(It’s the day before Hurricane Irma — downgraded to a Tropical Storm — is set to hit the town and I am working the night shift at a gas station by myself. The people fleeing Florida have wiped us of most of our stock of water bottles, ice, and bread three days ago so locals are straggling to get supplies at the last minute. This weekend, we have run out of all types of gas three or four times and we only have regular gas when this happens. I have already hastily put signs up that we only have regular gas in stock at the moment on every pump and on both of the doors leading into the store anticipating nervous, easily-angered customer reactions as this is the richer side of town. A few hours later a lady storms in.)

Woman: “Why are the pumps not working?”

Me: *having answered this question far too many times already despite the signs* “I’m sorry, ma’am, what kind of gas were you trying to pump?”

Woman: “Premium.”

(We’re in the heart of lake country, and many very rich people live in the neighborhood. I’m no stranger to being looked down upon as a customer service worker and have grown a thick skin over it.)

Me: “We are out of premium, ma’am. We only have regular gas.”

Woman: *irritably* “Well, how was I supposed to know that?”

Me: *polite, but straight-faced* “There was a sign on the pump and on the door you just walked through.”

(She gets quiet for a moment and looks at the door and at the sign before looking back at me and snapping.)

Woman: “It’s not my job to read!”

(She stormed back out to her Lexus and drove off quickly. I just want to know how she got this far in life if “it isn’t her job to read.”)

(In the state of Iowa, ethanol in super unleaded fuel is subsidized so it is typically much less expensive than regular unleaded. I am working at a gas station off the interstate that has a large sign visible from the highway and a street sign that only displays our lowest-price fuel, super unleaded. A customer from out of state comes in upset after pumping gas, accusing me of over-charging him and misleading customers about our price per gallon.)

Me: “I apologize, sir. I’ll look into it.”

(I walk out to the dispenser with him, look it over, nod, and point at the PPG display above each grade.)

Me: “Yeah, this is all correct. See? Regular is [price] and super is [price], just like the sign says.”

(As I point to the street sign, steam starts shooting out of this guy’s ears and he responds:)

Customer: “Well, you could’ve made that sign larger!”

Me: “We did.” *as I point to the massive sign visible from the highway, looming over the store*

Customer: “Uh… Yeah… Well, you’re starving Mexicans!”

Me: “What?!”

Customer: “You are personally responsible for the deaths of millions of Mexicans! Does that make you happy? This is bulls***!”

Me: “Okay, then. Have a nice day.”

(Over the years, I have met several annoying or stupid customers, but never have I encountered a customer who was such perfect “Not Always Right” material as the one in my friend’s story. This friend works at a petrol station. In most Dutch gas stations, you fill your tank and then enter the shop to pay for it. This station has a small bakery inside the shop and a sign clearly saying that you can pay for your fuel at the bakery. A woman enters and walks past the sign, clearly pushing it aside. She stands looking around, saying nothing and sighing, annoyed.)

Coworker: “Can you find everything, ma’am?”

Woman: *continues to sigh, not saying anything*

Coworker: “If you need to pay for your fuel, you can do that at the bakery.”

Woman: “Well, there should be a sign telling me that! How should I know this?”

Coworker: “There is a sign, ma’am. You just walked past it. Didn’t you see?”

Woman: “But I’m getting so much information fired at me the whole day! You can’t expect me to read all of that!”

(Is this stupid, lazy, or both?)

While I am working at a gas station, a customer pulls up to the pumps and then comes inside. He wanders around for a moment and eventually grabs an ice cream cone from the cooler. He unwraps it and starts eating it as he heads to the register, ripping off the entire ice cream top in one go.

Then he seems to realize his mistake, as he can’t coherently communicate with ice cream in his mouth. His solution?

He spits the ice cream into his hand, asks for $10 on his pump, puts the ice cream back in his mouth, and proceeds to pay for the order in cash… with the hand that was holding the ice cream glob.

As you might imagine, the cashier is less than enthused to take the money and makes a beeline for the bathroom to wash his hands immediately after completing the transaction.

(I work at a gas station. There is a “pay inside” option on the machines, but we are not supposed to turn the pump on for anyone we don’t know or can’t track down. Given that drive-offs come out of our checks, we tend to take this rule seriously, which can lead to some people deciding to take it out on us. Luckily, our boss has never asked us to put up with this BS. No F-bombs, no personal insults, but we don’t have to smile and take it. Last fall we had this gem of a cranky, older man pull up and hit the “pay inside” option. Since I don’t know him I silence the call bell and wait for him to come in. It times out, he presses the button again, and I silence it again. One of our regulars is heading back out and offers to tell him it’s prepay. I thank her and watch her walk out while taking care of my line. Cue an angry stomp inside.)

Customer: “Hey! Turn the pump on. I’m waiting!”

Me: “Sorry, sir. We can’t turn the pump on for people we don’t know. You’ll need to prepay or allow us to hold your ID or credit card.”

Customer: “Then why the f*** doesn’t it say prepay?”

Me: “There is a sign, sir, just to the left of the display.”

Customer: “Oh, just turn the f****** thing on. I don’t want to walk all over the d***** place.”

Me: “Sorry, sir. Those are the store rules. Drive-offs come out of our checks.”

(Cue a loud, growling, profanity-laden rant about how nobody trusts anyone anymore and why the h*** should he be punished for it? I patiently wait for him to go quiet while checking out a few of my regular customers. Once he winds down, I ask him again.)

Me: “So, did you want to prepay, pay outside, or have us hold an ID?”

Customer: “Just turn on the f****** pump! This is what’s wrong with your generation! You don’t trust anyone anymore!”

(I’ve had enough.)

Me: “Sir, you don’t trust me to hold onto your ID and have done nothing but yell and swear at me. Why the h*** would I trust you with my paycheck?”

Customer: “F*** you, you little s***! I’m getting my gas somewhere else! You just lost a customer, and I’ll be calling your manager!”

Me: “There a gas station across the way, and this whole conversation is on the security cameras, both visual and audio. Bye.”

(The dude stands there a moment, while I start checking out another regular, before huffing and stomping off in an impressive impersonation of an angry toddler. My regulars pipes up:)

Regular: “Does he know that [Competitor] is prepay only? No exceptions?”

Me: “Guess he will soon.”

Regular: “This is why I come here. You gals take no bulls***!”