Back around 2012 or so, there was a local story (Fargo, ND) that made us all laugh about a woman calling into the radio station.

Manager: “Did you hear about the woman on the radio about the deer crossing signs?”

Me: “No, what about them?”

Manager: “She called to say that she hit some deer on the highway, and then she saw the deer crossing signs, so she got angry that the government is encouraging the deer to cross there in a high traffic area.”

Me: “Oh my God, that’s hilarious.”

Manager: “Yeah, go listen to it after your shift.”

As we’ve been talking, a customer has got into my lane and I’ve started to scan their items.

Customer: “Yeah, but she’s right, though. The government needs to put the signs in smaller towns so that the deer know how to cross there.”

A moment of silence.

Me: “Uh, no, the signs are for the drivers, not the deer. The deer can’t read.”

Customer: “Duh! I know that, stupid! That’s why they put the picture of the deer on the sign so the deer can understand that it’s for them.”

My manager steps in to bag the customer’s items and get them out of there before we burst into laughter, similar to the radio hosts who received the original complaint.

Our pediatrician’s office has an odd setup where you park across from the clinic in a separate parking lot and have to cross the street in order to get to the front door. While there are several blinking signs to inform drivers to stop when there are pedestrians in the crosswalk, people often speed down the street, and I have been almost hit several times.

Today, I am taking my one-year-old for a checkup. As it’s winter, he is wearing a knit hat with a logo for an NFL team that is the rival of the local favorite team. I hit the walk button and, seeing no one, start to walk across the street while holding my son.

Suddenly, a large truck comes racing down the street. They don’t look like they are going to stop, so I hurry across. They do stop at the last minute as I get to the front of the clinic.

The guy driving rolls down his window.

Guy: “Now that I see your kid’s hat, maybe I should have hit you guys! Go [Local Favorite NFL Team]!”

He laughed and drove off.

I stood there in disbelief. Who says that to someone, but especially about an obviously very little kid?

I am at the window of a well-known fast food chicken restaurant that is closed on Sundays. As it is currently in the negatives temperature-wise, I’m wearing a scarf and a knit hat. Both my scarf and hat are the green and gold colors of a professional football team that happens to be rivals of the favorite purple and gold team that most people in my area root for.

[Cashier #1] opens the window.

Cashier #1: “Your total will be—”

He then stops, stares at me, scowls, and slams the window shut. I sit there, confused, for a few moments, trying to figure out what happened, when the window opens again.

Cashier #2: “Hi, what are you still waiting for?”

Me: “Everything. The guy started to take my payment and then, for some reason, stopped and slammed the window shut.”

[Cashier #2] looked confused but took my payment and said she’d grab a manager while I waited for my food.

After a few moments, the manager came with my food and an apology. Turns out the cashier was a HUGE fan of the team most people in the area support, and the team I support had beat them in a playoff game the night before, knocking his team out of Superbowl contention. Seeing my hat and scarf, he refused to wait on me.

The manager apologized and gave me a free cookie and shake for my troubles. I’ve been back through that drive-thru several times and haven’t seen that cashier since.

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I am the acting manager on the floor. My general manager will often come to work on the weekends so he can be aware of how all shifts are running. During these times, he allows whichever manager-on-duty is scheduled to continue to act as manager while he works as a team member, working whatever position he needs to and deferring to us for decisions. My manager has worked all shifts all days of the week and knows all the regulars by name.

This particular Saturday, I am acting manager-on-duty while my general manager works the front register. A lady came running in with one of our cups.

Customer: “I just came through the drive-thru and my latte has froth on it! I’m here all the time and you always get it wrong!”

Outside the fact that a latte always has foam on it unless a customer specifically asks for no foam, this is a woman I have never seen before and, by the look on his face, my manager hasn’t, either.

Manager: “Well, ma’am—”

He can’t get anything else in edgewise as the woman keeps ranting, so he finally just waits for her to finish. She ends with:

Customer: “I am a regular here and this is ridiculous! I personally know the manager and will see you all fired.”

I look at my manager curiously, waiting to see what he does. He sighs.

Manager: “Actually, ma’am, I am the general manager at this location, and I have never seen you before.”

At this, the lady became very red and left quickly. My manager, the other workers, and I all burst out laughing.

Moral of the story: if you are going to play the “I know the manager!” card, make sure you aren’t talking TO the manager!

I work at a coffee shop chain that allows customers to buy 5.5 gallons of either black coffee or hot chocolate in a reusable cambro that the customer brings back to us when they are done. 

A customer who owns a business in the same strip mall as our coffee shop asks for the cambro of hot chocolate for her salon. This customer isn’t the nicest person we’ve ever worked with but usually responds pretty well to our general manager. She picks up the hot chocolate cambro at 5:00 pm and we don’t think anything of it.

The next morning, she comes storming into our store.

Customer: “Where is [General Manager]?! I demand to talk to him!”

Me: “Unfortunately, ma’am, he is not scheduled today. How may I help you?”

Customer: “You sold me curdled hot chocolate. I can’t serve that!”

Confused, I find my assistant store manager who is working and was the one who sold her the cambro the night before.

Assistant Store Manager: “Ma’am, the hot chocolate was fine when we gave it to you last night. I made it myself. Can you tell us what happened?”

The woman tells us that she bought the cambro full of hot chocolate with the intention of serving it the next day. She literally left a pressurized cambro of hot chocolate out all night. The milk obviously went bad and, due to the pressure, the lid exploded off and curdled hot chocolate went EVERYWHERE in her salon.

Until we can get a hold of her general manager, our assistant store manager agrees to send one of our team members down to the woman’s salon to help her clean it up. It is all over the walls, furniture, and floor, and it smells TERRIBLE.

Per my team member, the woman keeps saying things like, “I don’t understand why it exploded. You should be able to keep milk out overnight with no problem!” As none of us know any non-sarcastic way to explain to this woman that, just like you can’t keep a gallon of milk on a counter unrefrigerated, you certainly can’t keep 5.5 gallons of hot chocolate out overnight, we keep quiet until our general manager calls us back.

General Manager: “SHE DID WHAT?!”

Our general manager ended up calling the woman and explaining why the cambro exploded and that she couldn’t yell at his employees. We aren’t allowed to sell her any more cambros of anything.