Why is that man telling me this is £12.99?”

Me: “Because it is £12.99.”

Customer: “But why is that £12.99 when the other is £8.99?”

Me: “Well… they’re two different items. They may be similar, but if you look at the product codes on the labels you’ll see they are different, so one price doesn’t apply to the other.”

Customer: “What?!”

(I notice she’s going red in the face and getting the wild-eyed look, so I try the empathetic approach.)

Me: “I know. I agree it’s pretty silly! They’re similar products, so that difference in price doesn’t make too much sense. Unfortunately, we just have to do what head office tells us!”

Customer: “How ridiculous. Change the price!”

Me: “Er… I can’t, I’m afraid. We don’t control the prices; those are the prices set by our head office.”

Customer: “Just sell me this one for £8.99!” *waves the Doctor Who canvas about*

Me: “I can’t just reduce it for you, I’m afraid. I don’t have any say in the prices. Would you like me to get you the number for the head office? If you want a product’s price changed, you’d need to speak to them about it.”

Customer: *shouting* “This is ridiculous! Why is it so expensive?!”

Me: “I… don’t know. No one in this store decided the price. All I can offer you is the number for the head office. I’m sorry.”

(The customer casts an evil glare at me and strides out, dragging her children behind her.)

Cashier: *laughs* “Wow.”