(I’m a senior in college and my friend is telling me about a summer job she had at a popular fast food chain. She’s known for having wild stories but I think it’s safe to say this one takes the cake. The fast food chain is connected to a gas station so it’s typical that they have someone buy beer next door, drink it in their car, and then come to them for food. This guy comes in at seven in the morning, clearly drunk.)

Customer: “What do you have?”

Friend: “We’re serving breakfast right now, sir.”

Customer: “Do you have any bourbon?”

Friend: “I’m sorry, did you say–?”

Customer: “Bourbon. You got any?”

Friend: “I apologize, sir, we don’t sell that. We do, however, have breakfast at the moment.”

Customer: “Can I get your number?”

Friend: “Sir, how old do you think I am?”

(A lot of people think she’s very young due to how short she is, the uniform they have to wear, and her not wearing any makeup.)

Customer: “Fourteen. So can I get your number?”

(At this point, my friend gets the manager to take over and he serves him and he leaves. They think that’s the end of it. Wrong. A few hours later, some employees and customers both complain of a guy stumbling around in the parking lot. Unfortunately, he’s on the gas station’s side so they can’t do anything but talk to them.)

Manager: “That guy out there, he’s causing problems. Can you call the police?”

Gas Station Owner: “No. He’s our best customer and always buys the most stuff from us.”

(So, nothing is done about the weirdo guy. He goes behind the building and they think that’s the end of it… until a couple of hours later when an employee goes to clean the men’s bathroom.)

Employee: “Um… there’s a guy passed out in the bathroom… in his own puke. We should probably call an ambulance.”

(My friend’s work ended up calling the paramedics. The intoxicated man was taken out on a stretcher with, you guessed it, alcohol poisoning.)

(I’m working the registers at a Chinese restaurant while also preparing bags for takeout orders in between customers. Because I’m a fairly tall girl, and the place is set up for the stereotypical short Chinese family who owns it, I have to bend down a lot. My shirt is a somewhat loose T-shirt with a very slight V-neck; in other words, it’s fairly modest, but not perfectly so. A customer has been waiting around for his food to be ready and has lurked near the front, looking at me the whole time. After about five minutes, his food is ready.)

Me: “That will be [total]. Have a nice day, sir.”

Customer: “You, too.” *waves me in closer and whispers to me* “By the way, I’m putting a dollar in the tip jar because I was staring down your shirt the whole time.”

(I was too stunned that he felt the need to tell me this to respond. Best/worst part is, I don’t even get to keep the tip money!)

(My friend and his husband have gone into a popular coffee chain in a store in a small-ish town.)

Friend: *after ordering* “I have some rewards in the app I plan to use to pay today.”

Barista: “Okay, no problem.”

(My friend scans his phone and it uses up the rest of the money on his card.)

Barista: “You still owe [amount].”

Friend: “Why? I told you I was planning to use rewards.”

Barista: “Oh, we don’t take those here.”

Friend: “Oh, okay, that’s fine. Still, it would have been nice to know that before, when I told you that was how I was planning to pay.”

Barista: “Well, I MISUNDERSTOOD YOU!”

(That last line is just dripping with sarcasm. She actually rolls her eyes. My friend pays the bill and he and his husband have a brief conversation about how she is unprofessional and they won’t be back. Not long after, his husband gets a message via social media from another employee of the coffee shop.)

Employee: “Were you just in the [Coffee Chain] at [Location] a little while ago?”

Friend’s Husband: “Yes, my husband and I were there.”

Employee: “Thanks for talking s*** the whole time you were there. We aren’t deaf, and if you don’t want to come here, there are two other [Coffee Chains] in [City] that would love to have you.”

(My friend called the store and had a long talk with the manager. Being rude to a customer is one thing, but to track down and harass them on social media is just downright stupid.)

(During college, I spend three years as a part-time employee at a popular fabric and craft store. It is a busy day around the holidays and I am working at the cutting counter. My next customer is a man carrying a big, three-inch piece of our green upholstery foam, along with an old, oddly shaped cushion.)

Me: “Hi. What can I get for you?”

Customer: “I need this foam cut in this shape so I can reupholster this bench seat. I need three pieces in this shape.”

(We aren’t allowed to cut things into custom shapes because if we mess up that item has been wasted and the customer is upset. Our job is simply to get people the amount of fabric, or in this case, foam, that they need so that they can do their project themselves.)

Me: “I’m sorry, sir. I’m not allowed to do custom cuts. I can cut this foam at the length you need, but I can’t cut it into the shapes you need.”

Customer: “I don’t understand. I just need this foam cut into three pieces in this shape. I even brought the old cushion so you could do it exactly as I need it.”

Me: “Again, I can’t do custom cuts like that. I can cut it to the length you need but not the shapes you need.”

Customer: “That’s absurd. How am I supposed to cut this at home? I don’t have the right tools.”

Me: “Actually, sir, we use either a bread knife or an electric turkey cutter.”

Customer: “But why can’t you just do it for me? I don’t understand.”

Me: “It’s against policy, sir. I could lose my job.”

(This goes on for about ten minutes, with me trying to explain that I can’t do a custom cut and trying to come up with a solution for him. We’re both getting frustrated and, honestly, the customer is getting aggressive. I want to avoid getting the manager because it is busy and I hope I can solve the problem myself and not bother them, but I finally suggest I call one.)

Me: “Sir, would you like me to get the manager?”

Customer: “Yes, you do that!”

(I call a manager, she comes over to the cutting counter, and I explain the situation. She tells him the same thing I did, and they argue back and forth for a moment before my manager finally relents.)

Manager: “All right, sir. If you buy the full amount of the foam and pay for it first, then I’ll cut the foam into the shape you need.”

(The customer agrees and I print him a ticket for the amount of foam he needs. He goes to the front and pays, then comes back to the cutting counter and my manager pulls out the bread knife and starts cutting it for him. He looks at me with a terrifying grin and drops this nightmarish line.)

Customer: “I never take no from a woman.”

(I stared at him, stunned. I glanced at my coworker, who had been handling the line during all this. My coworker looked equally horrified. I don’t know if the customer meant for it to sound as bad as it did, but I definitely had someone walk me to my car for the next couple of weeks.)

I work as a photo lab tech in a big box store. As I’m doing the morning’s setup and prep for the day, an older man comes in to print his pictures. As I’m helping him, we begin chatting. He asks normal questions, like, “How are you?”, “Nice weather we’re having,” etc.

Eventually, the questions start to become a bit more personal. “Are you married?”, “How long have you been married?”, “Have any kids?” I answer them, as they’re still normal chit-chat questions. “Yes, I’m married,” “We’ve been married seven years,” “No, we don’t have kids.”

Apparently, he doesn’t like that my husband and I don’t have kids, because his next question is, “Why not?” As this is a bit of a sore subject for me, I answer with my normal, “It just hasn’t happened yet.” This guy is not happy with this. He keeps asking, “Why?” Finally sick of this guy, I tell him the truth, hoping it will shut him up. “Because both my husband and I have medical issues that will not allow us to make babies.”

This guy, I kid you not, looks at my face, looks at my bust, looks at my pelvis, looks back at my bust, looks back at my pelvis, and then looks at the computer that is printing his pictures. “You should have babies.”

I glare at him and silently give him his pictures.

He is back two days later to print more pictures. He doesn’t recognize me.