Customer: “How much alcohol can I drink while pregnant?”

Me: “None.”

Customer: “What are you, a doctor?”

Me: “Hey, you asked me!”

Customer: “Look, I just want to know the maximum amount that doesn’t affect the baby.”

Me: “None! Any amount of alcohol can affect the baby and cause developmental issues.”

Customer: “I’m not planning on giving birth to Einstein or the president here.”

Me: “If you drink alcohol while pregnant, you might not give birth to anything.”

Customer: “Oh my god! How could you be so mean!”

The woman was not visibly pregnant, and she didn’t end up buying alcohol. I really hope I never see her again.

When I was a senior in high school, the military recruiters were coming for my class with all guns blazing (pun intended). I was getting calls two or three times per week from various recruiters trying to convince me to sign my name on the dotted line for my country. One day I finally got tired of just saying ‘no’.

Recruiter: “Have you considered the benefits of having the Army pay for college/doing your patriotic duty/learning firearm use/becoming a member of an elite force, etc…?”

Me: “Sir, I am going to tell you three things about me.”

Recruiter: “Okay…”

Me: “I am a five-foot-tall girl.”

Recruiter: “…”

Me: “I weigh ninety pounds soaking wet.”

Recruiter: “…”

Me: “And last year I had corrective surgery for advanced idiopathic scoliosis, which means I have two steel rods in my back, a chunk of bone taken out of my hip, and a moratorium on any strenuous physical activity until my surgeon says otherwise.”

Recruiter: “…I am just going to take your name off our list. Congratulations on graduating.” *Click.*

This happens while I’m working the drive-through window at Starbucks. This is the exact conversation:

Customer: “Um, excuse me. I want to let you guys know that I’m very allergic to milk. Very allergic. I would like to have a latte, but can you make it with cream instead?”

Thinking I must have misheard her:

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. Can you repeat that?”

Customer: “Ugh! I want a latte, but with cream!”

Me: “Um, ma’am, I want to make sure that you’re aware that cream has milk in it.”

Customer: “No! I don’t think that’s right.”

I stare at her for a moment.

Me: “Ma’am, cream is made from milk.”

There is a beat of silence.

Customer: “Ugh, whatever! I don’t want it anymore. You guys suck!”

I die a little more on the inside.

Fine, then, lady. I’ll just let you die from anaphylactic shock next time! What kind of person doesn’t know there’s milk in cream? Cream is basically just thick milk!

I worked at a pawn shop for a couple of years. We largely sold our silver and gold to a broker who sold to refineries.

We sometimes received a couple of bags of gold that had been melted off of teeth. No biggie. We weighed them and gave cash accordingly.

A middle-aged fellow walked over to the counter and asked:

Customer: “Do you take gold teeth and fillings?”

Me: “Yes, we do.”

Customer: “Okay, great. Do you guys pull them out too?”

Me: “You mean out of a bag? Yeah, we just weigh them.”

Customer: *With a totally serious look.* “No, out of my mouth.”

Me: “Please tell me you’re joking.”

Customer: “No, look.” He opens his mouth wide and points out some teeth.

Me: “No, no one here is qualified for that.”

Customer: “Whaddaya need, a pair of pliers? You have those here, right?”

Me: “No, we don’t.”

Customer: “If I go to the store to get some pliers, then you can do it? I want the cost of the pliers added to whatever I get, though.”

Me: “Sir, please go away.”

CONTENT WARNING: Injury detail, blood, mention of cancer

You probably know me as Glass Theremin from the comments.

I had a client bleed all over the floor today. He was an older gentleman and had one of those IV thingies in his hand. While we were discussing his taxes, he kept scratching at it. It came loose, and he started bleeding profusely.

I got one of my coworkers to call 911, but the guy just seemed like he couldn’t understand why it was a problem. He wanted to understand how to structure his, admittedly not small, fortune to minimize the inheritance tax for his children, but his understanding of law and accounting was both pretty minimal, making it difficult to explain. He thought this was a higher priority than medical assistance

When the ambulance arrived, the EMTs asked him for permission to treat him, and he said:

Client: “After the accountant finishes answering my question.”

Me: “I’d really rather you got treated first. If you’re concerned about paying me for my time, I promise we won’t charge you any extra because your session was interrupted by a medical emergency. You can always come back to answer the questions later.”

Client: “I might not have a later.”

EMT: “It’s just a dislodgment.”

Client: “It’s the cancer I’m worried about, love, not the IV.”

Me: “If it doesn’t kill you in the next three days, I have an opening Monday, or one today next week, but I’m really uncomfortable with you bleeding all over my carpet and desk like this.”

Client: “Fine, next week at the same time, but I’m doing it under protest. I’ll not be charged for a second session.”

Me: “I have full control over my billing, and I promise you won’t be charged double.”

The EMTs took him away to treat him, and I credited his account some uncharged time for the medical emergency.

I had to take the rest of my appointments that day in the office of a coworker who was on vacation, and it was NOTICEABLE that it wasn’t my office. A lot of customers made awkward comments about how the name on the certificates on the walls was not my name or how the photos were obviously not me. 

One person randomly decided I was trans because of it and decided not to do their accounting with me. I am agender, and I wear a purple pin with my pronouns (they/them), but most clients don’t even notice. And, like, on one hand I’m glad to not deal with a person like that, but on the other hand… that was also an unpleasant experience. 

My office was steam-cleaned by our firm that handles this sort of cleaning before we finished closing up for the night.