(I manage an ice cream store. This started happening on a weekend morning when I am the only one in the store, right after we open, before there is any significant amount of change in the till.)

Customer: “I’d like a scoop of [flavor] on a sugar cone.”

Me: “That will be $1.49.”

(The customer hands me a hundred-dollar bill.)

Me: “Do you have anything smaller? I just opened and I don’t have much change yet.”

Customer: “No, I’m sorry. Is there any way you can make this work?”

Me: “Hold on. Let me try.”

(I dig through the till and the change bag in the office until I find enough change, largely in ones, to give her back what I owe her. I then count it back the old-fashioned way: twice to myself, and then once to her.)

Customer: “Thanks!” *goes out to the car, and then came back inside* “I’m short $5.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, I don’t think that’s possible. Do you mind if I count it again?”

(She lets me count it, and sure enough, it is $5 short.)

Me: “Oh my, I’m sorry, let me get your $5.”

(She leaves, and I chalk it up to an early morning and too many ones in the pile. The next day she comes back in, orders another single on a cone, and pays with another hundred. I, again, try my best to get her change, count it four or five times, and send her on her way. She, AGAIN, says it is short: $10 this time. I counts it again, and it is… so I give her the $10 and let her go. Two days later, SHE COMES BACK IN.)

Customer: “I’d like another scoop of [flavour] on a sugar cone, please.”

Me: “Sure, but first I need to make sure you have correct payment.”

Customer: “Excuse me?”

Me: “Well, over the past three days, my drawer has come up short twice. Saturday it was $5 short, and Sunday it was $10 short. I’m no longer accepting bills over $20 until after two pm, in an effort to make sure that nobody gets shorted: us or the customer. What will you be paying with today?”

Customer: “Well, all I have is this hundred.”

Me: “Unfortunately, I cannot accept that.”

Customer: “That’s ridiculous; I’ve been using them all weekend!”

Me: “I’m sorry.”

(She left. I still can’t imagine why someone who walks around with hundreds in their pockets would need to lift $15, but I do know that she was stealing from me. After she tried it with a few more employees, I had to call the police and have her banned from the store.)

(I’m working at a store over the holiday season. A woman comes up to the register. I have seen this woman a couple times, and each time she has claimed that she or a family member purchased something earlier and forgot to grab it, and that a member of management told them they could come back to get it. We ALWAYS communicate things like this, so she is always turned away. Finally, a fourth time has occurred.)

Woman: *handing things over to be scanned* “Are you having a good day today?”

Me: “I am, ma’am.” *notices several items still in her cart, concealed* “Would you mind handing me those items to scan?”

Woman: “Oh, my daughter paid for these earlier; a lady manager said it’d be okay if I came and got them.”

(We don’t have any female managers at this time. Also, any paid-for merchandise left behind stays behind the counter where all customers are instructed to go to retrieve it.)

Me: “Ma’am, we do not have any female managers here. Can I please scan the items? No communication was left about these items being left.”

Woman: “This is stupid. What kind of service is this? These have been paid for. The lady manager told me I could take them.”

Me: “I am sorry, again, but we have no female managers here. I can scan the items and see if we sold any recently, and look up the transactions, if you wish?”

Woman: “What kind of service this is?! Are you calling me a thief?”

Me: “Not in so many words, but you have come in several times and used this same story. Each time, no manager knew what you were speaking of, and none of those items had been sold recently. I can only suspect they were not bought here. It would help if you didn’t come to the same store and the same cashier every time.”

Woman: “The guy last time had a beard! I want my items.”

Me: “It’s called a razor blade. And if you attempt to take these, I will call the cops.”

Woman: “Maybe my daughter was mistaken. I don’t know.”

(She quietly paid for the items and left… and tried the same ruse two more times with other cashiers.)

(My father died unexpectedly last year, and I decided to re-register a website domain he used to own and turn it into a memorial page for him. I do all the HTML coding myself, buy hosting, and put the site online. The first thing you see is a big picture of him, with, “In memory of [Father],” in huge writing. This is very clearly all the site is for, and the design isn’t bad, even if I do say so myself. The very next day, from nine am onwards, I’m getting cold calls about SEO and web design services. Some variation of this conversation happens literally eight or ten times over the course of three hours:)

Me: “Hello, this is [My Name].”

Cold Caller: “Yes, am I speaking to [My Name mispronounced]?”

Me: “Yes, that’s me.”

Cold Caller: “I’m calling from [Company] about the domain you recently registered, [Domain mispronounced].com?”

Me: “Yes?”

Cold Caller: “We offer comprehensive web design, and Google search engine optimisation services. What sort of site were you looking to create for your business?”

Me: “Why don’t you go to the site now and maybe take a look?”

Cold Caller: “Yes, I’m looking at the site now.”

Me: “You are? You see the webpage in front of you now? And you’re still calling to try to sell me design and SEO? REALLY?”

Cold Caller: “Well, sir, our packages are very well-priced—”

Me: “Mate, look at the webpage. Read it out to me right now. What does it say?”

Cold Caller: “…”

Me: “Does it look like I need a web designer? Or SEO?”

Cold Caller: “I see. I’m sorry, sir—”

Me: *click*

(I work at a typically quaint little shop that sells various Scandinavian items. One of our more popular items during Christmas is our wooden nutcracker statue. On this particular day, we get a woman who bought three such nutcrackers the day before and is complaining that they were all broken when she got them home.)

Customer: “This is disgraceful! That you would willing to sell such cheap, third-world products at such inflated prices! I can’t believe this! You’ve ruined our Christmas!”

(She continues berating me while I check the nutcrackers and find all of them are missing their jaws. One has the broken piece in the box with it, but the other two don’t have anything. I grow suspicious, as the nutcrackers are shipped to us with plenty of padding in their boxes, meaning it’d be very difficult for their jaws to be broken in transit, and even if that were the case, then all three should have the broken pieces, not just one. I call my manager over and show him the nutcrackers.)

Manager: “Interesting. Ma’am, to clarify, you said these were broken when you first opened the boxes?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Manager: “And you just put them right back in the boxes and brought them back to us?”

Customer: “Are you calling me a liar?”

(My manager picks up the one broken jaw.)

Manager: “Well, allow me to show you something. This nutcracker has white hair, yet the beard attached to the jaw piece here is black. And if we have a look at the display.”

(He walks over and picks the same nutcracker out of our display case.)

Manager: “We see it’s supposed to have both white hair and a white beard. I know for a fact that can’t be a factory defect, since the company that makes these for us is very thorough with its quality control… not to mention it also doesn’t explain why the other two jaw pieces are missing.”

(He looks expectantly at the customer… who is now looking very pale.)

Customer: “Uh… Well… Mm… What if I told you it was actually my kid and me who broke them? That we went through them one by one to see if they could actually crack nuts?”

Manager: “I would first direct your attention to the box, right here, where it says, ‘For display only. Not to be used to crack actual nuts.’ I would also mention that we’d have happily refunded your money, anyway, meaning there was no need to lie to us or subject my employee here to all your verbal abuse.”

Customer: “Geez. Well, now you’ve made me feel like a first-rate d****e!”

(I am 19 and have bought a truck that is about ten years old. It looks bad on the outside, but I know it is sound mechanically. I take my mother with me to pick it up. On the way home, she insists on taking it to a national chain oil change store where she will pay to have it done, even though I already know my way around cars, and have done major engine work on previous vehicles I have owned. I think she just doesn’t want to take the chance I will spill oil on her new driveway. While in the waiting room, the mechanic comes up to us.)

Mechanic: “Okay, I am very glad you brought this in. It is in bad shape. It is not safe to drive.”

(My mother is visibly upset.)

Me: “Excuse me. What are you talking about? It is fine mechanically.”

Mechanic: “Listen, son. I know my business.” *he turns to my mother* “This thing is a death trap. I am surprised it even got here without crashing. The front end is totally shot. Your steering—”

Me: “Hold on. I do know quite a bit about cars. I have been working on them with my father since I was old enough to hold a wrench, and there is nothing wrong with the front end. It drives just fine.”

Mechanic: *ignores me and continues talking to my mother* “Listen. If you want to endanger your son’s life, you go right ahead and listen to him. I can give you a great deal and redo the front end for around $700. Be a mother and protect your son.”

(At this point, I about lose it. My mother is about to do it when I tell her they are lying. I tell the mechanic the car is in my name and I refuse to allow them to do any work on it. We pay for the oil change and leave. My mother is terribly upset, so I drive out of my way to a mechanic’s shop that is owned by a man I know my mother would trust. I do not tell him about what we were told, but ask him to do a quick check on the lift.)

Friend: “Oh, man. You got a good deal on this. She looks great underneath the hood.”

Me: “How about the front end?”

Friend: “Oh, it looks great. I can tell it was rebuilt less than three or four months ago. You really did good with this.”

(The other business closed within a year as their reputation quickly spread through the town for being dishonest and continually — accidentally, of course — leaving the oil caps off the engines after oil changes. You would think a national chain would be smarter and more careful in who they hire. Guess not.)