(I am waiting to pick up my order at a small local diner when a lady approaches the counter. She has a good look at the menu.)

Employee: “Hello, ma’am, are you ready to order?”

Customer: “Yeah, I’d like to have the [burger], but I’m lactose intolerant. Can you tell me if that’s lactose-free?”

Employee: “Yes, that burger is indeed lactose-free.”

Customer: “And the sauce?”

Employee: “Yes.”

Customer: “No dairy products?”

Employee: “No dairy products.”

Customer: *suddenly getting irate* “TELL ME WHAT’S IN THE SAUCE!”

Employee: “I’m sorry, ma’am. Unfortunately, I can’t tell you that, but I assure you it’s lactose-free.”

Customer: “I WANT TO KNOW WHAT’S IN THE F****** SAUCE! IT CAN’T BE THAT DIFFICULT, CAN IT?”

Employee: “Again, I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you that because it’s our secret recipe. However, if you would like to ask me for certain ingredients that you might be allergic to, I’ll be happy to tell you whether we use them or not.”

Customer: *still irate* “Milk?”

Employee: “No.”

Customer: “Yoghurt?”

Employee: “No.”

Customer: “Cheese?”

Employee: “No.”

Customer: “Any other dairy products?”

Employee: “As I told you before; no dairy products!”

Customer: *suddenly back to normal* “Okay, then. I’ll have two of those. Just make sure not to put any cheese on it.”

My sister was a nurse in the geriatric ward of a hospital. Once, when she was doing the night shift, a patient died in his sleep due to old age. The normal procedure would be to get the bed out of the room on the corridor and someone from pathology would come up and collect it. The problem here was that the patient’s death was noticed around five or six in the morning and pathology had a shift change, so it would take longer as usual for someone to come up.

My sister and the other nurse present were worried that some of the early bird patients would wander the corridor and notice the body, so they decided to move the bed to the nurse’s room. The other nurse went on to respond to a patient’s call and my sister started preparing the morning medications for the patients.

Now, I assume everybody is familiar with rigor mortis? The body getting stiff after death? Well, that’s not a process that happens immediately. It takes some time, sometimes up to two days, until the whole body is stiff.

So, my sister was moving around in the small nurse’s office and preparing the medications, doing what you need to do for that. Occasionally, she would bump into the bed a little bit. Finally, the dead had enough of his disturbed peace and his hand slid out under the blanket, giving my sister a slap right on her backside.

The whole ward was awake after that.

(I’m working in customer service, answering phones and emails.)

Me:“[Company], [My Name] speaking. How may I help you?”

Customer: “I just wanted to check if my parcels were already delivered and could be picked up.”

Me: “Sure thing! Let me just check.” *he tells me his account data and I pull up his account* “It looks like there is one parcel from Amazon ready to be picked up. It was just delivered this morning.”

Customer: “Only one? I’m expecting two parcels.”

Me: “Sadly, yes. Could you tell me the second parcels tracking number so I can check the online tracking?”

Customer: “I did not get one.”

Me: “In that case, you could contact the sender and ask for it. They should be able to tell you.”

Customer: “It’s Amazon, as well. I only got the tracking number for the parcel that was delivered today. The second one is a gift.”

Me: “That’s strange. You should still get a tracking number if you have Amazon send it as a gift.”

Customer: “No. I ordered the parcel you received today and checked ‘gift.’ So, Amazon will send me a gift!”

(I had to explain to him that no, checking “gift” did not prompt Amazon to send you something for free and yes, I was sure about that. He seemed rather crestfallen and when I told my colleague about it she laughed and suggested trying it, as well.)

(We have a totally self-entitled regular who seems to think he is our one and only customer. A few days ago, he berated a new employee because she didn’t remember what he usually takes and made a mistake, too, after he started berating her, simply because she was nervous. We all don’t like him, but of course, we still have to be — and are — polite when he orders. I should note that our counter is split; one half is for coffee and snacks, the other half for bread and the like. He lines up at the snack half because he wants his coffee. After a few moments, I see him sigh and head over to me on the other half, because I currently have no customers; he is obviously trying to get served faster. However, I’m currently preparing some stuff that has to go into the oven next and I absolutely hate what this customer is doing, so…)

Me: *still fumbling with my baking trays* “Hi. I’ll be with you in just a moment; I only have to finish this!”

(I deliberately take my time. After I’ve finished the first tray, I “remember” I need to bake something else, too, and put this onto a tray, too. My coworkers instantly realize what I’m doing and pretend to be busy elsewhere. Then, I put everything into the oven, set the timer, and turn to my customer. Meanwhile, he would have already had his coffee if he just hadn’t had to switch sides to save time.)

Me: *fake smile* “I’m sorry that took so long. What can I get you today?”

Customer: *without so much as a hello, please or anything* “A coffee, small. The usual, you know!”

(I know I’d been kind of an a**hole, but after that, I thought he indeed deserved what I did, and all of my coworkers agreed.)

(I am at a mall and decide to get lunch at the food court. I’m not up for fries and don’t feel like eating meat, so I take some fried noodles with veggies at a place with the usual westernized Asian fare. I get a plate and pay, then start to eat. After a couple of bites, I feel something in my mouth and pull a very long, thick, black hair from my mouth. I’m not the most squeamish person, but my appetite is gone. I decide to tell the lady who served me and is currently turning over the mountain of noodles they keep on their flat stove. She is not wearing a hat or hairnet, and has, well, quite a long, thick, black ponytail.)

Me: “Hi. I ordered these noodles and found a hair in them…”

(Almost before I can finish my sentence the lady barks back at me.)

Server: “That is not my hair. That is your hair. You put it in the food to get more free food!”

(I have a braid, but my hair is brownish-blond at the outgrown roots and a faded red in the lengths. It’s obviously not mine. The black hair is so thick, you can see it coiled on top of the yellowish noodles without having to look too close.)

Me: “Well, I can’t tell you whose it is, but it’s not mine. And I don’t want…”

(“…any free food; I just wanted to let you know!” is what I intend to say, but she again loudly speaks over me.)

Server: “No! You fat Germans always just want more food! Eat half and more, complain, and get another plate free!”

(She then TOOK THE PLATE from the counter between us and CHUCKED THE REST OF THE NOODLES at me! I instinctively stepped back but got some on my shoes nonetheless. I moved awkwardly and slipped on the saucy mess, falling rather unlucky on my hand. It hurt. A lot. I started crying and felt very shaken. A couple from a nearby table came over and some others got up, as well. Somebody told me to get up and sat me on a chair. Meanwhile, the server was shouting stuff in a language I didn’t understand. A guy in a suit from mall management came over and asked if I needed an ambulance. The man from the couple helping me talked to me, told me he was some sort of sports coach, and asked to see my wrist. He gently prodded it and moved it, proclaiming that it was probably not broken but I should get it checked anyway. I declined the ambulance; the suit-guy got me an ice pack from somewhere. They stayed with me until my boyfriend could pick me up, as I was still quite queasy, to drive me to the emergency room near our home. In the end, nothing was broken. The owner of the Asian shop contacted me through the mall and apologised a lot. He said his sister was going through some rough personal stuff and just snapped. I was almost sorry for her. But I will never enjoy Asian noodles without a bad feeling in my bones.)