During my summer break, I often work part-time for a local country club/golf course. I help the groundskeepers, and I took the job with one provision: “no member interaction”. I’m what you would call a surly old b*****d.

One morning, I was finishing my shift, and I noticed an older woman stumble. She looked injured.

Me: “Do you need help? Or do you need medical attention?”

Woman: “Oh, I’m fine. My daughter will be right here soon.”

Her daughter returned, very distraught, but the woman said she had just slipped and would be fine. As the daughter helped walk her mom back into the clubhouse, I brought her clubs up and left them outside. (Heck, they were on a cart.)

Now that was how the end of my day began.

As I walked back to a maintenance shed to retrieve my water bottle, I heard someone come up behind me.

Member: “Excuse me. My friend and I would like some iced teas while we let this other group play through.”

Me: “Okay, go ahead…”

Then, she tried to push a $20 bill into my hand.

Member: “Can you hurry? We don’t want to wait all day.”

Me: “If you’re waiting on me, you will be waiting all day. That’s not what I do on the course, and I’m leaving.”

Member: “You work here, and I’m a member, so you do what I need.”

I said something to the effect of:

Me: “Lady, what you need is therapy if you think I’m bringing you tea.”

I walked off while she was still talking.

The next day, the “manager” stopped me and told me there had been a complaint.

Me: “I don’t care. Fire me if you want, and find someone else to clean the goose s*** off the patio each day.”

The waterfowl come onto a large patio area overnight and leave calling cards everywhere.

Me: “I had an agreement: No Customer Service!”

So, I walked away and went home.

My manager called me the next day asking if I would please return to work. He said later that he’d talked to the member and informed her that grounds staff do not interact with members.

That last part about not interacting with members/customers isn’t completely true. I have enjoyed many rounds of golf with members. There’s an older gentleman who asks if I have time for a round just about every other week. Let’s just say my golf prowess makes him look like a PGA champ…

There was this married couple who came in every Sunday, and they had the most convoluted, long, and chaotic order. Even though I had the order memorized and would recite it for them, they’d still insist on saying it all themselves.

Customer: “One large coffee filled to the brim — make sure it’s to the brim — in a to-go cup. No room. Two XL cups of extra-hot water, double-cupped. One cappuccino — and make sure the foam is good — in a for-here cup. Two raisin bran muffins, lukewarm — microwave them for fifteen seconds, exactly.”

They’d make sure to choose the exact muffins in the pastry case they wanted, and then they’d check to feel how warm the muffins were and complain if they didn’t feel warm enough (even though we microwaved them at the same temp every time), and then the wife would run her finger through the cappuccino and ruin the foam art just to check if the consistency of the bubbles were up to her standards.

Anyone who’s ever made a perfect rosetta knows just how terrible that last part is.

This story reminded me of an experience I had with a difficult teacher in high school. My history teacher was known for having a hair-trigger temper to the point that, due to his looks and fiery personality, the students referred to him as “Heat Miser”. Shout-out to those of you familiar with a now twice-outdated claymation reference.

I tended to sit in the back of his class for a number of reasons, and I dressed in hand-me-down or thrifted clothing due to the economic status of my family. Both details are crucial for this particular story.

I took my notes by hand with my head down, focusing between looking at [Teacher]’s Smartboard and my spiralbound notebook. On the day this occurred, I had an old, frayed necklace that consisted of many strands and was a deep, noticeable green.

After class, [Teacher] stopped me on my way out the door with this little ditty.

Teacher: “If you’re just gonna show up to class and listen to music the whole time, you can stop showing up to my class.”

Me: *Confused* “I wasn’t listening to music—”

Teacher: “Don’t bulls*** me. I saw the wire! You had your earbud in!”

While he continued trying to lecture me, I looked down and realized that one of the strands of my necklace had come undone from the clasp. Silently, I lifted the strand of the necklace and held it out to him. I saw the exact moment it clicked, but, still too prideful and blustering to accept it, he snarled: 

Teacher: “Well… STILL!”

“Still” what? Bemused, I just told him, “Okay, Mr. H,” and headed out the door. 

After that, he never called on me or bothered me again. I swear, he even went so far as to ignore my raised hand sometimes. Go figure.

Related:
When You Wish They’d Phone It In

I train dogs at a chain pet store. The customer pays for each six-week course, we do the lessons, and then we have a little graduation with diplomas. One woman brings her German Shepherd to class. The woman attends every class, writes down what feels like every word I say, and asks questions about everything. She stays after to pick my brain about training things not covered in class. (I should have charged it as a private lesson because it was outside the curriculum, but I didn’t.)

At the end of class, I hand out the diplomas. The woman waits until everyone is gone and then asks me to meet her at the register. I grab an enrollment form, thinking she’s going to enroll in the next classes. She pulls out her original paperwork.

Woman: “I’d like a refund.”

Me: “Um… Oh. Was something wrong?”

Woman: “Oh, no, honey. You were great. My landlord said I need to have proof of training, and he’ll reduce my monthly pet fee by $20. This dog eats a lot, so I need to save every penny.”

Me: “Uh-huh. Well, since there’s nothing wrong with the service, I can’t refund you.”

Woman: “What? Your policy says you will!”

Me: “If there’s something you’re not happy about. But—”

Woman: “I’m not happy about paying. So, get your manager or whatever you have to do. I’m not leaving until I get a refund.”

Me: “Okay…”

I walk to the manager’s office and explain what’s going on. Her jaw drops, but she comes out anyway.

Manager: “Hi. You want a refund on your classes?”

Woman: “Yes! Don’t worry; [My Name] was wonderful. I’ve never met someone who takes so much time and cares so much about a dog behaving. But you see, my landlord—”

Manager: “You need the diploma so your landlord will reduce your rent, right?”

Woman: “Yes!”

Manager: “Okay, give me all the paperwork.”

[Manager] processes the return and hands over the return receipt. I stand there, shocked and angry. Besides all my hard work going down the drain, I am going to have commissions deducted for the refund.

Manager: *To me* “Hand me the attendance sheet.” *To the woman* “What’s your dog’s name?”

Woman: “Cairo.”

Manager: “Do you have his diploma, or—”

Woman: “Right here!”

She holds it out to [Manager], who takes it from her.

Woman: “Oh, I need that for—”

[Manager] rips the diploma in half and then rips it again and again.

Woman: “Excuse me?! I paid for that!”

Manager: “And we refunded it. You got your money back, and we got our diploma back. Have a nice day.”

She pockets the shredded diploma.

Woman: “No! I need that! It’s proof!”

Manager: “If you’d like to pay for the classes, [My Name] will happily rewrite your diploma. Otherwise, we are done.”

The woman glared at [Manager], but she stood firm. The woman later complained to corporate that we had revoked her diploma but didn’t tell them why. After we explained, corporate sided with us.

The woman also left a one-star review on Yelp and Facebook. Her stupid story actually got a lot of people to come in and get their dogs enrolled in classes. So, while I lost her sale, I gained several more because of it.

I built a website for a car dealership a couple of months back, and I got a text about a month after the project was done.

Client: “We are going to be expanding into motorcycles and other stuff. Can you update the site?”

Me: “Great! I am happy to help you! Do you mind sending photos of your inventory and product specs/descriptions so I can add them?”

Three weeks went by with no reply. Then, I received this email.

Client: “Where the h*** is my web page? This is ridiculous! How are my customers supposed to know that I’m selling motorcycles now if it’s not on my website?!”