After college, I worked at a fabric store just outside of Washington, DC. One day, a member of the Secret Service came in and informed us that the wife of a foreign leader wanted to shop in our store. He needed to check out the layout and entrances to be sure there were no risks. He walked around and had us lock the loading dock door, but he said we could stay open for regular business while this VIP was shopping.

The lady showed up about an hour or so later with a couple more male agents. She spent a long time shopping (spending thousands of dollars) so a lot of customers came and went while she was there. A few of them asked why the Secret Service was there.

The lead agent came over to me at one point and said:

Agent: “Please don’t tell anyone we are with the Secret Service.”

Me: “Uh, sir, this is a fabric store and we don’t get many male customers in the first place. You are wearing earpieces and suits; it’s obvious who you are!”

The VIP had such a great time that she came back the next day to buy more fabric. This time, her security detail wore Hawaiian shirts. They didn’t look any less conspicuous!

I live out on an acreage, and during the spring, our ditch that lets water out of our yard plugs up with snow. We have a wheel loader and an excavator to deal with these issues. It should also be said that we have the exact same excavator as our local rural municipality.

We were out working with the excavator, unplugging the ditch. The base of the excavator was sitting on the road and the boom was reaching down into the ditch. I was sitting in the cab when a black pickup truck rolled up with the orange flashing lights and the rural municipality logos all over it.

The guy in the truck got out, walked around the back of the machine, came over to the cab, and ripped the door open, smashing it against the side of the machine, breaking the main window.

Man: *Yelling in my face* “What do you think you’re doing?!”

Me: “Um, working in our ditch.”

Man: “Do you know who I am?! I could have your job for this!”

Then, I realized he thought that I worked for the rural municipality. I replied by pointing to where the rural municipality decal usually is on their excavators; it wasn’t there on our excavator. He looked and saw that it was missing the decal, and then he looked at me, and then at my dad standing in the ditch.

Then, he realized that we didn’t work for the rural municipality. He shuffled back to his truck, looking very embarrassed about the situation.

We later got an email from the rural municipality saying that they would replace the glass and an apology letter from the guy. In the end, we put our own decals on our excavator so this wouldn’t happen again.

I work for a Housing Authority (Section 8 benefits). After dealing with several entitled, demanding clients, my customer service demeanor has dried up for the day. Then, I get this phone call.

Client: “I want to move! What will you pay?”

No introduction or name is given.

Me: “Okay, can I get your name so I can find you in the system?”

After getting everything verified:

Client: “I want to move to this place, and the rent is $1,300 per month. I need to know what you will pay!”

Me: “Okay, let me do some math here. Okay, looks like we will pay $875 and you’ll pay $425.”

Client: “What?!”

I repeat myself.

Client: “This is ridiculous! I thought you people were supposed to help others! I can’t afford that amount. I guess I just won’t move!”

Me: *Completely deadpan* “Okay.”

Client: “I won’t move!”

Me: “Okay, great talking with you. If there’s nothing else, have a nice day.”

The client cursed me out as she hung up.

Over twenty years ago, I worked for a federal regulatory agency, conducting inspections of drug manufacturing firms. I was flying to Washington, DC, for work and a lady sat in the seat next to me. She introduced herself.

Lady: “I’m a sales rep for [Large Well-Known Pharmaceutical Company].”

Me: “Hi, I’m [My Name].”

She started chatting about her job and how wonderful the products were and how they could be used, etc.

After about a half-hour, she asked me what I do for a living.

Me: “I’m a drug investigator for [Federal Agency].”

Her mouth dropped and then closed, never to open again for the rest of the flight.

In the US, some entities are tax-exempt, like federal or state government locations. As such, for a long time, the company I worked for used to set up government accounts as tax-exempt without asking for documentation first.

Following a nightmare incident with some top-notch bureaucratic stupidity, my company made the change that all new customers would default to taxable, no exception, and would only be changed to tax-exempt after providing the necessary tax form/certificate/whatever. It was a mild annoyance for entities that weren’t used to giving us documentation up front, but usually, the government-related ones understood when we’d say, “We just need to have the paperwork on file.”

Customer: “You all charged tax on [invoice], even though we’re a state government facility, which I would figure was obvious enough to anyone with a brain, but I got an email saying you need our tax certificate before you’d refund it.”

Me: “Sure, if you have the proper documentation, I can take care of that for you and get that information on file.”

While pulling up the necessary documents and screens, he continues complaining.

Customer: “I don’t see why this is necessary. It says, ‘State of [State],’ right in the name. Or are you all too stupid to know that the government is tax-exempt?”

Me: *Trying the line that has worked countless times before* “I apologize for the inconvenience, but you know how it is when you just need the paperwork on file.”

Customer: “No, in fact, this is absolutely pointless. It should be fairly obvious to anyone with half a working brain, though it’s clear now that anyone who works here must not qualify for that.”

It’s early morning, this jerk has called me stupid several times for the sake of seventy-four cents on an invoice, and I’m running out of patience. I see the department he works for called out on the invoice, and say in my absolute sweetest voice:

Me: “Yes, I’m certain that when the state of [State] distributes unemployment benefits, you take their word on it and don’t require backup documentation?”

He gave me the fiercest glare I’d ever endured and gave one-word answers for the rest of the transaction. I am certain my supervisor overheard and, thankfully, just let it go. Would’ve been worth the write-up, though.