(I work for a local farm that raises pastured meat to sell frozen at farmer’s markets. We also offer a CSA membership program. Members get a custom basket each month. Because they’re paying for a premium product, we try to be flexible with requests and changes. One customer consistently takes this a little too far, popping in at markets to pass along her latest specifications. My boss, the farm’s co-owner, recounts the latest episode to me…)

Customer: “I need to talk about my CSA.”

Owner: “What seems to be the problem?”

Customer: “I don’t want chickens where the legs are put straight like this–” *motions for two parallel lines sticking up, how the legs roughly sit on a standard packaged small whole chicken*

Owner: “May I ask why you weren’t happy with the other birds?”

Customer: “Chickens like that take too long to cook. I always cook a chicken for thirty-five minutes, but I cooked those chickens for two hours and they still were not done! I don’t want any more with the legs like that.”

(We have already had chickens specially processed at a smaller weight for her, a long compromise after she was displeased with several other products.)

Owner: “Are you sure the legs are what’s causing the problem? We could look but—”

Customer: “No, no, no more chickens with the legs like that. Thank you!”

(She quickly walked away from our stand. That is how we later found ourselves staring at frozen poultry, trying to determine how else one can direct a butcher to package an exceptionally scrawny chicken, and in what world leg positioning affects cooking time. Her CSA basket is too large to risk losing.)

(I work for a farm that specializes in breeding top-of-the-line, big-name miniature horses, and we have quite the reputation around town for having babies every year. This takes place not long after an Amazon Prime commercial airs featuring a mini horse.)

Me: “Hello! Thank you for contacting [Horse Farm]. How can I assist you today?”

Woman: “Hi, I just saw that Amazon commercial…”

Me: *internally* “Oh, boy, here we go.”

Woman: “…and I just thought that little mini was so cute! Do you have anything like it?”

Me: “We have one that is for sale, and similar colorwise.” *gives the basic info on this horse*

Woman: *interrupting me* “Oh, no, no, I meant one that’s little, with the little legs and cute head!”

Me: “Ma’am, with all due respect for that farm, that is a dwarf mini. Dwarfism is a genetic defect in miniature horses and some large breeds that causes bones, cartilage, and organs to grow improperly, and a majority of dwarves spend their lives in pain similar to stuffing your 80-year-old, degenerative arthritic grandmother into a corset that is much too tight. We do not have any dwarves because we do not breed for dwarfism, since it’s considered taboo in the horse world.”

Woman: “Then do you have any horses that have that dwarf gene? Couldn’t you breed them for me and then I’d take the baby?”

Me: *cheerily* “Thank you for considering [Horse Farm] for your next show ring champion. We hope you had a pleasant experience! Have a wonderful day!”

(I found out that two days later, she contacted a horse farm we have a breeding contract with, asking for a dwarf. She was then reported to all the local mini breeders.)

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(We’ve had geese nesting on the property. One of our new hires, an ESL speaker, gets hissed at. He comes over to talk to me.)

New Hire: “I do not like your cobra chickens.”

(I am in a farmyard, waiting to buy some vegetables directly from the farmer. A mother and a child are also waiting to be served. Their family has a reputation for being not quite law-abiding.)

Child: *pointing out at a duck passing by with her duckling* “Mummy! Look at the pretty duckies! Look at the pretty duckies!”

Mother: “Yes, love, they’re pretty, aren’t they?”

(The farmer’s wife catches one of the ducklings and offers it to the child for holding. The kid, of course, is beyond himself with joy and pets the duckling while the mother does her shopping. Once she’s done…)

Mother: “Love, put the ducky down; it’s time to go.”

Child: *after putting the duckling back on the ground* “Mummy, can we come and take them later tonight?”

(The mother turned bright red and left rather quickly!)

(I volunteer at a local farm, feeding animals, cleaning stables, etc. It is open for visits, and we easily get around twenty or so grandmas visiting a day with their infant grandchildren.)

Me: “Excuse me. I see you have a bag of carrots. I’m sorry, but visitors aren’t allowed to feed the animals.”

Customer: “It’s just four carrots, and you have two donkeys; it won’t make a difference.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but that’s what everyone says. If we allow that, the donkeys will overeat and that’s bad for their health.”

(She just walks off to the field where we keep the donkeys and I let her. The farmer is nearby and has already spotted her, so I continue work. About ten minutes later, she returns with one of her grandchildren crying.)

Customer: “One of your donkeys bit my grandson! You didn’t warn me that they bite!”

Me: “No, I warned you that you’re not allowed to feed them; if you went ahead and ignored me, then it’s not my fault your grandson got bitten. The wound isn’t even bleeding, so I doubt he’ll get infected with anything.”

Customer: “Well, I’m taking him to the doctor, and if he has anything, I’ll come right back and you can cough up the medical fees!”