(I need some wood cut for a project and go to the local hardware store. The employee is exceptionally nice to me and manages to alter some of the measurements to fit their wood planks better. While discussing the project, another female customer arrives, well-dressed and obviously annoyed by the fact he is taking some time to help me.)

Customer: “Excuse me! Is there someone willing to help me?!”

(She exclaims in a super annoyed voice.)

Employee: “Certainly. What can I do for you?”

Customer: “Will you send someone over? I’m waiting and I have other stuff to do!”

Employee: “Maybe I can help you right now.”

Customer: “Ugh, fine. I have a question. But you are helping her.” *looking at me like I’m some kind of alien*

Employee: “Just ask.”

Customer: “Fiiinnnee. I have these wood slices and I need them sanded. I want to put them on my table.”

Employee: “We can’t do that here, I’m sorry.”

(The employee starts walking away with me when the customer exclaims again.)

Customer: “I HAVE ANOTHER QUESTION!”

(She’s now visibly annoyed that he couldn’t read her thoughts.)

Employee: *starts chuckling* “Go on.”

Customer: *her tune getting ruder and ruder, and more provoking* “I need something to varnish them! What should I take?”

Employee: “Just go to the paint department; they will be happy to help you there.”

Customer: *rams her cart around, nearly knocking over a basket standing in her way* “Ugh. FINE!”

(The employee and I go on with my planks. I excuse myself multiple times that he has to deal with my idea and my strange measurements and he assures me that he has seen a LOT worse.)

Me: “At least I’m not b****ing about everything”

(This gave him a huge grin on the face, while he couldn’t really say something, offending other customers.)

(Many of the associates in my store have learned that it’s easier to clip our walkie-talkies to our back pockets instead of a front pocket or our belts. It prevents us from constantly whacking the walkies with our arms, hitting it against displays, and so on. One day, a customer sees my walkie clipped onto my back pocket. I’m an overweight female.)

Customer: *insultingly* “I’m surprised your radio doesn’t break when you sit on it.”

Me: “HA! I wish I had the chance to sit down around here! I’ve been here for six hours now and haven’t had a chance to sit down once.”

(In a store with too few employees, we were always SO busy that many of us are forced to skip breaks and only take the barest of lunches on every shift. Ignoring the way this man is commenting on my weight AND has to have been looking at my butt while I work, I try to be civil.)

Me: “And when I do finally get a break, I take this thing off.”

Customer: “Oh.”

(His wife smacked him on the arm, and they paid for their copies and left without another word. I hope she gave him a talking to when they were on their way home!)

(A regular customer of mine comes in on a busy Saturday morning for her monthly trim. She is very particular, but we get along really well. I have been cutting her hair for at least ten years. After I cut her hair, I ask her to feel it, show her the back with a hand mirror, let her hold the mirror and look at it herself, and she confirms she is satisfied with her trim… except for one thing. She wants the back shorter. This is a usual request, but this time she specifically said she wanted it left longer, so I am surprised when she asks me to go shorter. I tell her to give it a try for a couple days and if she still wants to go shorter, I will do it for free. She agrees and leaves the salon. Two hours later, she comes back, red-faced.)

Me: “Hi! Did you decide you wanted to go shorter after all?”

Customer: “No! You cut my hair way too short! This is terrible! How dare you do this to me? You used to be such a good hairdresser!”

Me: *stunned* “I’m very sorry you feel that w—“

Customer: *cutting me off* “You stop talking and give me my money back! Not another word!”

Me: “I understa—“

Customer: “NOT ANOTHER WORD! GIVE ME MY MONEY!”

(I hand her the money and she leaves, and I think it’s all over. But wait! There’s more! Two weeks later, she comes in and demands “the free haircut” I apparently promised her and makes a big fuss about how long I left her hair. I gently ask her to not return to my salon, as I no longer feel I could meet her needs since she so bluntly told me I suck at my job. She shouts at me, and tells me this is unacceptable because:)

Customer: “I live so close to here, but you want me to find a new salon?”

(I mean, we live in a city with a thousand salons, sooo… Yes, yes, I do.)

(I place an order for pizza delivery, specifying the delivery time as 8:00 pm, two hours after the order is placed, so I can be sure that I have the kids in bed by the time the delivery arrives. I also leave a note making it super clear to come after 8:00 pm and to not knock on the front door but to call when the delivery was here. I’m in the middle of reading a bedtime story to my two-year-old at around 6:30 pm when there’s a loud bang at the door. I so hope it isn’t, but alas, it is the pizza guy.)

Delivery Man: “Order for [My Name].”

Me: “Yes, I did place an order… for an hour and a half from now.”

Delivery Man: “Yes, I am early for you. It is good, yes?”

Me: “No, not really. Sorry, but I ordered ahead on purpose because I’m in the middle of putting my kids to bed. I don’t really want this pizza right now; I wanted it after 8:00 pm.”

(I show him the note on the receipt asking them to please not show up early.)

Delivery Man: “I am early! Early is better! Not late!”

Me: *tired of the back and forth* “Okay, well, I’ll obviously take the pizza because I don’t want you to have to come back out again. Obviously, some wires got crossed somewhere. You have a good evening now!”

(I put the pizza in the oven to keep it warm and finish bedtime. I give the pizza place a quick call to explain what happened. I’m not trying to get anything free; I just like this particular pizza place so I would like this to not happen in the future. The owner is super apologetic, says they were busy and didn’t take the time to read a note, and he says the next time I order it’s on the house. I insist that isn’t necessary, just to check the notes when I order, please. I enjoy my pizza. Just as I finish eating, there is another loud knock at the door. It’s the same delivery guy.)

Delivery Man: “I have pizza for you; boss man said it’s on the house!”

(He has the exact same order again.)

Me: “Oh, I really don’t need another pizza! I’ve just finished eating the one you brought earlier. Thank you for coming out but I don’t want to take the pizza.”

Delivery Man: “No, no, it’s okay; boss man said it’s okay.”

Me: “Yeah, I understand, but I don’t need another pizza; I still have half a pizza. Honestly, it will just be too much pizza in the house.”

Delivery Man: “No, don’t worry! It’s okay! Boss man said it’s for you! It’s fine!”

Me: *exasperated, takes order* “Thank you. Have a good evening.”

(Why on earth would I want a duplicate order the exact same evening?)

(I’m a customer in this story. There have been a series of storms that have caused some significant flight delays into the Northeast. I’ve arrived almost eight hours late after what was supposed to be two-hour flight. It’s 2:38 am when I get to [Car Rental Agency]. There is a long line of beleaguered travelers who just want their d*** cars. Several customers in line are so-called preferred members who can ordinarily skip the line when the express counter is open. It is closed between 1:00 and 4:00 am. There is obviously some displeasure at the continued wait, but none are more pointedly accusatory towards the staff than one middle-aged man who is about twelfth in line.)

Customer #1: “Why can’t I get my car now if my name is on the board?”

Desk Agent #1: “Because the express counter is closed.”

Customer #1: “But why can’t I get my car now if my name is on the board?!”

Desk Agent #1: “I’m sorry, sir, but the express counter is closed until 4:00 am.”

(This repeats several times.)

Customer #1: “That’s great. That’s just f****** great.”

Customers #2 & #3: *to me, just loud enough for half the line to hear* “We’re on the board, too!”

([Customer #1] rants at various volumes for the next ten minutes, until finally, his inner seven-year-old comes out. In the warbling, modulated moaning whine that any parent or former child would instantly recognize, he starts repeating:)

Customer #1: “But I’m a preferred customer!”

(This went on for ten minutes. The staff was moving people through at the best rate that they could, but they now had to deal with this middle-aged man’s tantrum. Finally, they created a line just for him. Sadly, this was a year ago, and the voice of this forty-something child still haunts me.)