I was diagnosed with a hearing disorder when I was a child. This hearing disorder makes it difficult for me to understand conversations, and it’s getting to the point where I’m considering a hearing aid.

A client wanted a phone conference. My policy is to use video conferences — body language and lip reading are possible, at least, plus Skype allows texting during the call — or instant messaging/email. That way, I understand exactly what my clients want, and both of us can send screenshots, examples, etc.

Client: “I can’t video message. Let’s call.”

Me: “I explained to you earlier that that would be hard for me. Would you prefer emailing?”

Client: “Calling.”

Me: “Why wouldn’t email work?”

Client: “No.”

Me: “I hope you understand that it would be difficult for me to understand you.”

Client: “Work it out.”

A customer comes in who I think I recognize as a dine-and-dasher from last month. I recall making his sandwich, and when it came time to pay at the cashier station, he grabbed his sandwich and ran. I proceed with caution.

Customer: “I’ll take a footlong meatball sub, lots of extra cheese.”

Sometimes, adding lots of payable extras is a dine-and-dash red flag, but I comply.

Customer: “And lots of extra sauce. And veggies.”

I make his sandwich, but I keep it away from the cashier station when it’s done.

Me: “That’ll be [total], please.”

Customer: “Let me just check the sandwich first to make sure you did it right.”

Me: “You saw me make it in front of you. If you have an issue with it, we can remake it.”

Customer: “Let me just see it.”

Me: “I can hand the sandwich over to you once I’ve received payment.”

Customer: “Why are you being a b****?”

Me: “I’m being a b**** by asking for payment?”

Customer: “You think I’m gonna run out with my food?”

Me: “More and more with each passing moment.”

Customer: “Wow! You must be racist! You hate Black people!”

For the record, I’m mixed: half Black, half white.

Me: “That’s not going to work here. Please pay for the sandwich if you intend to. Please leave if you don’t.”

Customer: “I’m gonna call the police!”

Me: “Please do! It’ll save me the effort.”

The customer is now staring me down, obviously not expecting me to stand my ground like this.

Customer: “B****! It’s just a motherf***ing sandwich!”

Me: “Then motherf***ing pay!”

Customer: “Man, f*** this place!”

The customer stormed out. I used the camera footage of the encounter to print out a still from the interaction and put it on our banned customer page. Next time, we won’t have to waste making a sandwich while giving him the benefit of the doubt.

I made a new website for a customer and put it up on a temporary URL so he could see the results. And since he ignored my emails requesting content, the text and images were taken from his current website.

Me: “Is the website ready to be launched with the current content?”

Client: “No way! You just copied all the text from the old site.”

Me: “Well, you didn’t answer the several emails we sent where we asked you for materials like text and images.”

Client: “I thought you wrote the new text. The current content is ten years old.”

Me: “You can pay us extra and we’ll write the text, or you can pay a copywriter to write text for you, because it’s not included in the price.”

Client: “So, what is it you’ve actually done?”

Me: “I set up a website for you. Have you read the contract you signed?”

Client: “I don’t care about contracts. If I cannot trust a man on his word at a meeting, then we might just stop here.”

Me: “Okay, but I recommend that you read the contra—”

He then hung up on me.

I used to work in a family pizzeria owned by a father and son. We sold beer and wine, but we didn’t have a full bar. [Father] would buy a large number of beer mugs, pitchers, and wine glasses from his vendor in bulk and then wouldn’t need to place another order for several years, as a) alcohol wasn’t our biggest seller, and b) glasses didn’t actually get broken very often. This meant that when he did eventually place a new order, sometimes it was hard to find the EXACT same style, though they would always be the same size, i.e. 12 ounces, 16 ounces, etc. At some point, some of the old and new glasses got mixed in together, and the difference was really only noticeable if the glasses were side by side; the new glasses were slightly shorter but wider and still held the same amount of liquid. Same for the beer pitchers. 

We had this guy that always threw a fit. We “lovingly” referred to him as Beer Mug Guy. He would insist on keeping all of his finished glasses in front of him so he could harass the waitstaff and accuse us of trying to rip him off. He would roughly dump his beer from one glass to another, and when it would foam up, insist that it proved that the new glasses were smaller and we were trying to scam him. He would always laugh as he did so, making it a point not to look so aggressive that he got thrown out or cut off. 

One night, he came in with his family — a wife, a teen daughter, and a tween son. He proudly bragged to me that his daughter had just had a birthday and was old enough now to work. He insisted that I bring them an application for her to fill out so HE could get the employee discount “since we were trying to pull a fast one over him after all and he deserved the discount”. His daughter smugly smiled at me with an unspoken “My daddy said this is a done deal.”

I brought the paper application and a pen, and the teen filled it out while Beer Mug Guy went through his usual spiel about his mugs seeming smaller than usual.

At the end of the meal (and several beers later), BMG and his darling daughter came up to the counter to cash out. The daughter handed me the application, and they made sure to insist that it go “directly to the owner”. Neither owner was in at the time, so I placed the application in the inbox basket under the register so it would be seen by either owner. The daughter announced to me that she would need a size medium shirt and wouldn’t be able to start until after the local school holiday break was over. I rolled my eyes as she sashayed out the door with her family.

After they left, I told my coworker about the interaction and she gasped. 

Coworker: “Where’s the application now?!”

Me: “In [Father]’s inbox.”

[Coworker] ran over to the inbox and pulled the application off the top, immediately dropping it in the small trashcan a few inches away. Then, she turned and looked at me innocently.

Coworker: “Oops.”

Later, when [Son] came in, [Coworker] and I recounted the story to him. He shook his head and asked if [Father] had received the application yet. [Coworker] gestured to the trash can and casually mentioned that she might have “accidentally” dropped it in the wrong basket. 

Son: *Smirking* “Can’t hire someone if they never filled out an application!”

BMG came in a few more times before I left the restaurant business, but he never mentioned the application, and I never saw his daughter again.

Customer: “I’ll take a pound of ham.”

I put it on the scale, measure it out, and bag it up. The customer snatches the bag and then whips out their own mini-scale from their bag!

Customer: “If you conned me, you’ll be in trouble!”

They place the bag of ham on their scale, and it comes out to 1.02 pounds.

Me: “Oh, thanks! My scale must need to be recalibrated. I’ll make sure you get less ham next time, don’t worry!”

The customer scowled at me and was about to open their mouth to say something, but then they thought better of it and just stormed off.

I mean, who brings in their own scale?!