A guest at our hotel has had a medical emergency, and an ambulance has pulled up in front of the hotel. A guest approaches me at the counter.

Guest: “I have a car coming.”

Me: “Yes, ma’am.”

Guest: “I have a car coming… now.”

Me: “Is there something I can do for you?”

Guest: “Your pick-up and drop-off area is blocked.”

Me: “Yes, we have an ambulance there at the moment as, unfortunately, one of our guests had a medical emergency.”

Guest: “But I have a car coming.”

Me: “What exactly are you asking me to do, ma’am?”

Guest: “Isn’t it obvious?! Move the d*** ambulance!”

Me: “I can’t do that, ma’am. The ambulance will be there for as long as it takes to take care of the medical needs of our guest.”

Guest: “That is very inconvenient!”

“Not as inconvenient as having a heart attack,” I think to myself.

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s nothing I can do. We have a lot of free space outside the hotel, though; your car is free to pull up anywhere along the street.”

Guest: “That is very inconvenient!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

The guest stares at me for a little while, weighing her options, and sniffs.

Guest: “I didn’t want to have to do this, but you leave me no choice. I’m a platinum member.”

Me: “Congratulations, ma’am.”

Guest: “I’m a… platinum member!”

Me: “That’s amazing, ma’am! You must really love our hotels if you’ve clocked up enough nights to earn that loyalty level!”

Guest: “Are you not getting it?! I’m a platinum member! You need to move the ambulance!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the medical needs of our guest outweigh whatever loyalty level you’re on.”

Guest: “Why?! Are they a platinum member, too?!”

Me: “That’s irrelevant, ma’am.”

Guest: “It’s relevant because it’s inconveniencing me!”

Me: “Have a nice day, ma’am.” 

I had to end the conversation there before I shouted at her big entitled platinum face.

I am at the airport, waiting for a friend to get through Arrivals.

There’s a concourse, with the occasional pillar here and there to hold up the roof, through which the people stream after they pass through Security and so on.

I’m casually leaning on a pillar, not getting in anyone’s way. (They have to walk around the pillar in the first place; let’s face it.)

A great stream of people comes through. A woman comes striding through leading a suitcase on wheels, walks straight in my direction, and shouts:

Woman: “Move!”

She obviously hadn’t noticed I was leaning on a pillar so, of course, when I did move out of her way, right at the last minute before she barrelled me aside, she walked smack into the pillar I had been standing in front of.

My cackles of glee didn’t go down too well.

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I am working security at a large food festival in a park. A couple of festivalgoers approach me holding a flyer for one of the vendors written in Chinese.

Customer: “You! What does this say?!”

Me: “I don’t know.”

Customer: “What do you mean? It’s Asian.”

Me: “It’s in Chinese.”

Customer: “So… translate!”

Me: “I’m Korean.”

Customer: “That’s almost the same!”

As if by luck, we are standing close to a Greek food vendor, and they have a big sign in Greek above their brand logo. I point at it.

Me: “Tell me what that says.”

Customer: “I can’t read that! It’s not English!”

Me: “It’s almost the same! Translate!”

Customer: “F****** [Asian slur].”

Me: “You wanna say that to a guy that has the power to kick you out?”

Customer: “Uh… sorry.” 

Me: “Glad we’re finally speaking the same language.”

I am carrying some stock in the back of our health food store. I am carrying some bottles of mixed red berry juice when I realize that this batch hasn’t been sealed properly, and lots of it proceed to fall all over me, covering me in a very thick red juice.

Right as this happens, I am called by my cashier to the front; I am a manager. I head toward the door leading to behind the register desk, and I hear a customer shouting:

Customer: “That’s right! Call your manager! I’m going to tell them how you treat your customers, and then we’ll see how you feel about my cou… pon…”

The customer’s words drift away as they see me emerge from the back, covered in red splatter.

Me: “What was that about how we treat our customers?”

Customer: “I… I just… My… coupon…”

My red hand takes the coupon.

Me: “This has expired. We cannot accept it.”

I hand it back, stained now by my red fingers and berry guts.

Customer: “I… I’m okay.”

The customer heads out the door. My cashier looks at me.

Cashier: “I don’t know what you have all over you, but we’re using that next time we get a problem customer!”

Related:
The Couponator 41: The Saga Of The Long-Suffering Wife
The Couponator 40: Armageddon
The Couponator 39: The Yarn Of Time
The Couponator 38: The Sandwich Of Frustration
The Couponator 37: The Year Of Reckoning

Customer: “I’ll have the pomeranian chicken with almond couscous.”

Me: “You mean the pomegranate chicken?”

Customer: “Yes! That’s what I said.”

Me: “Of course, ma’am.”

The customer pauses and runs through what she said.

Customer: “Pomeranian is a fruit, right?”

Me: “…yes, ma’am.”

I think I should choose my battles wisely, but I throw caution to the wind.

Me: “And it’s actually pronounced pomegranate, ma’am.”

Customer: “Yes, that’s what I said! I’ll take the fruit chicken, and learn your own menu, for goodness sake!”

She loved her pomeranian chicken. 

Related:
Choose Your Battles, Part 7
Choose Your Battles, Part 6
Choose Your Battles, Part 5
Choose Your Battles, Part 4
Choose Your Battles, Part 3