Customer: “Excuse me, but where is your non-pasteurized milk?”

Me: “We don’t sell that. All of our milk is pasteurized.”

The customer tuts and then leans back as if I am mocking her.

Customer: “Seriously?”

Me: “Uh, yes. We don’t sell raw or non-pasteurized milk. It can be quite risky, so we don’t want to risk it.”

Customer: “But the healthy benefits outweigh the risks! I need it!”

Me: “Sorry to ask, ma’am, but I do recognize you as one of our regular customers. Where have you been getting non-pasteurized milk up until now?”

Customer: “Oh, I haven’t, but I read on Facebook that it’s healthier, and I need to start drinking it.”

Me: “I wouldn’t recommend getting health advice from Facebook, ma’am, but anyway, we only sell pasteurized milk here.”

Customer: *Snidely* “So, you don’t want me to be healthy? Got it.”

I turn to leave, and she gets my attention again.

Customer: “Where’s your cookie dough?”

I had been a private driving instructor for over twelve years when this happened. This was different than driving classes given at high schools. I mostly worked with private schools.

I had a student whom I picked up at her private high school for her lesson. We had a ninety-minute class, and she was dropped off at home.

Out came Mom from Entitled Land with three of the girl’s friends.

Mom: “I need you to take these girls to a basketball game. They have their parents’ permission.”

Me: “No! You had to sign a contract with us giving your permission, and our insurance only covers the person named in that contract.”

She started getting snarky with me.

Mom: “I promised them all they could go!”

Me: “I want to reiterate that we aren’t legally allowed to do that. Besides, this isn’t a taxi or a [Rideshare].”

The mom stood in front of my car, called my boss, and started giving him a hard time.

Boss: “Sorry, but that’s absolutely not happening.”

Mom: “Fine! Then I want my money back for all the classes I prepaid for!”

This was class number five out of six.

Boss: “That’s not happening, either. Now, leave [My Name] alone; they have another class to go to.”

It was unbelievable how rude and nasty she was in front of those teens.

I didn’t do class number six, though. My boss decided he’d finish up in case the mom decided to continue to be out of line.

This happened about thirty years ago when our children were toddlers. My husband was an E5 in the Air Force and I was a stay-at-home mom, so money was tight, to say the least. My mother-in-law was coming to visit for the first time since my father-in-law had passed, and we wanted her to have a nice time, so we squeezed the budget relentlessly for months to have some extra funds while she was here.

[Mother-In-Law]’s lifelong friend was a snowbird with a winter place in Port Richey about an hour away, and we invited her to dinner so the “girls” could catch up. Dinner went well, and as beverages were enjoyed, [Friend] crashed on our couch. 

The next morning over breakfast, we made plans to visit Coquina Beach to search for shark teeth. This sounded great to [Friend], and she decided to join us. We covered all expenses, including lunch at a nice restaurant on the pier. By the time we got home, cleaned up, and enjoyed the stew I had left in the crock-pot, we were tired, and [Friend] crashed on our couch.

The next morning over breakfast, we were making plans to go to the Dali Museum in Saint Petersburg. This sounded wonderful to [Friend] so she accompanied us. We covered entry fees and lunch at a nice restaurant.

Rinse and repeat for nine days. [Friend] never offered to buy groceries or pick up a tab. We had worked hard to be prepared for one extra person; having two was devastating our budget. 

On the morning of the ninth day, I asked [Friend] if she thought she would be here for dinner as the roast I had planned was not adequate. [Friend] was furious and offended that I would say such a thing to my mother-in-law’s oldest friend. She stormed out. 

She never spoke to me again.

I manage a department on a cruise line. We have to go above and beyond for our customers, often to the point of ridiculousness; that’s kind of expected in this industry. This does mean that, within reason, we take a bit more flak from guests than the average service worker, but as a manager, I get to define what the boundaries are.

There are countless processes and procedures for working and maintaining large cruise ships, and I would bore you all senseless if I tried to explain them in this story, so it’s been edited for brevity and sanity.

It’s embarkation day, and the ship is a flurry of activity as guests board and hundreds of staff are guiding the guests around, delivering luggage, and generally doing all we can to ensure we depart on time.

I can see one of my guest relation officers experiencing some issues with an older couple. I hurry over.

Male Guest: “Can you not speak English?”

Guest Relations: “Yes, sir, I am fluent. As I was trying to explain, all guests are expected to—”

Male Guest: “I guess you can’t speak good English if you have ‘expectations’ of us. It’s us who have expectations of you, and don’t you forget it.”

Female Guest: “We paid a lot of money to be here, whereas you get to be here for free. You should be grateful you get to be in our country.”

I can see that my guest relations officer is having a tough time. She is from the Philippines, so she has a very slight accent, but her English is impeccable; it has to be for her to hold the position she’s in. I decide to take over, all smiles.

Me: “Hi there. I’m the guest relations manager. Is there anything I can do to help your boarding?”

Male Guest: “Yeah! This little girl here thinks she can tell us we have to be somewhere at some time! That’s unacceptable! We’re the guests, and we’re the ones that have to tell you what to do!”

Me: “I understand, but please note that all five-thousand-plus guests must report to their designated muster stations for a safety briefing before we can depart. It’s a legal requirement from the Port Of Miami — and from our insurers. It’s not something we can skip, I’m afraid. This was explained in your confirmation email—”

Female Guest: “We paid a lot of money to be here!”

She’s parroting that line again. Does she think it means something else?

Me: “Yes, ma’am, but every guest, regardless of their package, has to report to their muster station for a safety briefing. It only takes fifteen minutes, and you’ll be able to enjoy the rest of your cruise uninterrupted immediately afterward.”

Male Guest: “Where are you from?”

Me: “I am local to Miami, sir.”

Male Guest: “That’s not what I asked, boy. Where are you from?”

Me: “I was born in California, sir.”

Male Guest: *Squinting* “But you’re the same color as her! I guess they didn’t teach you good English, either. Let me say it clearer. We tell you what to do. You don’t tell us what to do. Clear?”

Me: “Yes, sir.”

They get directions to their cabin from me and off they go. This is going to be an issue and is a legal requirement, but I’ve done my job, and now I have to report them to my manager in turn. Their attitude is going to become their problem.

Something must be sorted out because halfway through the cruise, as we’re docked at a Caribbean island, I see the couple disembarking to explore the local town. I am set up at a desk that’s just outside the ship, on the jetty, explaining to guests what time the ship disembarks.

Me: *To another guest* “Please note that the ship leaves at six sharp, and you’re advised to aim to be back on board at least an hour before this time to count for any delays on your return to the ship.”

All the guests so far have been understanding of this; obviously, a 225,000-ton vessel has a schedule to keep! Then, that same couple from before passes me. Before I can say anything, they speak up.

Female Guest: “Look, honey, his English has gotten worse. He’s still telling paying guests what to do!”

Male Guest: “You’re right! I guess we’ll have to have another talk with his manager when we get back on board. He says he’s from California, but his parents must have taught him some weird dialect.”

I simply smile at them as they pass. There’s no point in giving information out to guests who refuse to hear it.

The day proceeds without incident, and as we approach six that evening the last few guests are running back onto the ship. (There are always a few.)

At 18:05, I am going over the final list with my staff, and guess who isn’t back yet?

Guest Relations Officer: “Shall I call [Port Office] and let them know we’re missing two passengers?”

Me: “Yes. We’ll follow the procedure. Tell them we’ll prepare to disembark as usual, but we’ll leave this door open for another fifteen minutes to give them every opportunity. Get all this packed up and back on board.”

Fifteen minutes come and go as we pack up our tables and gear, and I finally have to close the door. Technically, the ship will stay in place for a few more minutes as some technical checks are made, and I could theoretically open the door again if the passengers made a last-minute appearance up until the captain gives the final order. As the manager down here, it’s my call.

Guest Relations Officer: *On the phone, but talking to me* “It’s [Port Office]. They say that our guests have just pulled up to the front and are arguing with them. They’re estimating they’re about fifteen minutes away from us. What shall I tell them?”

I go over to the phone and take over.

Me: “Please tell the guests we can’t speak English.”

And with that, I hung up. The already-too-late ship departed at speed to make up the schedule. 

I guess I just couldn’t understand their dialect of racism?

I had to take my husband to the emergency room for a broken foot. As we were waiting to be admitted because they wanted to do more in-depth testing due to his many health issues, we were seated next to an older woman. To be honest, I don’t know if she was just old, lonely, and scared or an entitled jerk. We suspected the latter. 

She kept going up to the nurses saying how she was sick. They kept saying they knew, but she had to wait her turn which would be a while because she was not a priority patient. At one point:

Woman: *In a shaky voice* “I’m going to pass out!”

Nurse: “Then you definitely need to sit down.”

I got the impression it was not their first time dealing with her. She was carrying on like she was going to pass out and throwing up in a bag when in reality she was just trying to spit into it.  

After twenty minutes, the woman got up and left the ER. I watched her through the window as she went across the street and made a phone call. Less than five minutes later, an ambulance pulled up.

Yep, she had called an emergency number for an ambulance. They put her in the ambulance and brought her to the ER… where they promptly put her back into the chair next to me. 

Woman: *Crying* “But I’m sick!”

Nurse: “So is everyone else here. And now, since you left the ER, you have lost your place in line and will have to wait again until we have room.”

At this point, the woman harrumphed, crossed her arms, and pouted. She gave us a dirty look when they came out with a wheelchair to get my husband. She started loudly complaining to the nurses about it. I gave the nurses a sympathetic look and walked away with my husband. It’s people like her that make it difficult for real emergencies to be handled.