(A customer is upset because her child isn’t able to participate in a program because of an age restriction. She is mad and feels that she was given incorrect information, and she is yelling at me about it as I try to figure out the situation.)

Me: “Okay, we can go ahead and issue a refund since it sounds like there was some confusion when you purchased your tickets.”

Customer: *yelling* “And I suppose it will take several days for the refund to go through? How long will it be until I get my money?”

Me: “It can take three to five business days for the refund to process.”

Customer: *still yelling* “So, they can’t go on the tour and now I can’t get my money for three to five days. So, I’m just out that money for the next three days?!”

Me: *in my head* “Weren’t you going to be out that money forever if they went on the tour?”

(I am working the register on a Sunday afternoon in 1982 as all of the churches in the neighborhood are letting out. This is generally a busy time of day, both in the store and at the gas pumps. Things are running smoothly as a harried-looking woman drags a three- or four-year-old-girl into the store.)

Customer: “Bathroom?”

Me: “I’m sorry, we do not have restrooms for customer use.”

Customer: “My daughter has to use the bathroom.”

Me: “There are two bars and four restaurants in this block that have public bathrooms.”

Customer: “My daughter has to go now! Where do you go to the bathroom?”

Me: “Our bathroom is for employee use only as we store dangerous chemicals in there.”

Customer: *dragging her daughter behind the counter toward the door to our office* “Well, you’re just going to have to make an exception.”

Me: *steps in front of the door, blocking her way* “I’m terribly sorry, but our restroom is not for public use.”

(Suddenly, the little girl pulls her hand out of her mother’s, puts it on her hip, and yells:)

Customer’s Daughter: “We’re not public, we’re Catholic!”

(Then, the girl stuck her tongue out at me. The woman grabbed the girl’s hand again and stormed out of the store.)

(Though the outdoor store I work in primarily sells non-hunting gear and clothing, we’re also licensed to sell statewide hunting and fishing licenses. We do so through our rental department, which uses a website hosted through the state department to input customers’ information and register the licenses.

Unfortunately, midway through the summer, the state department’s system crashes, leaving us with the uncomfortable task of making excuses for our lack of licenses. Usually, customers, especially younger ones, are able to understand that the state department’s website is not something we can control, but some customers are particularly pesky.

I’m working at the administration desk, checking out some keys for a coworker, when this phone call comes in.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Outdoor Store]. How may I direct your call?”

Customer: “Yes, hi. I’m coming down tomorrow on a business trip, and I was hoping to hit the river. You sell fishing licenses, right?”

Me: *resigned to the course this conversation is going to take* “Yes, sir, ordinarily we would. Unfortunately, we sell our licenses through the state department’s website, and the website is out of service right now. So we aren’t carrying fishing licenses at this time.”

Customer: “What? So, you can’t put me through to your license department?”

Me: “We still wouldn’t be able to sell you a license. The state department’s website is down, and we sell licenses through them.”

Customer: “Well, when are you going to get it fixed?”

Me: “It’s been down for about a month now, sir. It’s the state department’s website, not ours, so the entire state’s been affected. No one can buy a fishing license at this time.”

Customer: “So, you’re not going to fix it?”

Me: “Again, it’s not our website, sir. It’s a state website, and not one that we have access to other than the sale functions, so there’s really nothing we can do.”

Customer: “That’s okay. I don’t even want an online license, only a paper one, so just put me through to your license department and I can come to pick it up tomorrow.”

Me: “Sir, that’s actually not how license sales work. We would give you a paper license if we could sell them, but unfortunately, without the website, there’s no way to validate any licenses with the state.”

Customer: “Okay… but I’m willing to pay for a paper license, anyway.”

Me: “Sir, we would not be able to use the website—”

Customer: “No, I know, I know! But listen, I’ll pay for a license, and you can just give me a paper one. Then, when the website comes back up, you can just validate it then!”

Me: *flabbergasted* “Sir! Perhaps you misunderstood me. We don’t have any licenses to sell you, paper or otherwise. The website exists to validate licenses as the sales go through. Our system only prints out a license after they’ve been validated. Also… the process you’ve described is… literally fraud.”

Customer: *annoyed* “Oh, so you really can’t help me, then? Okay. Whatever. I guess I’ll just go hiking or something, instead.”

(He hangs up, and I look up from the phone to see my coworker staring at me, openmouthed.)

Coworker: “Wow. I’ve never seen anyone just not get it that badly!”

(My hotel has several annual conferences that come with VERY high booking demand. Because of this high demand, we are very strict about when we open the block of rooms to be sold; the group is informed of the exact date and time that the rooms will be available for reservation. I work overnight, and a block of rooms is slated to open for one of these conferences at 8:00 this morning. As soon as the clock hits 12:00 am, the phone rings.)

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

Caller: “Hi, I’m calling about booking some rooms for [date] for [Conference].”

Me: “I see; I’m sorry, ma’am, but that room block will not be available to reserve for another eight hours.”

Caller: *somewhat rudely* “Well, I was told it opened today.”

Me: “It does, ma’am… eight hours from now.”

Caller: “Ugh… all right, fine.”

(She hangs up and I go on with my duties. A few minutes later, the phone rings again and my coworker picks up. After a brief conversation, he looks at me and rolls his eyes.)

Coworker: “She wanted that block, too, and said she was told it opened at midnight.”

Me: “Maybe someone gave a group the wrong info? Well, regardless, we can’t sell it until eight.”

Coworker: “Yeah, that’s what I told her.”

(Again, we resume our duties, until about another fifteen minutes later when I get another call, this time from a representative from our corporate reservations line.)

Representative: “Hello! I’m calling from [Brand] Central Reservations! I have a guest on the line who is looking to book for [date]…”

Me: “For [conference]?”

Representative: “Yes!”

Me: “I see. Unfortunately, that block doesn’t open until 8:00 am local time.”

Representative: “Oh… Well, this guest said she stayed up specifically to make this reservation as soon as possible.”

Me: “I understand, and I am sorry that she may have been given incorrect information, but we cannot sell that block of rooms until the set time.”

Representative: “I see. Well, I will inform her. Thank you for your time!”

Me: “No problem.”

(I hang up and my coworker gives me a questioning look.)

Me: “Pretty sure these calls are all from the same woman. What, did she think the old ‘Mom said no so I’ll ask Dad’ tactic was going to work?”

(We did get a few more calls that night from people trying to book early, but none were as persistent as the first woman!)

(I am paying for a big, heavy bag of cat food. The cashier, a high-school-aged girl, offers to carry it out.)

Me: “Sure. Thanks. That’d help.”

(She turns to another teen girl coworker behind her.)

Cashier: “Hey, [Coworker]! Your fat, ugly a** needs to carry this bag out.”

(She talks softly enough that most people can’t hear, but I have good hearing.)

Me: “Hey! No. I want you to carry it.”

Cashier: “What?!”

Me: “Yeah. You need to carry it to my car. No cart. You have to carry it.”

Cashier: “I can’t.”

Me: “You can, ’cause I carried it up here, so chop-chop.”

Cashier: “I can’t leave my till.”

Me: “I’m off to move my car to the far side of the parking lot. See you there.”

(There was no one in line, and there was another cashier open, so I glared at her until she followed me out. And yes, I did move my car while she waited, struggling with the bag.)