(I am just about to finish my long shift at the deli when a middle-aged lady on her phone wanders up to the counter.)

Me: “Good afternoon. How can I help you today?”

Customer: *doesn’t glance up from phone* “I would like the ham you have on special today.”

Me: “Of course. How much would you like?”

Customer: “Three kilograms.”

Me: “Um, you want three kilos?”

Customer: “Yes.” *still hasn’t looked up*

Me: *slowly starts to get the ham out* “You’re sure, three kilos?”

Customer: “Yes.” *annoyed sigh*

Me: “Okay, then…”

(I start to get all the ham out, a little confused.)

Me: “There isn’t enough ham in the case; I’ll have to slice some up for you from out the back. It will take an extra few minutes. Is that okay?”

(The customer rolls her eyes but nods anyway, still not looking away from her phone.)

Me: “Just double checking that you would like three kilos of ham?”

Customer: “Yes! It’s not that hard.”

(I finish it up and go to hand it to her.)

Me: “There you go, have a great day!”

(The customer finally glances up at the wrapped ham, taking it and looking at the label.)

Customer: “What?! Three kilos? That’s way too much! I wanted 300 grams, not three kilos! Are you an idiot? It’s not that hard!”

Me: “I double and triple checked with you; you asked for three kilos. I’m afraid I can’t take it back after you’ve ordered it.”

(The customer screams for the manager who has been serving a customer next to me and has heard the whole thing.)

Manager: “I’m sorry, miss, but I also heard you ask for three kilos. I’m afraid you will have to purchase that ham.”

(The customer ranted and raved about how this is the worst store in town, etc. The manager eventually walked her to the registers and made her pay for the $45 worth of ham she’d ordered!)

(During a vacation with my girlfriend, her sister, and her sister’s boyfriend, we stop in a casino. This particular casino allows smoking inside, but also has designated non-smoking areas, including a non-smoking casino. This is heaven for me, since my allergies have been acting up the whole trip and tobacco smoke, while normally just a smelly bother, is now making things worse. Within the first hour of our visit, three of us have rotten luck — unable to get even some baby wins to keep us playing a little longer — and want to jump back in our car and take off.)

Boyfriend: “Uh, I just ordered a beer.” *holds up a half-full beer bottle* “Can I finish it off?”

Sister: “Yeah, sure. What’s one beer, right?”

(My girlfriend and I agree. Due to how quickly each of us lost $50, we opt not to gamble anymore, instead waiting in a hall just outside the casino’s restaurant. The problem with that is that this put us directly adjacent to an area that allows smoking, and the air conditioning is blowing the smoke our way. I spend the next 15 minutes sneezing almost constantly with tears streaking across my face.)

Girlfriend: “He nursing that beer?”

Me: “I’ll find him. I need to head through, anyway.”

(Within the non-smoking casino is the nearest restroom, which in turn means it has the nearest tissues to blow my nose. Before I head there, I wander around the casino for a while until I find him.)

Me: “Hey, what’s up?”

Boyfriend: “Just playing. What’s up with you?”

Me: “The girls and I are getting killed by the smoke and would like to leave.”

Boyfriend: “Sure. Just let me finish my beer.” *holds up a nearly-full bottle*

(I shrug and make my way to the restroom. Yes, he ordered another beer. But since he knew we wanted to leave, I conclude he has to be on a hot streak, and I’m not about to break it. I rejoin the girls and relay all of this, and we agree to wait. So begins a 30-minute wait of pure agony for me. Over the course of this, I cross to the restroom a few more times, trying to see how he’s doing each time. Each time, he’s too engrossed to look up, and I ignore him thinking he’s winning. On the last trip, as I am making my way back to the girls, I bump into his girlfriend, who is extremely cranky at this point. I direct her to where I last saw her boyfriend to see what she can do.)

Sister: “[Boyfriend]! What the f***?”

Boyfriend: “Oh, hey! What’s up?”

Sister: “We want to go! Finish up!”

Boyfriend: “C’mon! I’m feeling lucky!”

(At that, she leans over and whispers into his ear. I don’t know what she says, but from the way his face lights up, it has to be dirty.)

Boyfriend: “Just let me cash in!”

Sister: “Five minutes!”

(We resume our positions, and five minutes turns into ten.)

Sister: “Let’s go! If he’s winning this much, he can take a limo back to the hotel!”

(We pile in and drive off. Probably two hours later, I get a call. Guess who?)

Me: “Hey, [Boyfriend]! Where are you?”

Boyfriend: “In front of [Casino]’s parking lot. Where are you guys?”

Me: “We took off a while ago.”

Boyfriend: “Oh. So… when can I expect you?”

Me: “We’re not dropping everything for you. Take your winnings and get a car.”

Boyfriend: “I don’t have any winnings. I’m broke.”

Me: “What do you mean, you’re broke? You kept going after your luck soured?”

Boyfriend: “No, I had no luck all day.”

Me: “So, why the f*** did you keep playing when we wanted to leave?”

Boyfriend: “I figured my luck would have to change eventually and I’d get it back.”

(Despite my better judgement, I dropped everything to get him. He never told me personally how much he lost, but the tongue-lashing he got continued until the following morning, and based on the clothes scattered around their room, I’m pretty sure there was suspicion he was trying to hide his winnings. The rest of the trip was tense, with none of us talking to him. Once the trip was over — and I mean, immediately upon dropping him off at his apartment — the sister broke up with him.)

I’m working at a counter in the children’s department, reading a lengthy memo about sales from corporate. I’ve been looking down reading for perhaps two minutes and when I look up there’s a man standing there, fuming. I’m startled since he hasn’t said anything and has been standing out of my line of sight.

I ask him if he needs help and he continues to rant and rave to me about how awful I am at my job. He looks at my name tag and keeps repeating my name and saying how I need to “get it together.” I explain to him that he was out of my line of sight and that I’m visually impaired.

That shuts him up.

He then, of course, goes and complains to my manager saying that if I’m so visually impaired I should have a bell he could have pressed. He could have just said something to me while I was reading, but he was silent. Idiot.

(I’m late for a meeting around dinner time and decide to grab a quick bite to eat from a fast food joint. There’s a decent crowd at the counter but it’s not too busy. I place my order — just a burger and a small drink — hoping the easy order will be done fast. The cashier is foreign and hard to understand, using a mixture of English and Dutch with a very heavy accent.)

Cashier: “We out of regular burger. You want XL burger, instead?”

Me: “Yeah, no problem.”

(She gives me my total, which is for a normal burger and the drink. I pay and she then goes to make a drink, which she places in front of me along with a receipt with a number. I grab the drink and receipt and stand back, waiting for my number to be called for my burger. The cashier sees me standing, then impatiently beckons me over.)

Cashier: “This not yours! This other order!”

(She snatches the receipt and drink out of my hands.)

Me: “My apologies! Since you placed them right in front of me, I figured this was my order.”

(She disappears to the back, leaving me without a receipt with an order number. I don’t want to make a fuss so I just stand back again, keeping a close eye on all the outgoing orders to see if mine is there. After a while, the cashier comes back with a tray with what seems to be my order, as she also makes eye contact and beckons me over.)

Cashier: “One [burger] combo.”

Me: “Hold on, I didn’t order the combo. Just the burger and a small drink. You can keep the fries.”

(She snatches the tray out of my hands and places it on the counter behind her, out of my reach. I’m in a real hurry now and just want my food. I try to get her attention but she is now busy helping others. After two other customers she turns to me again.)

Cashier: *impatiently* “What?”

Me: “I said, you can keep the fries. I still want my burger.”

Cashier: *raised eyebrow silence*

Me: “Can I have the tray back?”

(She grabs the tray again and gives it to me.)

Cashier: *rudely* “I thought you didn’t want the combo? Now you suddenly want combo?”

(I grab the tray, take off the fries, and place them on the counter.)

Me: “Here. Problem solved. Stick those fries anywhere you want for all I care.”

(I walk out hurriedly to catch my meeting and start eating while walking. The burger was so cold that the cheese on it was stiff.)

(I work at a cell phone kiosk in a local mall. Cell phones are just starting to be something the public is educated about, and are still “hot,” “new” things that are seen as status symbols. This story concerns a customer who is a semi-regular, and usually buys a lot of products at once, though he is also a belligerent blowhard who believes he is entitled to special treatment because he always spends a lot of money.)

Customer: “This stupid phone keeps overheating. I can’t even hold it in my hand for two minutes because the d*** thing gets too hot!”

Me: “Wow. That sounds like a pretty serious problem. Let me see about getting it serviced.”

(After some checking, it turns out he’s had this phone for almost two years and did not opt for any extended warranties.)

Me: “Sorry, sir. I’d love to help you get this repaired, but it turns out this phone is out of warranty. I can still send it in, but it won’t be a free repair.”

Customer: “Naw, naw, naw. Don’t start talking to me like that. Do you know how much money I’ve spent on your products? I own five phones, three pagers—“ *starts to list the components he’s bought for each*

Me: “Sir, I understand you’re a good customer, but warranties are warranties. I can’t make an exception. It’s not even within my power to do so.”

(I should not have said this.)

Customer: “Then get your manager on the phone.”

Me: “He’ll tell you the same thing I’m telling you.”

Customer: “We’ll see about that. Get [Boss] on the phone right now!”

(As I said, he’s a regular customer and big spender; he knows my manager’s name.)

Me: “Okay.”

(I dial our manager, who speaks with the customer for a short bit and decides that a guy who spends that kind of money is too valuable to lose, and offers to foot him the repair costs. This is fine with me, because now I know that I won’t get in trouble for processing a warranty repair for an out-of-warranty product. I fill out all the paperwork and set him up with a “loaner” phone that he can use in lieu of the one we’re sending in for repair. The VERY NEXT DAY, who should show up?)

Customer: “This f****** loaner phone is a cheap piece of s***!”

(The customer hands me the loaner I gave him, one that many customers before him have used, and it looks like it’s been thrown ten feet into a solid brick wall. The screen is cracked in half, and the casing is cracked in numerous places and partially coming off, so that the battery won’t even fit back on.)

Me: “Wow, what happened?”

Customer: “Well, the dang phone is so slippery that I was just talkin’ on it and it slipped right out of my hand! You guys didn’t give me a case with it or a clip or anything, and it’s as slippery as soap!”

(Again, this is the same phone I’ve given many customers before him; not to mention, how would a clip have helped in this case? It didn’t fall off his belt.)

Me: “Okay, well, this is pretty severe physical damage. As it’s our property, I’m afraid you’re going to have to pay for this phone to be replaced. We don’t have that many loaners.”

Customer: “Naw, naw, don’t start that again. I mean, the phone is slippery, and you didn’t give me a case. It could’ve happened to anybody!”

Me: “Yes, and anybody would have had to pay the cost of replacement. It’s part of the loaner agreement you signed.”

Customer: “Get your boss on the phone!”

(This customer has gotten to the point where he feels like all he has to do is demand to speak to my boss and he’ll get whatever he wants. I call the boss. Again. This time, I inform my boss of what’s going on, and he asks to speak to the customer. I’m able to hear him word for word; he’s that loud.)

Boss: “Are you serious?! We made a deal for you that we wouldn’t make for anyone else, and we’re taking a serious hit for it, and now you destroy one of our phones and act like it’s our fault? There is no way you’re not paying to replace that loaner, and if you refuse, you will be sued! You’re lucky I don’t rescind the offer to pay your out-of-warranty fees!

(Eventually, the guy agreed to pay, and later, he did come and collect the repaired phone, but we never saw him again. The boss didn’t mind at that point; if we’d kept his business he would have ended up costing us more than he was spending. The boss later saw the totaled loaner and said there was no way that happened just by being dropped. God knows what he did to demolish it like that.)