I worked as a waitress when I was eighteen. One time, I had a whole sports team in. I was dodging swarms of kids while holding a huge pizza over my head.

A grown man threw his arms out at me, and when I stumbled and barely caught the pan, he yelled at me:

Customer: “You need to go get your glasses checked!”

We have to wear gloves when preparing food. Occasionally, Muslim or Jewish people come in so we have to take our gloves off, wash our hands, and put new gloves on because our hands have come into contact with pork.

A customer comes in and explicitly states:

Customer: “I’m a Muslim, so I can’t eat any pork. I’ll have the number six.”

As per the usual procedure, I take my gloves off, wash my hands, and put new gloves on — all of which she observes me doing — and start making her sandwich. She stands over the counter, watching me every step of the way, and so, upon finishing, I wrap the sandwich up and go to hand it to her.

Customer: “Wait a minute… Did you change gloves before you made this for me?”

Me: “Yes, you’ve been watching since you came into the store.”

Customer: “Sorry, but could you remake this? I’m just not sure if you actually washed your hands and changed gloves.”

I’m pretty annoyed, but of course, I oblige to remake her sandwich. This time, I make absolutely certain that she watches me wash my hands and change gloves so she can’t say otherwise. I make her sandwich again and go to hand it to her.

Customer: “Wait, did you wash and sanitize the table before making this one? There could have been bacon or ham on that table, and I don’t want to risk eating that.”

I am now making her a THIRD sandwich, after washing and sanitizing the table and, of course, washing my hands and changing gloves again. There’s no possible way she could have an issue now. I make the sandwich again, and this time, there appear to be no problems — how could there be? — and she sits down to eat her food.

Bear in mind that there have been other customers in the store and calling for delivery, making things extremely hectic for me and my two coworkers in the store.

The customer comes back up to the front a few minutes later.

Customer: “What kind of sandwich is this?”

Me: “That’s a number six: the roast beef and cheese.”

Customer: “Oh, I wanted turkey.”

I’m working at a shop with two entrances — one for customers and one for freight — that are four feet from each other. The freight door is always kept locked because it doesn’t close properly otherwise.

I watch a lady stand in front of the freight door for five minutes while I am on the phone with another customer before I am able to go to the other door and invite her in.

Lady: “Oh, I thought you guys were closed. This is the third day in a row I’ve been here and couldn’t get inside. Do you have any idea how much money you’re missing out on by not being open for customers?! If the door is broken, you need to have a sign!“

Me: “Well, I guess I can ask the boss to make it bigger.”

I tapped the fully capitalized sign saying, “Please use other door,” with an arrow pointing to the entry door four feet away.

She didn’t buy anything.

When I was eighteen, I noticed an ad in the paper saying that a gas station was hiring. I decided to head down to the local branch and talk to the owner.

Me: “Hi. I read that ‘Help Wanted’ ad of yours in the paper.”

Boss: “What ad?”

Me: “Uh… the… ad? In the local paper?”

Boss: “I didn’t post any ad.”

Me: “No?”

Boss: “No. Are you sure it wasn’t [Franchise Location ten miles away]?”

Me: “Oh… I guess it could have been.”

Boss: “However… now that you mention it… I kind of do need some more people…”

I ended up working part-time there for two years. And yes, the ad was for that other station.

I work in a clinic as a medical assistant — the person who gets you from the waiting room and gets you ready for the provider.

I go out to the waiting room to grab my next patient, someone who is new to me. (Obviously, all names and patient information are changed for privacy.)

Me: “Tiffany?”

A woman gives me a funny look but then gets up and comes with me. I take her weight and get her into the exam room, but something isn’t sitting right, so I do my due diligence and decide to check I have the right patient.

Me: “Could you please verify your last name and date of birth for me?”

She gives me another funny look.

Patient: “Smith. December 2, 1964.”

Me: “Oh, shoot. It looks like I grabbed the wrong Tiffany.”

Patient: “I’m not Tiffany; I’m Sandra.”

Me: “Well, let’s get you back into the waiting room and [Coworker] will grab you very soon.”