(I am working at a retail portrait studio. I have a mother bringing her daughter in for modeling headshots. I explain to her ahead of her appointment that we do not do any editing or retouching, only cropping. She agrees that she can purchase the digital images to have them edited herself if she would like. As we start the session, the daughter, who is around eight or nine, is in the camera room with me and her mother is standing in the doorway glued to her phone.)

Me: “All right, sweetheart, let me see your model smile!”

(The daughter sticks out her tongue at me.)

Me: *laughs* “Cute, silly one for mommy. Let’s do a nice one now, big smile!”

(The daughter puts on an angry pout face. I try everything I can think of to get her to laugh or smile. She’ll pretend to agree to cooperate but will pull a mean face the second I go to take the picture, thinking it’s funny. I can’t even catch her laughing about it as she covers her face with her hands. Finally, after trying several times to signal her mom to ask for help, I put down my camera and go over to her.)

Me: “Mrs. [Mom], I seem to be having a hard time getting your daughter to smile. Would you mind giving me a hand?”

Mom: “She knows what she’s doing.”

Me: “Every time I go to take the picture she pulls a silly face. We’re not getting good headshot photos.”

Mom: “Have you ever modeled before? She knows what she’s been doing; she’s been modeling since she was five. Just take the picture.”

(I do my best. We end up with a small handful that I think might be okay, and a couple dozen silly or mean faces that I keep in the album to show the customer how her daughter was behaving. I begin to show her the album.)

Mom: “Very funny. I get that you’re trying to prove a point, but I just want the nice ones.”

Me: “Well, these few here were the best overall headshots where she didn’t pull a face.”

Mom: “No! You’re not listening. I don’t want to see these garbage ones where you photoshopped her to look stupid so you could prove your point. I want the nice original ones that she took.”

Me: “These are all the originals. Like I explained to you on the phone, we don’t do editing or retouching. We don’t have Photoshop. These are the actual faces your daughter was making.”

Mom: “She would never!”

(Her daughter smirks from across the room where she’s playing on her mom’s cell phone.)

Me: “I didn’t edit them. These are all the original images.”

Mom: “You are full of bulls***! If you don’t give me the originals where you didn’t make my daughter look like a f****** [slur for people with disabilities], I will sue you for defamation of character!”

Me: *shocked* “Ma’am, I can’t control the faces your daughter makes. I tried to get her to cooperate and I asked for your help. I didn’t edit these; she was making those faces.”

Mom: “MY DAUGHTER DOESN’T MAKE [SLUR] FACES!”

(I know that a coworker around the corner has a special needs child and I don’t want her to hear this woman’s abuse.)

Me: “Ma’am, I need to ask you to lower your voice and watch your language or I’m going to have to ask you to leave the store.”

Mom: “I’M NOT F****** GOING ANYWHERE UNTIL YOU GIVE ME MY DAUGHTER’S ORIGINAL BEAUTIFUL PHOTOS, YOU STUPID C***!”

(I immediately called security and she ended up being escorted out while calling me every name in the book and insisting that she was going to sue me for making her daughter ugly. She called every customer service number she could find, no matter how loosely they were affiliated with us. It took weeks to sort out the numerous complaints she made, but thankfully, she never came back. Good riddance.)

(I am a checker in a grocery store, working after the managers have already gone home and the stockers are working the aisles. There is a certain customer who most of us dread dealing with because he says inappropriate things to the checkers as “jokes.” One night, he comes storming up to my check lane, basket in hand. Important to the story: [Rice Mix] is on sale.)

Customer: “There isn’t any beef [Rice Mix] on the shelf! This is [expletive] ridiculous.”

Me: “Did you ask the stockers? There might be more in back.”

Customer: “You ask the stockers. That’s your job. I’m not going back there for that.”

(I sign out of my register and walk to the aisle the rice is in with him following right behind me. The stockers are stocking the [Rice Mix] section and have been for a while. I ask one of the stockers if there is any more beef [Rice Mix] on the pallet or in back, and he says they are completely out and gives me the date they expect more, which is after the sale is over. I turn back to the customer.)

Me: “If you go up to the office, they will give you a raincheck for the rice.”

Customer: “I don’t want a [expletive] raincheck, I want my beef [Rice Mix]!”

Me: “The store brand is cheaper than the sale price on the [Rice Mix], and there is a beef one.”

Customer: *now screaming* “This is [expletive]! I will have your job for this!”

(I am tired and past caring.)

Me: “You can have my job. It really isn’t that good.”

(He stared at me for a moment in disbelief and the stockers started laughing. He screamed that he was going to have us all fired. Then, he walked to a different register, checked out, and left. I never heard anything from management and I never saw him again. It wasn’t a glorious triumph, but I’m counting it as a win.)

(I work as a lifeguard during the summer at the local park pool. Being an outdoor pool, it is hard to regulate the temp. The pool tends to be warmer in the afternoon when the sun is directly overhead. A lady comes up to me mid-morning:)

Customer: “The water is too cold!”

Me: “You will have to wait until the afternoon; then the water will be warmer.”

(To most, the reason would be obvious, but she blankly stares at me.)

Customer: “Why?”

(I’m not certain what comes over me, but I reply:)

Me: “Because the water is always warmer after the kiddie swim classes.”

(She contemplated my answer for a minute before it dawned on her and she walked away, disgusted.)

I work as a staff member at an airport club, the kind that you have to pay to belong to and that offers WiFi, desks, tables, phones, snacks, and so on for busy travelers.

The men’s room is located directly adjoining the staff office, with doors that are virtually identical except for small stylish plaques saying, “MEN,” and, “STAFF.” Consequently, it’s not uncommon for men in a hurry to lunge into the staff office, do a double-take, and then excuse themselves and go next door.

Today — Super Bowl Sunday, as it happens — a couple of us were sitting at the table in the staff office when suddenly the door flew open and a man all but ran into the room, with his fly unzipped and his junk already out. I can only assume he expected it to be a one-seater that he wouldn’t have to share with anyone.

Embarrassing for him, embarrassing for us. But what really made it memorable was his response to the situation. Standing there gaping at us, he shouted, “I’LL SUE!” 

Then, he turned and ran back out… without making any real effort to cover himself.

I looked at my coworker and she looked at me. “Did that really happen?”

Customer: “I was in drive thru a little bit ago and my sandwich is all wrong”
Me: “Okay let me see” *puts gloves on and opens sandwhich* “Now what all was on it?”
Customer: “Lettuce, cucumber, pickle, onion mayo and mustard.”
Me: “Okay well everything is on here except for the mustard”
Customer: “Well what’s all that white stuff?!!”
Me: “That’s the mayo.”
Customer: “Well why does it look like that?!!”
Me:”Well you had it toasted and the mayo must have been put on when it was still warm.”
Customer: “Okay well where is my mustard!?”
Me: “Give me one moment” *Goes to grab mustard*
Customer: “I don’t want that sandwhich anymore you touched it!”
Me: *raises gloved hands* “Miss I have gloves on”
Customer: ” I don’t care you touched it!”
Me: *Grabs sandwhich and throws it in the trash* “Fine I’ll remake it but we are out of the original bread you had”
Customer: “Just remake it with wheat then!”
Me: *Remakes sandwhich gives it to her*
Customer: “Have a nice night b**ch”