Customer: “Will these curtains fit my windows?”

Me: “We do offer custom sizing for some curtains, but not that one, I’m afraid.”

Customer: “I didn’t ask you about custom sizing, I asked if these would fit my windows?”

Me: “What are the measurements?”

Customer: “Standard size.”

Me: “And what is the standard size?”

Customer: “Standard size living room windows!”

Me: “Sir, I don’t know the size of your living room windows?”

Customer: “Then get me a manager who does!”

I call my manager over and explain the problem.

Manager: “Sir, I think I understand why my associate couldn’t help you.”

Customer: “Because he’s an incompetent kid who needs to be fired?”

Manager: “…no. Sir, there is no ‘standard’ window size. You’d need to get measurements for your windows before we can offer you any options.”

Customer: “This is so stupid! If I’m the one giving you my money, why are you making me do all the work! You guys are supposed to know your stuff. Which one are you, lazy or stupid?”

Manager: “I’d ask the same of you, sir.”

Customer: “You can’t say that to a customer!”

Manager: “Sir, no offense, but you’re the one trying to get my associate fired because he didn’t want to play a game of ‘imaginary windows’.”

Customer: “Why is the bread section so empty?”

Me: “Apologies, sir, the bread has been delayed a few days due to the hurricane down south. That’s where the trucks come from.”

Customer: “Well, that’s no excuse.”

Me: “That’s your opinion, sir, but that is the reason.”

Customer: “Can’t they just drive around?”

Me: “Around… the hurricane?”

Customer: “Yeah! I saw it on the news; it’s just a round thing. It’s not a line separating the north from the south. They can drive around it.”

Me: “That’s not how it works, sir.”

Customer: “Well, they need to think of something because your customers are going to go without sandwiches, and that would be a disaster!”

I scan his face for the faintest sign of irony or trolling, but there is none. This guy genuinely believes what he is saying.

Me: “That’s… is also your opinion, sir. You can try again in a couple of days.”

Customer: *Muttering as he ‘storms’ down the aisle.* “Stupid hurricanes blowing away all the bread!”

Related:
A Storm Of Entitlement, Part 7
A Storm Of Entitlement, Part 6
A Storm Of Entitlement, Part 5
A Storm Of Entitlement, Part 4
A Storm Of Entitlement, Part 3

A customer storms up to my register while I’m between customers.

Customer: “This is crazy, all the restrooms are occupied!”

Me: “We are a busy store, ma’am. If you wait, one will become available.”

Customer: “But how do I know they’re all occupied! Some might be empty, and I’ll be waiting there forever like an idiot.”

Me: “The doors have indicators; when they’re locked, they’re occupied.”

Customer: “What if someone is just in there wasting time on their phone? You need to get them out of there so customers who need to go can use them!”

Me: “We don’t have a way of doing that, ma’am.”

Customer: “Well, can’t you use cameras or something?”

I pause for a nice, long moment.

Me: “Ma’am, surely you can see how that would be problematic.”

Customer: “Well, obviously you’d turn it off when I’m in there!”

I’m working the go-kart track at a fairground. A mom has just paid for her son, maybe nine or ten years old, to have a turn while she watches from the side. I’m about to get him sized up for a safety helmet, but the mom has already ushered him into a kart.

Me: “Ma’am, he’s going to need a helmet before he gets in.”

Mom: “Oh no, no helmet. I don’t want his face covered.” *Holds up her phone.* “I want to actually see his handsome face in the video.”

Me: “Sorry, ma’am, but helmets are required for everyone’s safety.”

Mom: “Don’t be silly, that’s what the seatbelts are for!”

Me: “Ma’am, the seatbelts stop him from flying out of the kart. The helmet stops his head from doing a meet-and-greet with the track.”

Mom: “He’ll be fine! He’s a good driver.”

Me: “I’m sure he’s great, but the rule still applies.”

Mom: “Well, we’re paying customers. If we say no, you have to respect that.”

Me: “If you say no, I have to respect that he won’t be driving today.”

Mom: “But your helmets are so ugly! How will I see my handsome boy?”

Me: “Will you still be calling him handsome if he loses control and cracks his head or face open against the tarmac or another 175-pound go-kart?”

Mom: “Has… has that ever happened?”

Me: “No, because everyone wears the helmets.”

She finally told her son to put a helmet on, but her excitement about getting footage of her “handsome boy” was lessened a little. She still got video, but all anyone will be able to hear when they go back and watch it will be her screams of “slow down!” and “use the brakes!”

I was working the front desk when a man came in. He kinda looked homeless, his clothes were ripped and dirty. He asked about getting a room for “a little while”. He laid a $50 bill on the counter, casually slid it my way, then turned away from me. 

I ignored the money and told him what rooms we had and the rates. He turned back around, saw the cash there, and instead of replying, pushed the $50 closer to me.

Me: “Sir, the room with tax is [three-digit total]; I’m going to need more than that.”

Weird Man: *Rolls his eyes at me.* “Come on. I know how this works. Just take the money.”

Me: *Confused.* “I can’t take it, it’s not enough to book a night here.”

Weird Man: *Exasperated.* “It’s not for the whole night! That’s the point. Just get me a key, you won’t even know we’re there.”

The lobby doors opened, and a woman walked in. She wasn’t wearing much. A sports bra and a little blue skirt with sandals. He says to her loudly:

Weird Man: “TRIXIE? Go sit down, I’m getting us some privacy.”

She acknowledges that she’s Trixie with a big smile and a wink and takes a seat. The weird man turns back to me:

Weird Man: “So, we good? Key?”

The lightbulb finally goes off. I get it.

Me: “Are you trying to give me money so you can use a room for an hour?”

Weird Man: “Not even an hour, I promise. You get fifty bucks.”

Me: “You’ve done this here before?”

Weird Man: “Not here, no. But other hotels, all the time.”

Me: “Sorry, I can’t do that. See that camera?” *I point to a black box in the ceiling that is not a camera.* “They’d look back, see what I did, and I’d lose my job.”

Weird Man: *Nods his head.* “Oh, I can’t do that to ya. Trixie, let’s go! I knew this place was too hoity-toity. They got us on film!”

And that was the first and only time I had someone try to book a room to sleep with a prostitute for an hour by offering me fifty dollars.