I work in an insurance office. It has been a stormy night, so people call for notification of claim.

Caller: “Hello. My name is [Caller], and because of the storm, the roofing felt on my shed came off. I need to know what to do now.”

Me: “We need some pictures of the damage and an estimate of costs, or an invoice if the damage has been repaired already.”

Caller: “No, no, you need to tell me what I have to do now.”

Me: “If you provide us with the pictures and an invoice, we can pay for your costs instantly.”

Caller: *Getting irritated* “No, I need to know what to do right now!”

Me: “We cannot cover your expenses if we don’t know how much they are. And we need the picture as proof for your claim.”

Caller: “You don’t seem to understand! You need to tell me HOW TO FIX MY ROOF!”

I’m working in a restaurant as a waiter. A family of three is sitting at a table, ordering mainly fried foods. The mother gets herself our fried camembert with salad. Our camembert is a higher quality one which is breaded by hand two times to ensure that it won’t leak during frying.

A few minutes after receiving their food, the woman waves me over to their table.

Woman: “Everything is perfect, except I would like to complain about my camembert.”

Me: “Apologies, madam. What is the problem with the camembert?”

Woman: “It tastes really good, but as soon as I cut into it, all the cheese just flowed out onto my plate. This is unacceptable.”

I just stand there for a few seconds staring at her and her plate back and forth, thinking that she might be joking, but she is dead serious. I apologise again and, without touching the plate, I tell my manager. He goes to the table.

Manager: “I’ve heard that you had a complaint regarding one of the dishes. Could you explain it to me, please?”

Woman: “Yes, as soon as cut into my camembert, it just flowed out onto my plate. and this is not how it supposed to be.”

Manager: “Well, our camembert is freshly made to order with high-quality ingredients, and it is normal for melted cheese to do that if you cut into it.”

Woman: “Well, the ones I buy and fry at home from [Grocery Store] do not do that if I cut into it!”

My manager just apologises to her and asks if she would like to have another one on us. She says no and then cleans her plate without any further complaints. Later, when I have a chance to speak to my manager:

Me: “You know, the reason her cheese from the store isn’t like the one she had here is that it’s not cheese.”

Manager: “I know, but if I had told her, she probably would have started screaming at us because she knows better and I would have needed to comp their food. If you notice that your complaining customer has a lower IQ than you and your colleagues altogether, you should just shut your mouth, apologise, and go away so you don’t get into any trouble.”

I work part-time at a tiny, tiny Asian food store. I have seen fast food restrooms that were bigger than our store. Still, we stock more than two-thousand products so customers often ask us where certain things are. That’s no big deal; if anything, we hold pride in our good customer service.

I’m alone in the shop, as mornings are usually calm during this particular season.

Me: “Good morning, how are you? Are you looking for something specific?”

Customer: “I need two cans and one package of coconut milk. It has to be organic!”

That’s one of our most popular products, so I easily show her where we keep our coconut milk. Most of them aren’t organic, though. I hold up the two organic packages we stock.

Me: “Which size do you need? 1L or 250ml?”

Customer: “Organic.”

Me: “These are both organic. How much do you need?”

Customer: “Organic!”

She doesn’t even look at me, but instead starts grabbing around where the cans are. My hands are still holding the two packages, so I can’t exactly help and point out which is the right can.

Customer: “Is this one organic?”

Me: “Yes, that’s the organic can.”

Customer: *A little annoyed* “You know, the other woman recognizes me and always gets my coconut milk before I can even ask for it.”

I almost reply that I must have been fortunate enough to not encounter her in my four months of working here, but I hold back and just smile. I’m surely going to remember her, too, so that next time I can flee into the back when she comes in.

I hold up the two packages again, since she still hasn’t looked at me properly.

Me: “So, which size do you need for the packages: 250ml or 1L?”

Customer: “ORGANIC!”

I really wonder why she needed help locating our coconut milk and identifying which of the three brands we have is the organic one, since she apparently comes in so often and always buys the same thing.

I work the reference desk at a public library. A lady walks up to the desk and shows me a tiny picture of a computer screen she took with her phone camera; it’s the title of a book she’s looked up on another website that recommends books to kids learning to read. I can barely make out the title, but I do look it up for her.

After a while, she comes back with another of these tiny “screenshots” and this repeats until I notice that she keeps going back and forth from one of our computers around the corner.

Me: “Excuse me, I was wondering why you take pictures of the results you find when you could just look them up right there on the same computer?”

Patron: “Oh, but it’s so much faster if you look them up for me.”

Our handball team has a local championship around three hours from away from home. It should last three days, but our team is eliminated in the first round. So, after one night, we head home. The mood is very bad, as we’d hoped to spend a nice weekend in the mountains.

Teammate #1: “Ahh, so stupid. Three-hour trip for nothing! Now I have to sit in this stupid bus again after only one day!”

Another teammate agrees. Suddenly, a red Porsche overtakes our bus and [Teammate #1] exclaims:

Teammate #1: “Wow! With that car, I would be home in thirty minutes! But instead I sit here, on this awful bus!”

Teammate #2: “Yeah! It would be nice. I imagine that is my car and my chauffeur is driving it home for me. I just sit with you in this bus out of pity!”

Teammate #1: “Oh! You are so nice! But instead of sitting here, you should have taken me for the ride home in your car! Your chauffeur should go home by bus!”

They joke around about “their” car and about how difficult it is to go by bus for a while, until our bus slows down and passes an accident. The Porsche is sitting in a ditch, its front totally destroyed.

Luckily, the driver is standing beside it, filing a police report. [Teammate #1]’s and [Teammate #2]’s jaws drop.

Teammate #2: “Oh, my God! MY CAR! WHAT DID THE CHAUFFEUR DO TO IT?!”

Teammate #3: “Do you still think it is soooo bad to go by bus?”

I guess the driver won’t be home for some time!