(I’m taking orders and a man walks up to the register.)

Customer: “Hello, I’d like the breakfast platter.”

Me: “Okay, I can do that; however, now that it is lunchtime, we no longer serve the scrambled egg. You may change it for the round or folded egg, if you’d like.”

Customer: “Oh… okay… The folded, then. That’s like the scrambled egg, right? I’d like it fresh; have them scramble it.”

Me: “Um… well the folded egg is frozen and reheated, so it isn’t like I can have them scramble it like that. Plus, we don’t serve scrambled eggs after breakfast has ended and lunch has begun. If you’d like a fresh egg, the round eggs are fresh.”

Customer: “No, I don’t want a round egg. I want a fresh egg.”

Me: “Well, the round is the only fresh egg I have. The folded egg is frozen, so while I can have it made right now to be as fresh as possible, it will be a frozen egg reheated.”

Customer: “No, I want a fresh egg. Frozen isn’t fresh; that’s like saying a rotten egg is fresh.”

Me: *getting irate* “I never said frozen was fresh, sir. What is it that you want me to do?”

Customer: “I want a manager.”

(I call my manager over and while assisting the next customer, I hear this conversation:)

Manager: “What can I do for you, sir?”

Customer: “First of all, your worker here has a bad attitude and doesn’t seem to want to help me. I want a fresh egg. Do you have it or not?”

(I heard her tell him the same thing I had just previously said. The conversation continued on repeat for the next five minutes until he finally decided to walk out the door in a huff.)

(I have just finished shopping at a grocery store, which is part of a small, local chain. The store staff wears two types of uniform shirts. They are both polo shirts with a small store logo, but the baggers, stockers, base-level associates, etc. wear bright red, and the department managers, shift leads, etc. wear tan. I have just put my groceries in the car, and I am returning my cart to the car corral. The closest one actually is at the store exit, so I am walking through the parking lot with my empty cart, and I pick up another stray cart on the way. As I get to the store exit and am about to push both carts into the corral, I see a tan-shirt smoking outside — which is, by the way, illegal so close to the store.)

Tan-Shirt: “Are you just going to do them two at a time, or what?”

Me: “Sorry?”

Tan-Shirt: “I said, are you just going to collect the carts two at a time? Stop being so f****** lazy and collect them all. You are not being paid to waste your time wandering outside.”

Me: “I don’t work here. I just brought my cart back because I don’t like leaving it stranded in the parking lot.”

Tan-Shirt: “What do you mean, you don’t work here?”

Me: “Do I look like I do?”

(I point to my shirt, which is a maroon t-shirt with a huge Harry Potter design on the front.)

Tan-Shirt: “And you need to wear a proper uniform shirt!”

Me: *turning around and walking back to my car* “F*** you.”

(The tan-shirt kept yelling something about me being fired and such. Good luck, dude.)

(I wake up feeling sick. There are explosions of pain in my right side. I try to walk it off but after a few hours my boyfriend decides it’s time to stop playing hero, and he takes me to an emergency room. A receptionist is sorting patients according to their suspected diagnosis — broken bones and physical injuries are sent to the surgical ER, ob-gyn problems to the ob-gyn ER, toothache to the dentist ER, etc. We think it’s appendicitis, so I end up in general ER because we actually don’t know what’s wrong. I am four months pregnant and it’s already starting to show.)

Doctor: “We need to do a test to see if you are pregnant.”

Me: “I am pregnant.”

Doctor: “Riiight. So, we will do the test to see if you are pregnant…”

Me: “I am pregnant.”

Doctor: “Sure. So this test–“

Me: “Which part of ‘I am pregnant’ don’t you understand?”

Doctor: “This test will determine if you are pregnant.”

Me: “Okay, last time: I am pregnant. I’m 17 weeks along. In your right hand is my pregnancy card which confirms my pregnancy, includes all the tests, results, and every check-up I’ve had. I am four months pregnant!”

Doctor: *pause* “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

Me: “Arggggh!”

(She sent me to ob-gyn ER since “irritated pregnant women aren’t her problem.” At the ob-gyn ER, I was told my baby was fine, and since they also agreed it might be appendicitis, they sent me to the surgical ER where they determined it wasn’t appendicitis, but that the cause of the pain was my baby. I had a slightly irritated and swollen appendix, and the position of my son allowed him to kick it, which caused the explosions of pain. Two days of an icepack on my right side and liquid diet, and I was fine.)

Customer: “I’d like to return this.”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry, ma’am, but we don’t do returns at this company.”

Customer: “Since when?!”

Me: “Well, I’ve been here for five years and I know we haven’t done returns in that time.”

Customer: “It doesn’t say that anywhere; I wasn’t informed of this so I want my money back!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but it says right here on the receipt that we don’t do refunds, but I’ll be happy to put it on a gift card for you.”

Customer: “I wasn’t aware you don’t do refunds; therefore, I want my money back. I didn’t see that on the receipt.”

Me: “Well, ma’am, we tell all our customers our policy during the transaction. It also says it here and here.” *points to a large sign on the wall and a sign on the cash desk*

Customer: “This is all new to me. I still want my money back. I paid cash for this and that is what I want back.”

Me: “Well, I’m sorry, ma’am, but there isn’t even an option for us to do that. We can put the amount you paid onto a gift card for this store, and that total will never expire.”

Customer: “I want to talk to your manager.”

Me: “Ma’am, I am the manager of this location, but I can definitely call another manager who has been here since day one, if that is what you want.”

(After speaking on the phone to the other manager, I then passed the phone to the customer. She was very calm and sweet on the phone. Then, she passed the phone back, grabbed her merchandise, and exited the store, never to be seen again. I’ll never understand why customers think that they can just change rules whenever they want. I don’t make them up; I only enforce them.)

(I’m the ditzy customer in this story.)

Cashier: “That’ll be $7.57.”

(I place a ten on the counter. The cashier hits a button on the register, then looks at the machine, and then looks at me, confused.)

Cashier: “Oh. Do you have 57 cents?”

(Thinking she hit the wrong button and would like to just give me back a few ones, I dig through my purse.)

Me: “Well, I can make 56 cents…”

Cashier: “That’s fine.”

(She finishes the transaction, gives me the receipt and my bag, and tells me to have a good day.)

Me: “Excuse me, do you have my change?”

Cashier: “You bought ten items. Your total was $10.57.”

Me: “Oh, my gosh! I thought you said seven, not ten! I’m sorry! But thank you for the penny!”

(I usually have my wits about me a bit more than that! She was so confused about my confusion, but so sweet to patiently help me!)