At the beginning of the year, my store sold key tags that were good for one free kid-size ice cream (about six ounces) every time you come in. My customer is an older woman and my manager is twenty years old.

Customer:
*Flashes a key tag* “I’d like to get my free [ice cream]. But could you put it in a bigger cup? Because when it’s in the smaller cup, it melts by the time I get home.”

Manager:
“Of course.”

My manager takes a large cup, about 20 ounces, and fills it part-way.

Customer:
*Condescendingly* “No, honey, fill it all the way.”

My manager holds up the kid-size cup.

Manager:
“Um, ma’am, you only paid for this size so I can only give you this much.”

Customer:
*Still condescending* “No, honey, you don’t understand. By the time I get home, the outside part will have melted. I can scrape that out, and then I’ll be left with the right amount.”

Manager:
“No, that’s not how it works. You at least have to buy another kid [ice cream].”

Customer:
“No, honey…”

They go back and forth for a minute before my manager has had enough. She fills up a kid-size cup and hands it to the customer.

Customer:
*Sighs* “Never mind.”

The customer took it and walked off, as another manager and I watched from around the corner and laughed.

This actually happened to my dad, but I arrived to see the tail end of it. My dad works in one of the major grocery stores as a cashier and has done — at this store — for nearly 28 years, so he’s seen a lot of weird customers. I think this one takes the cake, though.

A middle-aged woman came into the grocery store one afternoon. She grabbed a trolley and started to go up and down the aisles. It looked like she was doing a weekly shop, and the trolley ended up piled high with stock. She got into line at my dad’s register but didn’t load anything onto the belt. Slightly odd, but some customers won’t when there’s someone in front of them. However, when the current customer left — there’s not enough room to get out of the registers if someone has a trolley in front of you because they’re not that wide — the woman looked at my dad and the register… before walking right out of the shop!

I arrived outside to pick my dad up from work in time to see one of the front end supervisors and a security officer chasing after the woman with a full trolley of goods. She claimed that she didn’t think she had to pay, that she thought they were having a giveaway. They escorted her back to the store and requested that she either pay or leave with nothing. 

Just to clarify, this woman spoke English with an Australian accent, was well dressed and well presented, and didn’t appear to have anything wrong with her.

I don’t know if she truly was just confused or if she attempted to scam them. Either way, it’s definitely one of the stranger experiences that Dad has had!

I have recently started working at a local restaurant. Despite having only a few days of experience under my belt, my previous job experience in the field as a supervisor plus my strong responsibility ethic effectively gives me a sense of leadership.

It’s about 8:30 pm in the evening when a lone, older man walks in. He hasn’t done anything yet that would signal a red flag, but I assume that he has some sort of disability just by how he’s acting, such as when I direct him to a table; he sits in the bar. I am not a native Swedish speaker; I’m English but learning the language.

Me:
“How was your food, sir?”

Customer:
“Oh… I am praying.”

I give him a smile and a light tap on the shoulder. He then orders the most expensive item on our menu which should have been the first red flag. In my time working here, I’ve only seen one other person order that food, and in comparison to this gentleman, that customer looked as if he could afford it. Not five minutes after his food arrives, I see him putting his coat on and leaving.

Bartender:
“Did he pay with you?”

Me:
“No, but maybe he’s going out for a cigarette?”

Bartender:
“He said he was going home. Maybe he paid with [Coworker]?”

Me:
“Hold on; I’ll check the computer.”

His table’s still active, meaning he hasn’t paid. I run to the door and catch him as he’s just leaving the premises, and now I can see why he was being so strange before: he’s completely drunk. I usher him back inside, which he complies with. I think to myself that he’s probably just forgotten. That is until I get him sat down so he doesn’t keel over.

Customer:
“Listen… Do you think I’m f****** sitting here for f*** all?”

Me:
“No, sir, you just need to pay for your food and drink.”

I print out the receipt and hand it to him. However, he’s having none of it.

Customer:
“I already paid!”

Me:
“Who did you pay with, sir?”

Customer:
“Prove that I haven’t already paid yet.”

Me:
“Which person took your payment, sir? Can you show me your receipt? If you’ve paid, it’s no problem.”

Customer:
“Nope!”

I’m starting to get a little bit agitated by this guy; he’s clearly stalling and expects me to cave. He then starts actually pretending to not speak English and turns his aggression to the bartender. During this, I ask [Coworker] for the phone to call the police. After I get off the phone, the bartender prints off the customer’s receipt again. I show it to the customer.

Me:
“See, sir? She would not have been able to do that on the register had you already paid.”

Customer:
“You know what? Call the f****** police.”

This goes back and forth for quite some time. I get nowhere with the customer until the police show up. Whilst I’m waiting on him so he doesn’t do a runner, multiple tables are looking over at me expectantly; they haven’t had service yet. When the police arrive, I get the runner to take tables, and I go out to talk with the officers.

Policeman:
“Hi. Is he still here?”

Me:
“Yeah, just give me a moment, though? I want to give him one last chance before handing him to you.”

Policeman:
“Sure, we’ll wait here.”

Me:
“Okay, sir, the police are waiting outside. You can either settle this bill now or go with the police tonight. Your choice.”

Customer:
“I will talk with the police.”

Me:
“Fine. Hard way it is.”

He ended up talking with the police in Swedish. I didn’t understand it all but the gist was that the police gave him two options: arrest for theft or pay and leave. He chose the latter, thank God. But honestly, all that fuss over nothing? What the h*** was he expecting to happen?

My husband’s old car is on its last legs and we are shopping for a new car. My husband calls a well-known local dealer.

Husband:
“Hi, I am thinking about buying one of the new [Make] [Model]s. Do you have one of these on the lot that I could look at?”

Dealer:
“Absolutely, we can even set you up with a test drive. Come right on down.”

We go down to the dealer. My husband notes that there are none of the cars he’s interested in out front, despite signs everywhere extolling them. I note that the lot mostly seems to be full of older used trucks and SUVs. The salespeople are in a little huddle around the counter, and no one approaches us. My husband speaks to one.

Husband:
“So, I called less than an hour ago about looking at and maybe test-driving the latest [Make] [Model], but I didn’t see any of them out front.”

Salesperson:
“Oh, right. We don’t have any of those.”

Husband:
“I was told by one of your people that you did.”

Salesperson:
“Nah, we’re out. More will be in next month. But we have plenty of options! We have a lot of SUVs, pickup trucks, great deals–”

Husband:
“So I was lied to.”

Salesperson:
“Um, well, I’m sure if you looked around, you’d find something that–”

Husband:
“I am interested in a [Make] [Model]. Not a pickup, not an SUV. If you don’t have the car I want, you have nothing I want, especially if you blatantly lied to me just to get me in your door.”

We left immediately. The other dealer did, indeed, have the car we were looking for on the lot, and we went there, test-drove it, and purchased it the very next day. The first dealer called back two weeks later offering to put us on a waiting list. I took great pleasure in telling them we were no longer in the market.

I work at a well-known chain of Australian steakhouses in my town. It isn’t very busy, and I get sat a table of three: a husband and wife and their son who looks to be ten to twelve years old.

Son:
“Can I get the quesadilla with no onions?”

Me:
“I’m sorry, those are premade and I can’t take anything off. All I can offer is a different dipping sauce.”

This is completely true; we make them fresh every morning, so there’s no way I can just take out an ingredient.

Wife:
“Are you sure you can’t?”

I think, “Of course, I can’t. I’m not going to lie to you, crazy lady!” but I just smile and nod.

Me:
“I’m sorry, ma’am. There’s nothing I can do.”

Wife:
“Are your fries gluten-free?”

Me:
“They are, but if you’re looking for a gluten-free option, I would suggest something else as a side. We can’t always guarantee no cross-contamination with the fryers.”

We have three fryers — one specifically for fries — but I can’t guarantee the kitchen changes gloves between appetizers if there isn’t a need, and something else might have been fried there by accident.

Me:
“The fryer that we use also gets used at the end of the night for everything while we clean the other two, so I can’t guarantee that it will be clean.”

At the end of the night, we break down two fryers to be cleaned and use just the fry one, but at this point, it’s 6:00 pm and we’re far from closed.

The wife is fuming, I can tell already. I just put on my fake waitress smile and take the rest of their order. The kid gets some fries and the parents both get a steak.

Me:
“Everything okay over here?”

The wife speaks in a tone that suggests she doesn’t want to talk to me anymore.

Wife:
“Oh, everything is fine. Thank you.”

Every time I check on them, all the responses I get are that things are fine, everything’s great, etc. I assume everything is fine. Towards the end of the meal, when I drop off the check, I notice that the husband still has half of his steak left.

Me:
“Would you like me to box that for you?”

Husband:
“Oh, no, it’s fine. Thanks.”

This is not uncommon since some people don’t want to take leftovers home. We usually just put the meat people leave behind in a bag for another waitress to take home for her cats.

Me:
“All right, well, I’ll be your cashier whenever you’re ready.”

By the time I got back to the table, they were gone. No tip, but I wasn’t really expecting one. What I didn’t expect was the review they posted online. They didn’t mention me by name, and I’m sure they didn’t remember it even after introducing myself at the start, but I showed my boss and she said it was hilarious.

They started out by saying that the waitress — me! — was horrible. Then, they went on about a coconut allergy and how we throw everything in the same fryer as the day goes on. She never said anything about a coconut allergy to me the whole time she was eating her fried food. We have coconut shrimp on our menu, so there’s always a chance of cross-contamination, especially if you don’t tell me about your f****** allergy in the first place. And I in no way said that we throw everything in the same fryer, only that we break the other two down at the end of the night, like the last hour of business or so.

Then, her husband’s steak was so dry and tough he could barely eat it. But they never said a word to me when I asked how everything was. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me something’s wrong; I’m not a mind reader! So, thank you, b****y woman with a coconut allergy, now I have a review about myself I can talk about with my fellow servers.