(A boy and girl are going around the neighborhood, trick-or-treating. The boy is dressed as a Jedi Knight, the girl as Princess Leia. They go up to one house and ring the bell. When the door opens.)

Kids: “Trick or treat!”

Boy: “May the force be with you!”

(The homeowner pulls back the bowl of candy, and gestures with his hand at the boy.)

Adult: “These aren’t the treats you’re looking for.”

(The girl started to cry.)

My stepdad currently works for a national pizza chain as a delivery driver. It is no secret that people intent on stealing from pizza delivery drivers will call in fake orders, and when the driver shows up, they take money and sometimes even the car the person is driving.

My stepdad got one those orders one night. He showed up at the house and was held at gunpoint, and thieves took the car and what little cash he had on him.

After two weeks of my mom thinking they would not get their car back, my stepdad called from work and told my mom he was on his way to pick her up. Come to find out the two idiots who stole the car two weeks prior had attempted to sell it.

While they were trying to sell the car, they told the person that they were trying to sell it to that they had stolen it from a pizza delivery driver for the company my stepdad worked for. The guy got the idiots to let him take it for a test drive, and when he was far enough away he found the registration to the car and called all the [Pizza Chains] in the area until he tracked down my stepdad and returned the car to him and my mom.

Let this be a lesson to all criminals: if you are going to try and sell a stolen car — or anything for that matter — do not mention it is stolen and from whom you stole it.

(I work in a bookstore. I am currently training a new employee who has been working with us for about a week. I am letting him run the registers, and answering questions while I shadow him in case he has any trouble. We have just opened for the day and he is busy checking out a customer when the phone rings, so I answer it.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Bookstore]. This is [My Name] speaking; how can I help you?”

Caller: “Hi, I am [Caller]. I am having surgery on Saturday and the surgeon needs a doctor to approve it. Can your office give them a call?”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I think you’ve called the wrong number. This is [Bookstore].”

Caller: “What?”

(I have to repeat myself a couple of times before she understands.)

Caller: “Is this [number that ends with a six]?”

Me: “No, this is [number that ends in a zero].”

Caller: *hangs up*

(I go back to what I was doing. A few minutes later, the phone rings again. It is the same woman, who goes through the same spiel. I again tell her that she has dialled the wrong number, and she hangs up immediately. My manager is nearby so I let him know what’s going on. Not long after, the phone rings again. My manager and I exchange a look and I answer the phone.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Bookstore]. This is [My Name] speaking; how can I help you?”

Caller: “Hi, I am [Caller]. I am having surgery on Saturday, and the surgeon told me he needs a doctor to approve it, so can one of your doctors give them a call?”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m very sorry, but you’ve called the bookstore again.”

Caller: *angry and raising her voice* “Young lady, I dialled the correct number, and if you can’t—”

(I hand the phone to my manager. He is silent for a moment while she continues her tirade about how she MUST have called the right number, and then he reiterates that she has not and that there is nothing he can do for her. He tells her the number is what the number is and she is dialling it wrong. We all laugh about it and go back to work. The next time the phone rings I refuse to answer it, so the trainee gets it.)

Trainee: “Thanks for calling [Bookstore]. I’m [Trainee]; how can I help you?” *pause* “Ma’am, this is [Bookstore]…”

(A customer sends over his savings account ledger through the carrier at the bank’s drive-thru. I have to rifle through it to figure out what he wants, and find a $100 bill between the pages. I start to put it back when I see a second bill between two other pages. I hesitate, because between his car and my window is an oversized diesel pickup truck that is extremely loud. In addition, it’s been a very windy day, and it’s been difficult to hear customers all day as the wind blows across the microphones.)

Me: “Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to [Bank]. How can I help you today?”

Customer: *noise noise noise* “—deposit—” *noise* “—two hundred—” *noise* “—savings.”

Me: “Absolutely! I’ll have your receipt for you in one moment.”

(I deposit his cash, put the receipt in his book, and send it back. Seconds later, he rings the buzzer. Thankfully, the truck is gone now and I can hear him better.)

Me: “Hi. How can I help you?”

Customer: *angry* “I TOLD YOU TO DEPOSIT TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS!”

Me: *double-checks my work* “Yes, that’s what I did.”

Customer: *lifting the account ledger* “Then WHY DOES IT STILL SAY $1235?”

Me: “Oh, I didn’t update your book for you; do you need the updated balance?”

Customer: “NO! I NEED YOU TO DO YOUR F****** JOB AND WRITE IT DOWN!”

(It’s NOT my job to write it down. Bookkeepers make a lot more money than I do! But I will write it down for customers who ask. I am not going to argue with him.)

Me: “Okay. Send it back; I’ll be happy to write it down for you.”

(He sends his ledger back through the carrier. I update the balance on the next line and write the date, and send it back to him. A couple seconds later, he rings the buzzer again.)

Customer: “YOU DID IT WRONG!”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “You didn’t write $200! You’re supposed to write that I deposited $200!”

Me: “Sir, perhaps if you’re that particular about how your book is kept, you should be writing it yourself.”

I’m 17 years old, at my first job, working the closing shift on my own for the first time. The store closes at 9:00. At 8:50, two cop cars pull up outside and four officers come in, order sandwiches, and sit down to eat. My manager has previously said we’re not allowed to tell people to leave at closing because it’s bad customer service, and just to let them finish, so I just go about my closing tasks while they eat and chat. I can’t mop the lobby or lock the door while there are customers still in the store, but I finish up all the tasks I can — putting away food, nightly inventory, cleaning the bathrooms, etc. — being not at all quiet or subtle about what I’m doing, even down to turning off the lights behind the counter. Still the officers are deep in conversation and don’t seem to notice.

By 9:30, I’m well out of tasks to do, and they’re still chatting over half-eaten sandwiches. I try to call my manager, but she doesn’t pick up. At 9:50, another car pulls up outside, and then my mother bursts in the door. She runs up to me at the counter practically yelling, “Oh, my God! What happened? Are you okay?”

I quickly explain what’s going on, and she immediately turns on the officers, who are all staring at this point, and goes off. “Do you know what time it is? My daughter has school in the morning; she was supposed to be home half an hour ago! And then I come up here thinking something horrible must have happened and see nothing but cop cars in front of the building. I almost had a heart attack! You should all be ashamed of yourselves!”

She goes on like this for several minutes while the cops sit there looking mortified. When they can finally get a word in edgewise, they have the decency to apologize, and one of them mentions he thought we were open until ten.

They quickly wrap up the rest of their sandwiches and shuffle out, looking thoroughly chastised, and the last one out gives me a $20 tip as he goes. To this day, we still laugh about the time my mom chewed out half of that small-town police department.