My mother and I spend the day doing some Christmas shopping in a nearby city, and we decide to stop for drinks at a chain coffee shop. I go to order our drinks while my mother goes to use the ladies’ room.

Me: “Hi. Could I have a medium Earl Grey tea without milk, and a medium Terry’s hot chocolate, please?”

Barista #1: “Sure, was that green-top milk with the tea?”

Me: “No, no milk, thanks.”

Barista #1: “Okay, and a small Terry’s hot chocolate?”

Me: “Medium, please.”

Barista #1: “Oh, oops, a medium. And did you want whipped cream on that?”

Me: “No, thanks.”

Barista #1: “Okay, so one medium Earl Grey, no milk, and one medium Terry’s hot chocolate, no cream. That’ll be [price], please.”

As I’m paying, [Barista #1] turns to [Barista #2].

Barista #1: “Medium Earl Grey with green-top milk and a small Terry’s hot chocolate.”

Me: “Medium hot chocolate, and no milk, please.”

Barista #1: “Oh, yeah. You know, I’m just losing the plot today. Completely losing it. I’m standing here looking at a plate, thinking, ‘What is a plate?’”

I head over to the area where [Barista #2] is making the drinks. After he finishes making the tea, I notice him making what appears to be a small hot chocolate.

Me: “Sorry, is that a medium?”

Barista #2: “…”

Me: “…”

Barista #2: “…”

Barista #2: “Just have that one. I’ll make the correct one, too.”

Me: “Oh, okay! Thanks!”

He finished both hot chocolates and slathered them both in whipped cream, and I thanked him again and took my drinks to a table. After a couple of minutes, my mother joined me at the table, looking down at the extra drink in confusion. I just burst into giggles. These baristas had clearly had a long day!

It’s 2004. I am a student living in an apartment in the noisy student quarter of Belfast, Northern Ireland. I have just arrived home from a busy day at university, and I’m hungry. I go into the kitchen and start looking around, figuring out what I’m going to eat.

The phone rings. I go and answer it, and it’s an elderly lady.

Elderly Lady: “Hello, could I speak to [Person]?”

The person’s name doesn’t even sound REMOTELY like mine.

Me: “I’m sorry, you have the wrong number.”

Elderly Lady: “No. I want to speak to [Person].”

Me: “Yes, you said. But you have the wrong number. Nobody with that name lives here.”

Elderly Lady: “Oh.” *Hangs up*

I look at my phone, and the caller display indicates that I have TWENTY missed calls — all from the same number, which I don’t recognise and which isn’t in my contacts. I also have FOUR voicemails, so I listen to them, and they’re ALL from the same elderly lady wanting to speak to someone with a name that is nothing like mine!

I walk back to the kitchen and continue preparing my food. The phone rings again, so I go and answer it.

Me: “Hello?”

It’s the elderly lady again!

Elderly Lady: “Hello? I want to speak to [Person], please.”

Me: “Okay, look, I’ve told you already. There’s nobody here called [Person]. I suggest you check the number you’re dialing because you have the wrong number.”

Elderly Lady: “Oh.” *Hangs up*

I put the phone down and go back to the kitchen. I’m slightly bemused by the whole thing but not yet angry.

A few minutes later, you guessed it — PHONE!

I go to answer it, NOW starting to get frustrated and sound angry.

Me: “Hello?!”

No prizes for guessing who it is!

Elderly Lady: “[Person], please. I’d like to speak to [Person].”

I’m trying REALLY hard not to lose my temper.

Me: “Look! There is nobody here called [Person]! Do you understand that? You have the wrong number! Go and check that you have been given the right number. Please don’t call me again.”

She hangs up without saying anything.

I put the receiver down quite hard this time and go back to the kitchen. I manage to get my meal started and it’s cooking when — yes, you guessed it again — the bloody phone rings!

This time, I’m furious. I feel my anger rising as I storm across to the phone. I snatch up the receiver.

Me: “WHAT?!”

This time, it’s a different voice — a man’s voice.

Man: “Hello, would [Person] be there, please?”

I can’t take it anymore. I snap.

Me: “Okay, what the h*** is wrong with you people? I have already explained to the elderly lady who’s been phoning me that there is nobody called [Person] living here! You have the wrong number! Go and check the number you’ve been given—” *I scream this last part* “—AND STOP CALLING ME! I’M SICK AND TIRED OF IT!”

Man: *Sounding mortally offended* “Well, I’m sorry. There’s no need to be so abrupt!”

He hung up before I could say anything else. I walked back to the kitchen and finished cooking. Nobody else phoned for the rest of the evening.

Looking back, I really don’t like the fact that I lost my temper and screamed at someone. But seriously? You’d think that after being told THREE TIMES that it was the wrong number, they’d have gotten the message!

I used to be a night-time manager at a pizza place downtown. We were literally around the corner from a direct competitor. They had a carryout window and offered that service all night. We did not; we closed our doors at 10:00 pm and only offered delivery service after that.

We were quite friendly with the local police department, and they frequently sat in our parking lot at night to catch up on paperwork, watch for drunk drivers, etc.

One night at about 11:30 pm, I had a woman and a man start banging on our door. I spoke to them politely but loudly through the door.

Me: “We close carryout at 10:00!”

The woman went ballistic and started screaming and hitting the door, while the man just stood there watching trying to look hard. I asked another employee to keep an eye on me in case the situation escalated, and then I stepped out a side door in order to be able to actually converse with the couple.

The woman was absolutely nuclear at this point.

Woman: “We ordered our food! Where the f*** is our food?!”

Me: “If you called and ordered, it was probably our friendly neighbors with the carryout window.”

Woman: “You calling me stupid?! I called you guys!”

Me: “Can I ask you to check your phone and tell me which number you called?”

Woman: “I don’t have to! I know I called y’all, and it was you that took my order!”

Me: “There is absolutely no way I took a carryout order after we closed carryout.”

At this point, the man joined in and started taking a very aggressive posture and tone with me.

Man: “You’d better let us in and get our food!”

Me: “No.”

Then, the man shoved me and I stumbled back about three feet. He tried to swing at me and missed. At about the same time, the woman attempted to rush me, and there was a sound of “WOOOP! WOOOP!” and the flashing of blue lights behind them.

Astonishingly, this didn’t stop them from continuing to try to assault me; however, the two uniformed police officers that happened to have just pulled in took care of that very quickly.

Another squad car showed up. The couple was cuffed and placed in the cars and the officers were given a copy of the security footage. I asked the officer I was talking to if, for the sake of curiosity, he could possibly try to convince the woman to tell him the phone number she had called. He walked me back out to the car she was in and somehow convinced her to do this.

Woman: *Glaring at me* “[Number ending in 7272], you stupid f***!”

Me: *Smiling* “Our number is [number ending in 3030]. You called the number for Papa John’s. That’s why 7272 spells out ‘Papa’.”

I work as a cashier in a supermarket. A popular candy maker has just released a new chocolate which comes in bars, bags, and boxes. We have a separate stand for the new products with a special offer of four candy bars for 1€. The offer is clearly marked, and the word “chocolate bars” is written twice on the ad sheet next to the bars.

A grumpy-looking lady and her teenage son come to my register with a full cart. Everything goes fine, they pay, and then the lady looks at the receipt.

Customer: “This is the wrong price!”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry, I will check that right away. Could you tell me which product it is?”

Customer: “This is always a problem here! Always! Your discounts never scan right!”

Me: “I am very sorry, I will—”

Customer: *Interrupting me* “I feel like you are trying to cheat me every time! Look here, I have four boxes of [Brand] chocolate. They were meant to be four for 1€, and you charged me the full price!”

That’s about 3.5€ per box.

Me: “I am sorry for the misunderstanding, but the ad clearly states that the discount is for four chocolate bars. Boxes are more expensive and unfortunately not part of the discount.”

Customer: “No, it does not! It said all new [Brand] chocolate products are four for 1€. This is a scam! I can’t believe this! You have no idea about your own campaigns. I want you to go and check the ad next to the chocolate. It will prove that I am right!”

A long line has formed behind the lady and people are starting to look annoyed. I am not permitted to leave my register while it’s open, so I have to call and ask a colleague to go and check the ad.

Me: “My colleague will go and check the ad for you. Could it be possible for me to serve the person behind you while you wait? They only have a few items.”

Customer: “No! You are serving me now. Unbelievable! They always try to cheat you about discounts…”

She goes on in a similar vein and tries to get the customers behind her to agree with her. My colleague calls and confirms that — surprise, surprise — the ad says, “Chocolate bars”.

Me: “I am sorry, but the ad clearly states that the discount is for chocolate bars. Would you like to return the boxes?”

Customer: “It does not!”

The customer’s son, who looks really embarrassed, speaks up.

Customer’s Son: “Yeah, it did, Mom. I saw it.”

Customer: *Pauses* “Well… I… The ad was placed misleadingly! It was right next to the stand with all the new chocolates. How was I supposed to know which are discounted and which are not?!”

Me: “Because it is written on the ad sheet?”

Customer: *Condescendingly* “Do you think that I have time to read all the ads? I would be here for hours!”

The customer behind her in line speaks up now.

Customer #2: “If it takes you hours to read the words ‘chocolate bar,’ maybe you should do less shopping and go back to f****** primary school?”

The lady just glared and left with her bags and full-priced chocolates. Unfortunately, she became our regular after that for some reason and was almost always as cheerful as in this story.

I work in southwest Florida on the beach. Right now, we are closed, as the hotel is completely unlivable due to a hurricane. However, I’m working overnight security, keeping the riffraff away.

I’m sitting in my “guard shack” watching a movie, and a car drives up. That’s not unusual. It’s midnight, but there are still a lot of FEMA workers, state, county, and city officials, police, and contractors running around. The person in this car is none of the above.

Tourist: “Hi, I’m looking to check in.”

Me: “You’re kidding, right?”

I’m hoping this is a FEMA guy messing with me.

Tourist: “I have a reservation.”

I look back at the ruins of the hotel.

Me: “Ah, we canceled all reservations before the storm. Hotel’s closed.”

Tourist: “But I have a reservation.”

Me: “Sir, I don’t care. The building is unsafe, and even if it was safe, I have no way of checking you in.”

Tourist: *Getting angry* “I have a reservation; you have to check me in! I want to speak you your supervisor.”

Me: “No, sir. I’m just gonna call a deputy to escort you off the island if you don’t leave.”

Tourist: “Fine!”

He proceeds to sit there. I call for a deputy, who shows up right quick; they’re crawling all over the island looking for looters.

Tourist: “He won’t check me in!” *Points at me*

Deputy: “Sir, are you stupid? You’re not even supposed to be allowed here. You’re either going to follow me out or I’ll arrest you for trespassing.”

Long story short, the tourist didn’t argue with the sheriff’s deputy, although I kind of wish he had; I kind of wanted to see him get tased. The tourist begrudgingly followed the deputy away.