(I work night-shift as a doughnut fryer. I don’t see people often, but when I do, I try to be extra helpful. It is about 11:00 pm.)

Customer: “Do you know where the crunchies are?”

Me: “Crunchies? Um, I don’t think so. Can you describe them?”

Customer: “They’re like apple pie, but with oatmeal on top.”

(I ponder for a moment, for that could apply to a great many things we make. Then it hits me. Cobbler. She means cobbler. Interesting fact: our store’s kitchen actually makes the cobbler. So, I show her where it is.) 

Me: “Here it is. The kitchen labeled it ‘cobbler’ but I think this may be what you are looking for.”

Customer: *sneers* “Yes, it is, but in my family, we call it crunchies.”

(Then, she walked away all snooty. All I could think was, “Yeah, but if you want people to understand you, you call it what everyone else f****** does.”)

(I’m not at my best here; in my defense, I’m still pretty new at my deli job at this point. I’m going about my duties when I see a woman hovering near, but not actually at, the sandwich counter. She’s closer to our grab-and-go station and not actually looking at us so I figure she’s just picking something up and go about my work. I look back at her 30 seconds to a minute later; she’s now staring daggers directly at me with a “why aren’t you helping me” glare. I internally brace myself and go over to see what she wants.)

Me: “Hi. Can I help you?”

Customer: “I want a ham and cheese croissant.”

Me: “Okay! Would you mind filling out a sandwich form out for me so I know what exactly you would like?” *attempting to walk her over to the actual sandwich counter*

Customer: “I want a ham and cheese croissant!”

Me: “Yes. But I need to know what kind of ham, what kind of cheese, and if you’d like any condiments or veggies.”

(Looking affronted at this indignity, the customer reluctantly walks over to the sandwich counter and fills out a form, giving it back to me with the greatest contempt. It turns out she really does want just ham and cheese on a plain croissant, but at least now I know which ham and cheese. I go to the counter to build her sandwich when tragedy strikes. I see no croissants.)

Me: “It doesn’t look like we have any croissants; is there another bread option you would like?”

Customer: *glowers silently at me*

Me: *suddenly hoping there’s a croissant storage I’m unaware of* “You know what? Let me grab a coworker and make sure we don’t have any.”

(I grab a nearby coworker, and she explains to me that we don’t typically keep croissants in the deli because of how quickly they go bad, but we can grab some from the bakery. I’m a little confused about the process of scanning out croissants from the bakery to the deli so it’s taking a little bit for my coworker to explain, but I’m doing my best to keep the lady involved in the conversation, apologizing for the delay and promising that we’ll get this figured out. Unfortunately, it’s a little too much for her, as she swings her cart around and storms off, hollering dramatically as she walks away:)

Customer: “You know what?! Fine! I will buy the ingredients and just make it myself!”

Me: *to the space that was previously a customer* “Okay, good luck with that!”

(A couple of weeks later, I was talking to a cashier coworker who regaled me with a tale of this horribly rude and cranky woman who came to her line buying cheese and croissants, ranting about how horrible and expensive it was that she was having to actually make her own sandwich, and how dare the deli not have croissants. I recognized the customer immediately, apologized to the cashier for having to deal with the aftermath, and let her in on the origin story of Angry Croissant Lady.)

(I am in a grocery store with my mom. As we are wrapping things up in the produce section, my mom realizes we forgot to get something on the list and sends me to go get it. This is a conversation she hears between a woman and an employee while I’m gone.)
Woman: “Do you have any lemon zest?”
Employee: “Um…sure. Here you go.”
(He hands her a jar of minced garlic.)
Woman: “Great! Thanks!” *Walks away*

(A customer wants to dispute a purchase claiming an item is on sale. I go over to the aisle where the merchandise is from to confirm the price and realize the sale price ended a week ago and someone forgot to remove it.)

Me: “The sale ended a week ago. Do you still want it?”

Customer: “Yes, I want it at sale price.”

Me: “I said the sale ended a week ago.”

(I show her the label that has the duration of the sale.)

Customer: “Well, that’s your fault, not mine.”

Me: *internally* “It’s our fault you can’t read the f****** sign?”

(There’s a cashier at my local grocery store who looks just like the lead singer from my favorite band, I won’t reveal the band’s name, but they’re Australian and are mostly popular with teenage girls. Anyway, my mom and I are frequent customers in his check out line. It’s at the point where we know each other by first name, my mom and I get in his line)

Cashier: “Well hey, [My name].” *smiles*

Me: “Hi [His name].”

Cashier: “So, how are you?”

Mom: “I’m good. How about you?”

Cashier: “I’m okay, I guess.”

(It should probably be noted that there is suspicion that he likes me, while I have a massive crush on him.)

Cashier: *glances at me and smiles*

Me: *blushes, turns my head so he can’t see my face, but I can see him*

(He sits there looking at me for a few minutes, smiling)

Bag Boy: “Um…[His name]? You alright bud?”

Cashier: “Hmm.? Oh, right. Yeah, I’m fine.” *continues scanning items* “I’m just fine.”