(It is a weekday afternoon and business has been decent. During a lull, my coworker is dipping chocolate-covered cones. A group with several children walks up, and I step up to the counter to help them. I am very tired and a little bit sick, but I attempt to be as pleasant as possible.)

Me: “Hello, how are you?”

Lady #1: “Yeah, give me a sample of that.” *points*

Me: “Okay, the chocolate?”

Lady #1: “No, that.” *points again*

(It is very difficult to tell where people are pointing in the ice cream case.)

Me: “Oh, the coffee?”

Lady #1: “Yes. And he wants a sample of the chocolate chip.”

(I get the samples, and they proceed to look at every flavor, pointing and asking for samples. Finally, they begin to order.)

Lady #1: “Okay, a scoop of that on a cone.”

(I get the scoop, and as my head is in the case, I hear the little boy say:)

Boy: “Why is the mint chip white?”

(We hear that question a lot, so as I pop my head back up, I tell him…)

Me: “Oh, the mint chip isn’t green because we don’t use any fake stuff!”

Lady #1: *suddenly and with a rude tone* “Are you going to keep being rude, or do I have to ask for the other girl?”

Me: *surprised* “I’m sorry? I wasn’t being rude…”

Lady #1: “Oh, you so were. You’re being very rude. What’s it gonna be?”

Me: *evenly* “I’m sorry, ma’am. What else can I get for you?”

Lady #1: “You have two minutes to decide! Are you going to keep being rude?”

Me: *as pleasantly as possible, as I’m fuming inside* “What else can I get for you?”

Lady #1: *growing increasingly irate* “What’s it going to be? Are you going to keep being rude? I will ask her to help me, and I will speak to your manager. Are you going to be nice?!”

Me: *sickeningly fake sweet* “I’ll be nice. What else can I get for you?”

Lady #1: “Okay. Good choice. Give me another one of these.” *holds up her dripping cone*

Lady #2: “Yeah, and I’ll take that.” *points* 

(They order over $30 of ice cream, and I struggle to remain civil. [Lady #2] never bothers to even look apologetic for her friend’s behavior. The kids are loud and messy. [Lady #1] continues to act rude and entitled. When I ring them up, they don’t tip. Finally, they leave.)

Me: *to my coworker* “Oh. My. Gosh. So rude.”

Coworker: “Really? I’m sorry.”

Me: “You didn’t hear all that?!” *tells her the story*

(Thirty minutes later, I see the group back at the counter. My eyes widen as I turn to my coworker.)

Me: “I am not dealing with that. You help them.”

(I run in the back, but I have to come to help other customers. I avoid eye contact with the rude lady. After they leave…)

Coworker: “Wow, I can see why you got frustrated with her. She had such an attitude.”

Me: “Yeah, I wanted to tell her to come and scoop her own ice cream. It’s a good thing we’re out of comment cards!”

(Our ice cream shop regularly gives free samples to customers making difficult decisions among the flavors.)

Customer: “Could I try the pistachio?”

Coworker: “Sure. Here you are.”

Customer: “Hmm. Get me a scoop of the cappuccino.”

(My coworker starts scooping the coffee ice cream while the customer tastes the pistachio.)

Customer: “Oh, s***. I can’t taste anything.”

Me: “What happened? Are you okay?”

Customer: “Oh, it’s okay. I just have a nut allergy, that’s all. But don’t worry; I didn’t actually bite down on the nut, so I’ll be perfectly okay.”

Me: “Oh… is there anything I can do for you? Do you have an EpiPen or something?”

Customer: “No, no. I did it on purpose. I just wanted to see what would happen to me.”

Coworker: “Okay… your total is $3.48… Have a nice day.”

I work at a restaurant and convenience store combined. We also sell hand-dipped ice cream on the side. I only have about two weeks left at the job, and my patience with the denizens called “patrons” is wearing thin. This happens on a particularly busy day.

Me:
“Hello! Would you like some ice cream?”

Customer:
“Yes, I think I’d like this one.” *Points to a flavor* “Does it have any nuts in it?”

Me:
“I’m not sure. Is it because you don’t like nuts or because of an allergy?”

Customer:
“I’m severely allergic to nuts.”

Me:
“Well, in that case, I would have to recommend not having any of it at all. All of the ice cream we sell is manufactured around nuts, and cross-contamination is inevitable.”

The customer points at another flavor.

Customer:
“Even that one?”

Me:
“Yes. As I said, all of them.”

Customer:
“Can I try one?”

Me:
“I wouldn’t feel comfortable doing that, especially since you told me you’re allergic to nuts. If you go into anaphylactic shock I would get in trouble.”

Customer:
“Do you really not have any ice cream without nuts?”

There is a line of about six people waiting. 

Me:
“Ma’am, I don’t know how much clearer I can be. The only thing not contaminated by nuts is the Virgin Mary herself. I can’t help you.”

I have been working at this ice cream shop for over a year and have handed out so many spoons at this point in my life. A customer has just bought an ice cream cupcake.

Customer:
“Do you have something I can eat this with?”

Me:
“Yes, here you go.”

I hand her a fork and a knife.

Customer:
“Oh, you don’t have spoons?”

I think about soup — which we don’t even sell! — and say in all sincerity:

Me:
“No, we don’t really sell anything that would require a spoon.”

Customer:
“Oh. I thought… you being an ice cream shop…”

The customer starts to walk away, confused.

Me:
“Wait. Yes. We have spoons. I am so sorry.”

I gave her a spoon and she had a nice laugh about it. She truly was a great customer — nice the whole time.

(In high school, I contract mono. The worst of it for me is the sore throat; my tonsils are so swollen I haven’t really eaten in days. My dad and I are on the way home from the doctor, and we stop at the local ice cream place. They aren’t quite open yet, but I am getting weak and faint from the lack of food.)

Me: *somewhat hoarsely* “Hello?”

Owner: “Sorry, hon, we’re not quite open yet.”

Me: “I know, and I’m sorry, but I’m really sick and I haven’t had any real food in forever. Is there any way I could get a milkshake? I hate to be a bother, but I’m just really dying for some calories, and this is the only thing I’ll be able to get down.”

Owner: *backs up jokingly* “Whoa, whatever you want, hon. Just don’t breathe on me!”

(The owner pulls over one of the workers, a girl a little older than me, to make the shake, and then goes back to setting up the shop.)

Girl: “Here’s your shake.” *whispers* “I made it extra-thick, okay?”

Me: “Thank you so much; I really appreciate it.”

(They both said they hoped I’d feel better, and we left. Sadly, the shop has since closed due to some chicanery with the land lease, and everyone bemoans the loss of the nicest ice cream shop in the county.)