(I am making omelets to order at the breakfast buffet.)
Customer: “I’ll have an omelet, please.”
Me: “Great! What would you like in your omelet?”
Customer: *angry and confused* “Oh, I have to tell you what I want in it?!”
(I wish I could say this was only one customer, and not that this happened several times a week!)
(My sex drive is considerably higher than my boyfriend’s, which isn’t usually a problem, except occasionally when he’ll worry that he’s pressuring me into sex, which at least with me, is virtually never the case. We’re talking about this at one point.)
Me: “With me, you can basically assume that if you want sex, I’ll also be down for it, and on the one-in-a-thousand chance that I’m not, I’ll just let you know. I’m like a siren, except less likely to lure you in and drown you.”
Boyfriend: “Are sirens known for being lustful? I thought they were mostly about the drownings.”
Me: “Hmm. A succubus then? Or a lamia, except less likely to steal your body heat?”
Boyfriend: “Now that’s a total lie; you steal my body heat constantly! We go to sleep, and you’re like, ‘Mmmm, come here; you’re so warm,’ and then I feel your icy feet!'”
Me: “Okay, we’ve found it. I’m a lustful lamia, except more likely to annoy you with cold feet than to freeze you to death!”
(A year later, he still uses “lamia” as a pet name. It very much amuses me!)
(I work at a fast food restaurant that’s famous for its customizable frozen custard treats.)
Me: “Hi! What can I get for you tonight?”
Customer: “I’ll have a mini [custard] with hot fudge, hot caramel, and light cookie dough. ‘Light’ means not a lot.”
Me: *fighting back the sass-filled comment that I thought about* “All right, that’ll be [total]. And you can have a seat; I’ll bring it out to you.”
(The customer goes and sits in the dining room. In the process of making the [custard], it melts a good amount due to the hot ingredients. Normally I’d remake it, but since I can’t do anything about the fact that hot things melt cold things, I deliver it and go back behind the counter. I start doing some miscellaneous cleaning while I don’t have anything else to do.)
Customer: *comes back up to counter with [custard]* “You f***** up my order. This is unacceptable, and I can’t believe you gave this to a paying customer.”
Me: *very politely* “I’m sorry. What seems to be wrong with it?”
Customer: “It’s all melted. I can’t eat this s***.”
Me: “Would you like me to remake it?”
Customer: “Sure, just don’t f*** it up this time.”
Me: *not wanting to make it the same way so we’re back where we started* “Would you like to try it with chocolate syrup and caramel syrup instead? They aren’t hot like the others, but taste the same.”
Customer: “Sure, all I give a f*** about is you not f****** up my order again.”
Me: *remakes it and delivers to her table* “Again, I’m sorry about that.”
Customer: “Whatever.”
(I go back around the counter and I see my manager looking confused.)
Manager: “What was that?”
Me: “She ordered a [custard] with hot fudge and caramel and cussed me out when it melted.”
Manager: “Some people expect us to defy physics. Get used to it.”
(I am a very petite female. I am the customer at a coffee shop I frequent often. The employees are very nice and most of them know me by now. I purchase a sandwich and a drink, set up my laptop, open the sandwich, and begin to work. A few minutes later I go to the restroom, leaving behind my items, only to come out to a man in his mid-40s eating my sandwich, right next to where I have been sitting. I hate confronting people and would have brushed it off, but it is just too weird.)
Me: “Excuse me. Are you eating my sandwich?”
Customer: “No, this is mine.”
Me: “I took a couple bites out of it, and there’s lip-gloss on the bite marks on ‘your’ sandwich.”
Customer: “Get your own! You young people are always taking things away from the more deserving!”
Me: *now confused and embarrassed, as everyone in the shop is staring* “Sir, that’s my sandwich. You can have it. It’s no big deal; it’s just a turkey sandwich. But I’m not the thief, here.”
Employee: “Wait. Sir, did you take this woman’s sandwich?”
Customer: “No. I’ll fight her for it!”
Employee & Me: *at same time* “You want to fight for it?!”
(There is moment of silence as the other customers and employees look back and forth between my five-foot frame and the man’s six-foot frame. The other customer looks around for a moment, then grabs my sandwich and runs out.)
Employee: “Do you want another sandwich?”
Me: “I don’t think I’ll ever eat a turkey sandwich again.”
(I work at a banquet hall, and today we’re serving a large pig roast to a senior center. I am a server, and I am taking the customer’s plates when I see an elderly man with an empty plate.)
Me: “Excuse me, sir, but may I take your plate from you?”
Customer: “Can’t you see that I’m not finished eating?!”
Me: *silence*
