It is February 2021. A customer comes up to my desk for me to take her details. She keeps fussing with her mask and actually pulls it away from her face to speak. 

Me: “Ma’am, could you please keep your mask tight to your face? When you pull it away to speak, anything that might be in your breath just goes around the sides while you’re speaking.”

She lets go of her mask and squishes the nosepiece down onto her nose.

Customer: “Oh, okay. Is this better?”

Me: “Yes, thank you.”

Customer: “It’s just so hard to talk and breathe with the mask on, you know?”

No, lady, it really isn’t. I’m an essential worker and have been wearing a mask all day, every day, since last March, without whining about it. If your lungs are literally so delicate that you can’t breathe while wearing a mask, you should absolutely not be going out.

Related:
Unmasking The Excuses

I’m in high school and I work in the health foods department of a grocery store, which, in addition to your usual gluten-free, organic, and other health food products, houses vitamins and supplements. The grocery store also has an in-store pharmacy. It is around 9:00 pm on a Friday night and I receive a call for our department.

Me: “Hello, this is [My Name] in the health foods department. How can I help you?”

The caller is frustrated, angry, and yelling from the start.

Caller: “Cut the pleasantries. I am looking for a salt supplement for someone with a condition.”

I’m not sure I heard her correctly.

Me: “Could you repeat that, please?”

Caller: “Ugh. A SALT SUPPLEMENT FOR SOMEONE WITH A CONDITION. It is very important that you have this.”

We get a lot of odd requests in the health foods department, especially for trendy, health fad products, but as a high schooler working evenings doing mostly restocking, I do not know every supplement we have on hand — there are over 100 types — and what each is used for. I am not allowed to offer medical advice, which I am not sure I could do anyway with such a vague description.

Me: “We carry Epsom salts in two different sizes, if that is what you’re after. I am not sure if we carry any salt supplements, but perhaps I could ask the pharmacist who is just closing up.”

Caller: “I’M NOT LOOKING FOR EPSOM SALTS. I NEED A SALT SUPPLEMENT FOR SOMEONE WITH A CONDITION! THIS IS AN EMERGENCY! WE NEED THE SALT SUPPLEMENT!”

Me: “Our pharmacy is just closing up, but the pharmacist is still here. Would you be willing to hold so I can go catch her before she leaves? Perhaps she will be able to help you find what you need.”

Caller: “NO, I WILL NOT HOLD!”

Me: “I could transfer your call to the pharmacy or leave your name and number for the dietician to call you tomorrow morn—”

Caller: “DO NOT TRANSFER ME. YOU NEED TO ANSWER MY QUESTION NOW. WHY DO YOU NOT KNOW WHAT I AM TALKING ABOUT? THIS IS AN EMERGENCY! I NEED A SALT SUPPLEMENT FOR SOMEONE WITH A CONDITION!”

Me: “Ma’am, if it is a medical emergency, I recommend calling 911 or taking this person to the hospi—”

Caller: “YOU F****** B****! HOW DARE YOU NOT KNOW WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT?! THIS IS AN EMERGENCY! I NEED A SALT SUPPLEMENT FOR SOMEONE WITH A CONDITION!” 

The customer continued cursing and ranting for about twenty more seconds and then she hung up.

I’d like to help you, lady, and I tried to connect you to the people with proper training. The high school student working at the grocery store at 9:00 pm on a Friday night is not the person from whom to get your emergency medical advice. I never did figure out what she needed, nor did I hear anything from my manager about an irate customer coming in to ask about a salt supplement. It’s been years, but my family will still occasionally start phone calls with, “I NEED A SALT SUPPLEMENT FOR SOMEONE WITH A CONDITION!”

I used to bartend at a small dive in a small town. Not long after I started, we stopped accepting credit cards and went cash-only, mostly due to the number of people who would run up large tabs and then leave without paying; the card they left behind would get declined or they would report it stolen the next day and dispute the charge.

At the time, the bar didn’t have security cameras, so we couldn’t prove that the person had actually been the one using their card, even though we were supposed to check ID for credit cards if we didn’t know the person by name already. By state law, we are supposed to check ID for every person entering the premises anyway, even if they are obviously well over twenty-one.

For as long as I worked there, people would periodically act surprised, upset, and sometimes angry about the fact that we didn’t accept cards, even though we had put prominent, bright orange signs up on the front door and on the coolers behind the bar where they were clearly visible, and installed an ATM for convenience. 

One day, a man decides to yell at me for telling him that we only accept payment in cash.

Man: “You have to take my card because you don’t have any signs posted that say you’re cash-only!”

I just stare at him for a second and then point at the sign on the cooler, approximately one foot away from my head, at eye-level, stating, “CASH ONLY,” in four-inch-high lettering.

Me: “There’s a sign on that cooler, too, and another on the front door. We have an ATM over there under the yellow neon sign if you’d like to use it, or there’s a [Bank #1] branch on the corner just that way, and a [Bank #2] branch on the next corner that way.”

I pointed to indicate the direction of each bank. The man angrily opened and closed his mouth like he wanted to argue, apparently decided there was nothing he could say that wouldn’t make him look like even more of an idiot, and left without another word.

I never saw him again. He wasn’t the worst customer I ever had to deal with, by far, but he sure stands out among the stupidest!

Several years ago, my grandmother lived with my family. After she passed away, my father was punctual about closing accounts she used, sending out copies of the death certificate when necessary, and so forth. But we kept receiving calls from her former mobile carrier.

My father tried everything, from resubmitting her death certificate, to speaking with a supervisor, to just hanging up on them. They kept calling, at least twice a week.

This, along with continued telemarketing calls for her, got on my father’s nerves. Finally, he took to answering any call who asked to speak with her by shouting, “She’s dead and you vultures still won’t leave her alone!” and bursting into fake sobs.

All but a few rare telemarketing calls finally stopped after about a week of that.

I’m the oldest of three sisters. The youngest sister is fully in her gothic elegance/vampire-esque fashion style. She’s had to really fight our parents about wearing it; despite her looking extremely smart in it, they can’t get over the fact that it’s black on black, so at this time she’s been refusing to change her style for ANYONE and ANYTHING. She also works in fashion and knows seasonal trends, etc. She’s ideal to have around if you want style advice, basically. The middle sister — [Bride] in this story — has a very effeminate style — bright and pastel colours and florals.

[Bride] is getting married and is having a spring-themed wedding, which she clarifies to mean light colours, pastels, and florals. Her bridesmaids — the groom’s sisters, her friends — go from being great and loving the light pinky-purple dresses [Bride] picked to suddenly hating them after [Bride] pays for them. They start demanding that she buys them black dresses that are really, really short and reveal a lot; it’s pretty clear that they want [Bride] to pay for party dresses for them.

I then find out from [Youngest Sister] that Mum has been steamrolling every appointment so it’s what SHE wants rather than [Bride], and when [Bride] stands up for herself, Mum calls her a Bridezilla and threatens to not let her have use of a family heirloom that’s been used for every wedding in our family for literal centuries.

We are in a group chat, just the three of us sisters. None of us have discussed what [Youngest Sister] and I are wearing for the wedding. [Bride] has been messaging us complaining about the bridesmaids.

Bride: “It’s just OBVIOUS they just want a free outfit from me! I don’t have that kind of money.”

Youngest Sister: “Plus, like, you’re the one who has to live with the photos. I’ve tried that with Mum, by the way, and she’s still not budging on the holly jacket and dark green skirt.”

Me: “They’re s*** friends. Drop ‘em. Also, how dark is this green?”

Youngest Sister: “It’s pine green. Literally the colour of a Christmas tree. I have no patience for her. ‘It’s flooooraaaaaaal and green is new groooooowth.’ BS! It’s not. It’s obviously from the autumn/winter collection. It even says it on the label!”

Bride: “Thanks for trying. Oh, by the way, you know that velvet floral thing you have?”

Youngest Sister: “You mean the one dad calls my funeral attire, yes?”

Bride: “Yeah. Can you wear it to the wedding?”

Youngest Sister: “I mean… I can, but I did buy something specific for the wedding.”

Me: “Ooh, so did I. Do you have photos?”

Youngest: “Sure do. I’ll send them through. But like, I’ll wear whatever you want, [Bride]”

We wait for the photos to come through. I am shocked to see that it’s a pencil/shift dress with a rose pink bodice and a white rose floral design for the bottom with the roses outlined in black. She’s coupled it with a black shrug, black and pink shoes with roses on them, and a pink fascinator/hat that has a little veil effect.

Me: “This is mine!”

I share what I picked out, which is from the same collection as [Youngest Sister]’s dress. Mine is an A-line with the white floral rose print on the bodice and the skirt section entirely in the rose pink. I’ve coupled it with a white shrug and white and pink shoes.

Youngest Sister: “Oh, my!”

Me: “We match!”

Bride: “Did you match on purpose?”

Youngest Sister: “I spent a long time looking at that one but couldn’t deal with the amount of rose pink on that one, though I love the silhouette.”

Me: “We didn’t talk about it! I tried that one on but the hips said no.”

Youngest Sister: “We didn’t. And just as well your hips don’t lie, really. But anyway. I’ll wear what you want me to do, in this case.”

Bride: “But you HATE pink! And… colours! You’re a beautiful, gothic fairytale living your best life and I don’t want you to be uncomfortable!”

Youngest Sister: “I hate them for making you cry more than I hate pink. I’m gonna give them a shock and show ’em how it’s supposed to be done since they’re s***s.”

Bride: “Christ. Like. Wow. Okay. If you’re happy to. Like. Thank you.”

The subject changes and a few days go by. Then, we get this.

Bride: “I was trying to compromise with the two s***s and was telling them how my very gothic sister has gone with a pink and white dress… which matches my other sister’s dress… and then it clicked. Why am I wasting my time with those two?! F*** ‘em! Will you be my bridesmaids, instead?”

Naturally, we agreed. Our parents did think this meant that [Youngest Sister] had moved on from her phase, but they were quickly disappointed. Whenever Mum nagged her over her clothing, she’d just point out the winter suit Mum wore to a spring wedding.

This story is part of our Best Of March 2021 roundup!

Read the next Best Of March 2021 roundup story!

Read the Best Of March 2021 roundup!