Our chicken shop runs a sweet half-price deal on Tuesdays every week. Every day of the week, without fail, this happens.

Customer: “Hi, can I get the Tuesday special?”

Me: “Sorry, it’s Wednesday.”

Customer: “Just press the button so I can have it.”

Me: “Sorry, the button is only on the register on Tuesdays.”

Customer: “What’s the difference? It’s just a day!”

Me: “Yeah, sorry, Tuesday’s the day for the special — only Tuesday. Not Wednesday.”

Customer: “Well, I got it last week!”

Me: “On Tuesday?”

Customer: “Yes, so why can’t I have it today?”

Me: “BECAUSE IT’S NOT TUESDAY!”

Every, single, day!

I work the overnight shift for Emergency Roadside Assistance (ERS). Most of the far and few between calls I have seem almost like a fever dream, as only the most random people call at 3:00 am for service.

At 3:30 one morning, I get a beep in my headset signaling a new call.

I give my introduction and the guy is talking to someone in the background. Aside from someone speaking over me, this has to be my next pet peeve. If you call somewhere, pay attention to the call. Don’t have three conversations at once while on call.

Me: “Hello? Hello? Can you hear me?”

My hand is hovering on the “end call” button as I’ve been waiting for close to two minutes for a response.

The man comes on the line, sounding frustrated and tired.

Customer: “I have to have my car towed home.”

Me: “Okay, I can help. To place the call, I need your membership number first, please.”

The man sounds confused for a moment but gives me the number.

I locate his account. He already has a call for a tow and the driver is on scene. I stare at my monitor for a few seconds, preparing myself for some idiotic situation.

Me: “You already have a call in and a driver on scene. Is there something wrong?”

Customer: “No.”

I mute the mic and sigh, steeling myself for more stupidity.

Me: “Um, okay, so what’s the issue?”

I hear shuffling and a different voice comes on the phone.

Driver: “Hello? This is the driver.”

Now I’m really confused as to why he passed the phone, but okay.

Me: “Hi, this is [My Name] with ERS. Is there something wrong? I’m not quite sure how to help the member.”

The driver sounds just as confused.

Driver: “Frankly, miss, I have no clue why he called you, I told him everything was fine. I’ll pass the phone over if that’s okay with you.”

Me: “Yeah, no worries.”

The member comes back on the line.

Me: “All right, sir, how can I help you?”

I try once more, praying that he finally tells me.

Customer: “The driver is here.”

Me: “Okay, was there anything else I could do to help you?”

The guy sighs heavily and starts speaking loudly.

Customer: “How can I help you?! You’re not making any sense, ma’am. The driver is here.”

At this point, I just mute the mic to laugh because he stunned me into silence for a couple of moments at how random it was. I stare at the screen in disbelief.

Me: “Okay, so everything is fine?”

Customer: “Ugh, yes! D***, customer service in this company is trash.”

And he hung up.

I was still trying to understand what the h*** he had called about. But asking how he could help me threw me for a loop.

It may have been that the automated system contacted him and he was confused as to why. This scenario actually makes a lot more sense than someone calling and not knowing their request. It was confusing for all involved!

I am playing cards with some friends when one of them, a cabbie by profession, gets a phone call. In the silence of the small room, we can hear both sides.

Caller: “Interpreted call for [Rider].”

Friend: “Go ahead.”

Caller: “She needs to be driven to a few locations at 2:00 pm tomorrow.”

Friend: “I’m sorry, I can’t. I am already booked tomorrow at 2:00 pm.”

Caller: “Why not?”

There are some funny looks and quiet laughs from the rest of us.

Friend: “Because… I have other clients?”

Caller: “How about the fourteenth at 2:00 pm?”

Friend: “Okay… Wait! Tomorrow is the fourteenth!”

I work in a bank’s call centre. It’s pretty rough at the start of the month, so I am gearing up for some weird cases.

A customer calls in, enquiring about a payment that didn’t go through to a brokerage firm. While he talks, I go through his last calls and find that he is, unfortunately, a pretty entitled customer. Uh-oh. I do my best to be chipper.

Me: “Okay, sir! It seems like your payment has made it through on our end. In this case, I would advise you to check with the brokerage if there’ve been any problems.”

Customer: “Look, I just checked with them. They said to call my bank.”

Me: “I see. Did they mention anything about the status of the payment on their end?”

Customer: “They said it’s pending. That’s definitely on you.”

It isn’t. This particular payment type is usually instant, and it sure as h*** looks like it is through on our system. I do my best to explain to him how it works and to let him know he can try and check with the brokerage again.

Customer: “Fine. If you’re so insistent on brushing me off, I’ll call them now. Stay on the line.”

The customer, to my dismay, proceeds to ring the brokerage up on his landline while I am still with him on the phone. I sit through the dial tone and the hold music.

The call is picked up by this guy who sounds like I feel. He has the unfortunate job of confirming that the issue is on the brokerage’s end.

The customer proceeds to go ballistic on him, shouting about how it is ridiculous that his payment is being held for no reason. The line begins cutting off at several points, and [Brokerage Employee]’s voice is pretty muffled on my end. I cringe for him the entire time.

Customer: “HELLO?”

Me: “Yes, hello.”

Customer: “Tell this b*****d it went through on the bank’s end!”

Me: *Slightly panicked* “Sir, I’m sure they’re doing their best to work on the problem—”

Customer: “JUST TELL HIM!”

I kept up my customer service voice, got the customer’s permission to reveal his account information to [Brokerage Employee], and proceeded to convey what I saw to him.

[Brokerage Employee] sounded a bit drained, and I wanted badly to give him the encouragement he needed. The best I could do was an apology for the trouble that sounded sickeningly scripted as ever. [Brokerage Employee] gave me an equally professional, “No worries.”

The customer curtly ended the call with me after. I hope [Brokerage Employee] had a smooth shift after that.

I work at a Christian summer camp. Apart from the youth groups that come to camp, we also have camping grounds and cabins, hostel rooms, and a small kiosk and café. This is not a fancy place; you can get a cup of coffee and homemade pastries for a bargain. If there is a camp going on and you call ahead, we can serve lunch. We also serve sandwiches and ice cream, but that’s it.

The area is what we in Sweden call “fäbodvall”. In the olden times, it used to be a summer settlement where people sent their cattle to pasture and built little cottages. Nowadays, it’s a mixture of summer cottages for the locals, passed down through generations, and summer cottages for fancy rich people who think it’s cute to have a picturesque summer cottage in the country by a lake but still expect all the service they can get in the city.

So, here I am, seventeen years old, just finishing cleaning up after the camp kids’ lunch, when a group of three very well-dressed ladies walks into the yard. I can see that they’re not locals, but we have a few people due to check into a cabin, so I grab my binder and go out to greet them.

Me: “Hello, welcome to [Camp]. Are you checking in?”

Lady #1: “No, we just thought we’d have some lunch.”

Me: “Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t get a note. Did you call ahead?”

Lady #1: “No, we did not. This is advertised as a restaurant, is it not?”

Me: “Well, technically, it’s advertised as a café. But if you want lunch, we still have some left over from the camp kids. Today, it’s chicken pie, which should still be warm, and a tomato salad. It’s actually my favourite and it’s very good. It’s the cook’s own recipe. Otherwise, we have home-baked pastries and sandwiches.”

Lady #2: “We certainly don’t want to be served leftovers. This is such a disappointment.”

[Lady #1] and [Lady #2] send evil glances to [Lady #3], who I recognize as one of the non-local cottage owners.

Me: “Well, our sandwiches are made fresh from homemade bread. We have a choice of cheese and cheese and ham. The vegetables are homegrown; we have a garden right behind the kitchen.”

Lady #2: “Well, I guess that’ll have to do.”

The ladies take their seats. I put out a pitcher of water, offer them coffee, and proceed to take their order.

Lady #1: “I’m gluten intolerant, so I can’t eat bread, and all your sandwiches look inedible. I’d like a salad instead of a sandwich.”

Me: “Well, we don’t have any salads on the menu, but I guess I could make you one with the same ingredients as the sandwich. Would you like ham and cheese, or just cheese?”

Lady #1: *Sighs* “I guess I’ll have the ham and cheese if you don’t have anything better to offer.”

Lady #2: “I’ll have the same. Where’s the ham from?”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t actually know. It comes from our distributors, but I can ask the cook if—”

Lady #2: *Waves me off* “Never mind. I guess I don’t expect too much from a place like this.”

[Lady #3] comes all the time with her kids to buy ice cream, so I know her, and I can tell how embarrassed she is.

Lady #3: “If you’re making salads for them, you can make one for me, as well. I don’t want to add to your workload.”

Me: “All right, three cheese and ham salads. I’ll be right back.”

We don’t have this salad on the menu. I’ve worked in this kitchen for a while, but I’m not a chef, and as I said earlier, we do not serve salads. I try to do the best with what I have, which is a bunch of homegrown vegetables, which I arrange in lovely little mountains on their plates, and some chopped-up industry cheese and ham (which is all we have because we are not a restaurant) on top. I whip up some dressing to serve on the side and carry out the order to the guests.

[Lady #3] is obviously trying to defuse the situation.

Lady #3: “Oh, thank you, [My Name]. This looks wonderful. Thank you for going to all of this trouble for us.”

Lady #1: *Pokes at the salad* “Excuse me, what is this? It looks disgusting. I asked for ham; this isn’t ham.”

Me: “Sorry, but that’s the ham we have.”

Lady #2: “Pardon me, where is the bread? What place doesn’t serve bread with their salads?”

Me: “I’m sorry, I’ll go get you some bread. That’s one gluten-free and the rest regular, right?”

The guests all confirm. I might be young, but at this time, I’m pretty much in charge of special needs food for the camp kids, and my worst nightmare is someone getting ill from food that I have served them, so I make sure to get a separate basket and butter dish for the gluten-free bread before I carry it all out to serve to my guests.

Me: “Here’s your bread; it’s all homemade. I hope you enjoy it.”

Lady #1: “Excuse me, what is this?”

At this time, there are not a lot of fancy gluten-free mixes available, so we have to do with what we have. The gluten-free bread might not look very fancy, but I did my best.

Me: “That is our gluten-free bread; I made it myself this morning. The camp kids don’t complain.”

Lady #1: “I expect to be served something better than the camp kids. What kind of place is this?”

Me: “I’m sorry, but it’s a camp. Our guests all get served the same thing, whether they’re campers, locals, or other guests. I made an exception for you guys making you salads.”

Lady #2: “This is the worst service I’ve ever had in my life. I want to speak to your manager.”

Me: “Well, he’ll be in tomorrow morning. It’s just me and the cook here right now, and she’ll be leaving in a few minutes for her mid-day break, so I have to start preparing dinner for the camp kids. Was there anything else?”

[Lady #1] and [Lady #2] look like they want to behead me on the spot, but thankfully, [Lady #3] interrupts.

Lady #3: “Oh, my God, I told you that this wasn’t a fancy place! [My Name] did her best to make you happy and all you did was complain. I swear, I can’t take you anywhere. And by the way, [Lady #1], I know you’re not gluten intolerant; you just say that to get special service.”

She turns to me.

Lady #3: “Thank you, [My Name]. We’re really grateful that you went to all that trouble to accommodate us. I’ll make sure to call ahead for lunch the next time I have friends visiting.”

The ladies finished their lunch with no complaints. [Lady #3] tipped well and kept tipping well for the rest of the summer even after her friends had left.