I am waitstaff in a busy Italian restaurant when an angry-looking diner comes strutting up to me.

Customer: “My child has spaghetti sauce all over his shirt!”

I look over. Her child is maybe three years old, with an adult portion of spaghetti and very messy ragu all over his face, table, and most importantly his very, very white shirt.

Me: “Sorry, ma’am, spaghetti and white shirts usually don’t go well together.”

Customer: “Get me your manager! What are you going to do about this?!”

I go get the manager and tell him the situation. He does not suffer fools. He goes up and speaks to the mother, who loudly harrumphs and storms out with her family.

Me: “What did you do?”

Manager: “Offered the kid a free chocolate ice cream and said maybe they can make a Jackson Pollock.”

I have worked in customer service for over six years, and what I’ve never lost is my sense of humor. You deal with the most outspoken people in life. More than most I’ll dare to protest because they really get their panties in a twist when something doesn’t go right. But humor saves me every time; even if the customer doesn’t laugh, it was still great for me. 

One time, an older gentleman gave me a quarter for a tip. I’m not saying you HAVE to tip generously, but anything under $2 is still a slap to the face. It really makes you feel so low as a person and makes you question everything you did. It sucks, to say the least.

Gentleman: “Now don’t go spending it all in one place!”

His wife looks horrified at her husband’s remark. I’m a cocky kid with no feelings to care about, so I snap back.

Me: “Oh, yes, that gumball machine looks real great!”

I ended with a wink and walked away with a “Have a great day.”

I came back to the table later, and there were five dollars and a quarter left on it. I’ve always assumed it was the wife that left it, but it could have very well been the man. I’ll never know.

Customer: “Is this company based overseas?”

Me: “Um… no. Our corporate offices are in North Carolina.”

Customer: “Man, this company must really hate America.”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “If they loved America, they wouldn’t make you work today.”

Me: “Well… they just want us to be here for any customers that need something.”

Customer: “If I owned a company, I wouldn’t make my employees work.”

Me: “That’s cool. I’m sure they would appreciate that.”

Customer: “Yeah… so can I get three pounds of chicken?”

Me: “Yes, sir.”

I have worked as a stocker for a craft store for over a year. But when my dad retires, we were moving out of state. I hand in my two-week notice, slating the eighteenth of the month (a Wednesday) as my last day of work.

I double-check my schedule to make sure I’m taken off, and I see that I’m scheduled until the twentieth, that Friday.

Me: “Hey, [Store Manager], I can’t work the last two days. The eighteenth is my last day.”

Store Manager: “Oh, really? I thought you could work a few days after that.”

Me: “No, I’m moving out of state. We’re packing up our last bit of stuff and leaving. It even says on my notice that the eighteenth is the last day I can possibly work.”

Store Manager: “Oh, okay. I’ll fix the schedule.”

It’s mildly irritating to have to argue my case, but the store manager has always been a bit spacey and disconnected from reality and time, so I chalk it up to him having a derp moment and let it go. I work my last few days, get hugs from the coworkers I’m friendly with, say goodbye to all the staff, and go home for the final time.

Thursday, the nineteenth, I get a call on my cell phone from the craft store’s number.

Floor Manager: “[My Name], where are you?!”

Me: “Home, packing the last of my stuff. The eighteenth was my last day. I told [Store Manager] to take me off the schedule.”

Floor Manager: “I put you back on there myself. We need you for a few more days. You’re supposed to be here now!”

Oh, so it was [Floor Manager’s] fault. She and I have butted heads often, to the point I reported her to corporate for trying to make me work off the clock.

Me: *Irritated* “Well, I’m not available. I’m leaving the state. You had two weeks to rearrange the schedule to prepare for this.”

Floor Manager: “The store does not arrange itself to your schedule. This is a job, and you need to work when needed.”

Me: “Not anymore. I don’t work for the store anymore. [Store Manager] even gave me my last paycheck.”

Floor Manager: “You don’t get your paycheck until Friday, so you can knock off the lying. Get in here, and I’ll think about not writing you up for this.”

I am silent for about a heartbeat, stunned by the sheer idiocy. Then, I burst out laughing. Loudly. And at length.

[Floor Manager] tries to yell at me, but I am laughing so hard that I can’t stop to hear anything she says, so I just laugh over her. When I catch my breath again, I say into the seething silence:

Me: “I quit on Wednesday. I don’t take orders from you anymore. Goodbye.”

I hung up on her and let the further calls go straight to voicemail.

I volunteer at a local hospital in the Volunteer Administrative Office. I do a lot of filing and clerical work with prospective volunteers, creating files, organizing paperwork, and making sure everything is in order so the Administrative Manager can get them on board.

Part of becoming a volunteer is to complete two Tuberculosis Skin Tests (TSTs) or have proof of having them within the last year from your doctor.

We have a prospective volunteer who has completed almost everything except the TST test. I call him up to see if he’s still interested. The man answers.

Me: “Hello, my name is [My Name], and I’m calling on behalf of the [Hospital] Volunteer Services.”

Man: “Yes, ma’am.”

Me: “Are you still interested in volunteering?”

Man: “Yes, ma’am. I had my interview and orientation nearly a month ago, but I haven’t heard from the hospital since.”

Me: “Okay, well, it looks like the only thing missing is your TST test.”

Man: “My what?”

Me: “I’m sorry, your Tuberculosis Skin Test.”

Man: “What’s that?”

Me: “A test you have to have in order to volunteer.”

Man: “Where do I go to get one?”

Me: “You need to complete two. We gave you a sheet of paper in your interview packet—”

Man: “Yes, ma’am.”

Me: “—that has the hours that Employee Health—”

Man: “Yes, ma’am.”

Me: “—that has the hours that Employee Health is open to give you free skin tests.”

Man: “Yes, ma’am.”

Me: “You need to go there and get both of your tests—”

Man: “Yes, ma’am.”

Me: “—before you can volunteer.”

I’m beginning to see the pattern here. He talks over the top of me, says the same thing, and doesn’t appear to really be listening or understanding what I’m trying to tell him.

Man: “So, I cannot volunteer without these tests?”

Me: “No, sir, we cannot move forward—”

Man: “Yes, ma’am.”

Me: “—until you are cleared.”

Man: “Oh, uh, I’ve already had those tests.”

I highly doubt that!

Me: “Oh, good. Then all you have to do is go to your doctor and—”

Man: “Yes, ma’am.”

Me: “—ask them to print out a sheet. It takes only a few seconds and doesn’t cost anything.”

Man: “He’s in Pakistan. I can’t get those papers.”

Me: “Then you’ll have to retake the tests.”

Man: “I have to retake the tests?”

Me: “Yes, sir.”

Man: “Why didn’t the lady call me to tell me this?”

Me: “She told you this in the interview and the orientation—”

Man: “Yes, ma’am.”

Me: “—sir. After that, it’s up to you to—”

Man: “Yes, ma’am.”

Me: “—get the shots done and get us the paperwork.”

Man: “Yes, ma’am.”

My eye is twitching by now, and I’m normally very patient, but his interruptions are getting on my last nerve.

Me: “So, get those tests to us, and we’ll get you started volunteering.”

Man: “Yes, ma’am. So, I cannot volunteer unless I get these shots?”

Me: “They’re not shots, sir—”

Man: “Yes, ma’am.”

Me: “They are skin tests.”

Man: “Yes, ma’am.”

Me: “And no. You can’t volunteer until you complete them.”

Man: “Yes, ma’am.”

Me: “Have a good day, sir.”

I hung up during his final “Yes, ma’am” and facepalmed into both hands with a sigh nearly deep enough to throw out my back.

He never completed his tests and thus never volunteered.