The company where I was working when this happened installed photovoltaic plants for private users. At a certain moment in time, the laws were changed, and we were requested to notify the municipality where the installation was taking place about it. It was just a notification, no permission or approval needed.

Of course, being a newly changed law, we all were wary of possible problems and made sure to check everything properly before sending the paperwork, and as long as we worked with small towns or villages, everything went fine.

Until a customer living in the major city of our region bought a plant from us. Since I was due in [major city] for other business, I decided to go in person and also deliver the paperwork for [customer]’s plant. I queue at the office and as soon as I present the paperwork to the young front office employee, he quickly scans it and tells me, “these must be checked by him”, pointing to a senior employee whose sight immediately makes my Vogon detecting senses tingle.

I queue again for [Vogon] and present him with my paperwork. He takes them like he is handling a piece of soiled toilet paper, scans a couple of pages, and tells me, “This is not complete, you need to add also a 3D rendering of the building with the plant,” and hands my paperwork back.

Now, I have done my due diligence and read the municipality building code before preparing the paperwork, and nowhere does it mention that photovoltaic plants need a 3D rendering of any sort. But I am wise enough to know that arguing with [Vogon] is just going to be a waste of time and an unnecessary strain to my blood pressure, so I head back to the office.

Once there, my supervisor asks me how it went, and I relay the story, adding that I also know how to switch off [Vogon]’s power trip. There is a law in Italy that makes clear that for certain acts where the public administration is required to provide an answer, if the answer is not given within a certain time, it is fair to assume that the PA is not opposing the act.

So, I put the paperwork in a mail envelope, sent a registered mail to [Vogon]’s office, and waited to see if [Vogon] would put in writing a request conflicting with his own code. Guess what? No reply came within the time stated by the law, and we could carry out our installation.

I run my own measuring company for flooring projects; carpet, vinyl, all that. Every appointment, I confirm a two-hour arrival window the night before or the morning of. Then, when I’m leaving the previous client’s house, I text an exact ETA.

They confirm. I arrive. They’re not there. I call.

Customer: “Oh! I’ll be there in half an hour. I’ll see you soon!”

Most of my appointments take fifteen minutes or less, so now I’m just losing money. I technically have the authority to leave a note and reschedule after I’ve waited fifteen minutes, but they always show up at the fourteen-minute mark.

When they finally arrive, I explain:

Me: “Being on time is a point of pride for me. Now I’m late for the rest of my appointments.”

Customer: “Calm down, the time is just a general guideline, right?”

Me: “No. I aim to be exact.”

Customer: “Well, you should chill a little. Be more relaxed.”

Me: “Cool. In that case, I’ll be relaxed and chill when I take your floor measurements.”

Customer: “Well, no…”

It never ceases to amaze me how adults can’t manage their time.

I’m the department head for Electrical, walking back to my section after a long, pointless meeting. As I pass Lumber, I spot an older woman with a cart standing next to heavy oak plywood, just staring daggers down the aisle.

Corporate has been all over us about the “lack of help” problem, so if you see a customer, you must approach them. Especially department heads.

I walk up to her.

Me: “Hi there, can I help you with anything?”

Customer: “I’ve been waiting here for forty-five minutes for someone to come down this aisle!”

First red flag.

I apologize and offer to help her with whatever she needs. 

From that moment on, I am basically her personal shopping assistant. She barks orders, talks down to me like I’m beneath her, and throws verbal jabs every step of the way. I keep my cool, but I can feel the rage building as we go through the entire store. 

She is apparently buying everything needed for an addition to her house. Electrical, lumber, plumbing, lighting, hardware—every single department. I spent two-and-a-half hours pulling product for this nasty woman.

We finally get to the checkout.

Customer: “You ring everything up, so I know who to blame when something is inevitably missing.”

I scan the haul. The total comes up to over $2000. She loses it.

Customer: “What the h*** did you do?! You jacked up the prices! I was counting in my head! I’m very good at mental math!”

She explodes. She insults my appearance. She says my parents must not love me. She rants about how only losers work for such a s***ty company.” Obscenities, insults, every direction.

The store manager hears the chaos and walks over. She sees my eyes and body language and doesn’t even hesitate.

Manager: “Go to the break room. Cool off.”

I walk away. Ten minutes later, my manager finds me.

Manager: “You can clock out and go home.”

Apparently, the customer unloaded on her, too, and she finally understands a fraction of what I endured.

Me: “Did she get a discount?”

Manager: “Oh f*** no. I told her that for every nasty thing she said going forward, I was adding ten dollars to her receipt.”

It enraged the woman even more until she eventually stormed out.

The good news? I get to leave at seven instead of midnight, and spend the night pounding beers and cussing out that rotten customer with my friends. 

Ah, retail.

We were visiting a friend for the first time since they had moved into a home they bought on the other side of the state a year prior. She is showing us around and eventually comments on the stained glass on the kitchen door. 

Wife and I kinda like it, in a kitschy way. She hates it.

Friend: “I want to get rid of it, but it would cost too much to replace.”

Me: “What do you mean it’s going to cost a lot?”

Friend: “I shopped around for a door, and it’s gonna cost at least $1000. I really hate it, but I can live with it.”

My Wife: “No, it won’t.”

And then she just reaches over and peels off the sticker that makes it look like stained glass.

Our friend just stared at us for a minute with her mouth hanging open in surprise.

Friend: “Twelve months…”

She stomps.

Friend: “Twelve months I’ve been complaining about that, and neither of us noticed it was a god d*** sticker?!”

She then shouts clean across the house to her husband.

Friend: “Gerald! It was a f****** sticker!”

I worked at a big-box home improvement store. There was a hurricane literally on our doorstep.

Me: “We’re closing now, right?”

Store Manager: “We’re staying open until the last customer is served.”

Me: “Sure, we only had a four-day warning it was coming.”

This was a part-time retirement job, and I had an emergency services background. I make sure I am in front of as many coworkers as possible when I loudly admonish the manager by saying:

Me: “So, fun fact. Emergency services stand down once the sustained winds reach about fifty miles an hour. It’s too dangerous for them and their apparatus to be out, and the last thing you want to do is have your first responders become casualties. If any of us are still here when the winds get that fast and we have any kind of emergency like a wreck, a tree falling on them, etc, no one will be coming until the hurricane force winds are gone.”

Everyone else looked very uneasy as I said this. Feeling outnumbered, the store manager conceded.

Store Manager: “Fine. Cash out everyone still in the store, and then we’ll leave.”

We left two hours earlier than the manager had liked, and considering that the hurricane hit with full force about the time half of us would still be trying to get home, it was a good thing we did!