I am selling two types of hand-painted products at a craft fair. A customer can purchase a pre-made item or a custom one that they can order and come back for in a few hours. I require half the payment before starting, unless they want a name on it. If they want a name, I require the full payment, because it’s harder to resell if they walk away.

[Product #1]’s colors tend to be more pastel, while [Product #2]’s colors are darker. I cannot use [Product #1]’s colors on [Product #2], and vice versa. I tried to get the same rainbow for [Product #1] and [Product #2], but they are off, especially the warm colors. To prevent confusion, I make separate pricing charts and color samplers for both products. I’ve had some customers get upset at the limitations on their color choices, but this was a new one.

Customer: “I love your stuff! I want a custom [Product #2].”

Me: “Thank you! What colors would you like?”

Customer: “Hmm… this light red, the dark pink, and the bright orange!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but the red and orange can only be used on [Product #1]. Is it okay if I use the darker red and orange?”

Customer: “But it’s all paint.”

Me: “Sorry, but it doesn’t work that way.”

Customer: “Yes, it does. Paint is paint is paint!”

Me: “Actually, no.”

I explain the different materials and drying times.

Customer: *Scoffs* “Just do it anyway!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but it’s not going to look right, and it definitely won’t last.”

Customer: “I don’t care. Do it anyway!”

Me: “Okay. But I would like to be paid up front in full.”

Customer: “What?! Your sign says that I only have to pay half up front on designs without names!”

Me: “Yes, but you’re asking me to use the wrong paint. I can’t resell it.”

Customer: “But it doesn’t have a name!”

Me: “Sorry. I need you to pay in full or no sale.”

Customer: *Smugly* “I can call the cops on you for violating a written agreement. Wouldn’t like that, would you?”

Me: *Shrugs* “You’re welcome to call them.”

The customer just stormed off, defeated.

I am at an agricultural show buying food from one of the food outlets. I pay with a fifty-dollar note but only get change back from a twenty.

Me: “Excuse me, I gave you a fifty.”

Vendor: “No, you’re mistaken; it was a twenty.”

Me: “It was definitely a fifty, because I just got money out of the ATM behind me and all it gave me was fifty-dollar notes.”

Vendor: “Well, I’m positive it was a twenty.”

Me: “Okay, then, can you call someone to count your cash drawer?”

Vendor: “I don’t know who I can call?”

Me: “How about [Food Venues Manager]?”

This manager just happens to be my uncle.

Vendor: “You know what? I’m just going to take you at your word and give you the thirty dollars because I trust you.” 

A couple of days later, I mention what happened to my cousin, who also works at the venue.

Cousin: “Was this at [stall] next to the stadium?”

Me: “Yeah.”

Cousin: “Dad put me there because he noticed the takings were lower than they should have been. As soon as I walked in, I caught the woman doing just what you mentioned; she shortchanged a customer and then put the change and a couple of fifties out of the till into her pocket. When she saw that I had seen it, she threatened me with violence if I told on her, and then she told me that she was friends with [Uncle] and he would believe her over a teenage skank like me.”

Me: “And there I was thinking she had made an honest mistake.”

Cousin: “Yeah, no. I gave Dad a quick call and he turned up a couple of minutes later with the police. You should have seen her face when I called him Dad.” *Laughs* “They found about $500 in her apron pocket. I smiled at her as she was led away in cuffs.”

This story is part of our Best Of December 2020 roundup! This is the last story in this roundup, but if you’d like to read more of our favorite stories, you can always check out November’s roundup next!

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I’m at our annual county fair working in a booth belonging to a friend of my mom’s. It’s a temporary job selling handmade items such as jewelry and glass animals. I am finishing with another customer when an older woman waves me over from across the booth. She has a scowl.

Older Woman: “Come here!”

I am confused, as I saw her get helped already, but I make my way over.

Me: “Yes, ma’am. Did you have a question?”

She speaks rather aggressively, still scowling.

Older Woman: “Dinosaur!”

I am a little taken aback by said blunt aggression.

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Older Woman: *Even more aggressively* “Dinosaur!”

Me: “Okay. What kind of dino—”

Older Woman: “DINOSAUR!”

Me: *Internally screaming.* “I understand, ma’am. But what kind were you looking for? We have glass and beaded.”

Older Woman: “DINOSAUR!”

She jabs her finger towards my mom’s friend who is helping another set of customers on the opposite side of the booth, almost shoving her hand straight into the display of wine glasses.

Older Woman: “That lady told me you have dinosaurs that glow in the dark!”

Me: “All right. I’ll grab you one.”

I go to my boss and ask her about the glass dinosaurs since I’ve done the display before and don’t recall seeing them. She hands me a new one from the box and I take it back to the woman. It should be noted my boss is very giving with discounts. I hand it to her carefully.

Me: “This is the dinosaur we have.”

She snatches it from me with one hand, practically waving it around in circles to look it over.

Older Woman: “And how much is it?!”

Me: “It’s originally [price already far below retail], but she’ll let you have it for [even lower price].”

She stared at and kept waving it around in an angry, tight grip, mumbling and swearing under her breath about expensiveness and other gibberish before reaching over all the wine glasses towards me.

She refused to hand it over if I reached for or made any gesture to take it from her until she shoved it into my hands on her own terms. Thankfully, not she didn’t break anything as she pulled back and stormed away, still muttering to herself with an almost cartoon-sized scowl on her face.

Luckily, she never came back.

I’m at the front desk at my school fair where people buy tickets for activities, helping out to get service hours needed to graduate. When you buy tickets, your child/children automatically get a bracelet so they can play the Wheel of Fortune. It is one bracelet per child, and you can only play once. A boy, about ten or eleven, comes up with his newly-purchased tickets.

Boy: “I’d like a bracelet, please.”

Me: “Sure, what color would you like? We have red, blue, green, and yellow.”

Boy: “I’ll have blue, please.”

I attach his blue bracelet and he is on his way. After this, it gets incredibly busy and we are rushing to give bracelets and change. The boy returns to the counter and he looks vaguely familiar, but at this point, I’ve seen probably 150 children in thirty minutes.

Boy: “Could I have a bracelet, please?”

Me: “Have you had one already? I’m sorry, I don’t remember if I’ve seen you already.”

Boy: “No, I haven’t had one yet, but my brother did.”

Me: “All right, pick a color.”

He picks a color and I put it on him before he runs off again. I make note of his face and clothes in case he returns again. Sure enough, ten minutes later, he’s back.

Boy: “I’d like a bracelet, please.”

Me: “I’m sorry, I can’t give you one; I remember you from earlier. In fact, I think I already gave you two.”

Boy: “No! I haven’t had one yet! Give me a bracelet!”

Me: “Could you go get your parent, please? I’d like to confirm with them; I don’t want to make any mistakes.”

He leaves again and comes back with one of his parents. It’s important to note that parents and kids can’t see the boxes of bracelets since they’re under the table with a table cloth over it, covering the front.

Parent: “What seems to be the issue? My son told me you’re refusing to give him a bracelet. They come free with the tickets, right?”

Me: “Yes, they do, but they are limited to one per child. I could be wrong, but I think I remember your child coming by once, if not twice already.”

Parent: *Now angry* “He hasn’t had his bracelet yet! How dare you accuse my child of lying?! Now give him a yellow bracelet or I’ll report you to administration!”

Me: “Sir, there are other families around, so I need you to keep your voice down. I cannot give your child another bracelet since you’ve just proved to me that he’s had one already. The bracelets are under the table so you have no way of knowing what colors we have available right now. And if I may add, next time you try to trick us, throw away the previous bracelets. I can see them sticking out of the pocket of your coat.”

He turned bright red and spluttered incoherent sounds before grabbing his child and speed-walking away. Our “manager” congratulated me for standing my ground and gave me a free drink from the concessions stand, as well as bonus service hours.

Related:
Brace(let) Yourselves For An Angry Ending

I’m working at a Renaissance Faire — my first job — where the fairground is built in a circle formation. Security has blocked off part of the circle and designated the gate as “employees only”. This has been in force for all four weeks. As the nearest worker to the gate, I try to politely inform customers that they must go around.

Me: “Good morrow, miladies!”

They ignore me and keep walking.

Me: “Miladies, please do be advised that the gate be intended for employees only.”

Customer: “Don’t get an attitude with me! My husband works here, you know!”

Me: “Milady, I work here, too. Please do not go through that gate.”

She huffs and continues through the gap in the fence. I hear her talking to security on the other side.

Customer: “That girl at the soda booth had such an attitude!”

I don’t hear the rest, but when the security guard peers around the barrier, I raise my hands in an irritated gesture. Later, one of the other security people comes over to me.

Security: “I heard you had an altercation with some customers. What did you say to them?”

I recount the conversation.

Security: “Okay, well, they said you swore at them.”

Me: “What? W-why would they say that? I don’t swear!”

By this point, I am tearing up. I never, ever swear, and especially not at people I’ve never met before.

Manager: “What happened?!”

Security: “Some customers accused her of swearing at them. She says she didn’t do it.”

Manager: “I believe you, [My Name]. You okay?”

I was now crying hard enough that I couldn’t talk. He was kind enough to sit with me until I calmed down, and many of my coworkers came by to say that they didn’t believe the customers, either. I can’t wait to go work at that faire next year!