(Our doctor’s office has three doctors, one of whom has just moved to this building from another clinic. The clinic used to be a bank, and has doors that open onto the street, but because there are a step and a bus stop directly in front, we have those doors locked and a sign asking patients to use the back door so that there is wheelchair access. One of the patients from the doctor’s old clinic arrives for the first time at the new clinic and approaches the desk. She is rather upset. I am sitting next to my coworker, who is this doctor’s receptionist, and I witness the following:)

Patient: “Why is the front door locked? I tried and tried and I couldn’t get in! Why do you use the back door? That makes no sense!”

Receptionist: “I’m sorry you were confused. There is a sign there, and we need to use the back door to accommodate patients who can’t use stairs.”

Patient: *sighs and grumbles* “Winnipeg! Anything goes here!”

(She gives her name, signs in, and sits down. There is a sign asking people to please remove their footwear, as the weather in Winnipeg is terrible and people wearing shoes inside makes everything a mess. This is not uncommon in Winnipeg; many clinics have places to leave your shoes. The patient sits for a few minutes, and then sees the sign.)

Patient: *suddenly screaming* “TAKE OFF MY SHOES?! NO ONE IS GOING TO FORCE ME TO TAKE MY SHOES OFF! WHAT IS THIS, A THIRD WORLD COUNTRY?!”

(My coworker and I are blown away and just sort of sit there, stunned.)

Patient: “THAT’S IT! JUST CANCEL MY APPOINTMENT! I AM NEVER COMING BACK HERE AGAIN!”

Receptionist: “Okaaaaayyy…”

(The patient storms out and we cancel her appointment. Several hours later, the phone rings.)

Patient: “I must speak to [Doctor]!”

Receptionist: “I’m sorry, the doctor is in with patients right now and can’t take phone calls. Can I take a message?”

Patient: “I was in earlier and I left because it was so silly. Why is the front door locked? I must speak to [Doctor]!”

Receptionist: “The doctor doesn’t take phone calls from patients, ma’am. He can’t speak to you.”

Patient: “I NEED TO SPEAK TO HIM RIGHT NOW!”

Receptionist: *finally having enough* “You had your chance to speak with him when you had your appointment, but you chose to leave. You have been very rude. You can find yourself a new family doctor. Goodbye.”

(We have had our cat, Fritz, since he was a tiny kitten, and he’s always seen the same vet. One day, when Fritz is around eight years old, he starts spraying urine against furniture instead of going in his box. Knowing that this could be a symptom of something serious – besides being annoying and gross – I promptly make an appointment for him to see his vet.)

Vet: “Well, we’ve examined his urine for crystals, and he doesn’t have any. That can mean only one thing.” *stares at me accusingly*

Me: *after an expectant pause* “Yes?”

Vet: “You need to get him neutered. Honestly, I don’t know why you haven’t done so yet. He’s eight years old; he should have been neutered years ago.”

Me: “But–”

Vet: “No, I’m serious. This sort of spraying activity is very common in an unneutered male, and–”

Me: “But he is neutered.”

Vet: “What?”

Me: “In fact, you’re the one who did it. We had it done right after we got him from the Humane Society. It should be in his file.”

Vet: *looks at the start of the file* “Oh.”

Me: “So, something else must be causing this behaviour, right?”

Vet: *still processing the fact that he was wrong about Fritz not being fixed* “Well… are there any new cats in the neighbourhood?”

Me: “Come to think of it, yes. Our neighbour across the back lane just got a new cat. Fritz sometimes sees him through the window and hisses at him.”

Vet: “Well, there you go.” *looks at me triumphantly*

Me: “Um, what do you mean?”

Vet: “Fritz is antagonized by that new cat. He’s spraying to assert his dominance in his own home.”

Me: “Okay, so… What do I do?”

Vet: “Do? There’s nothing you can do. Apart from moving, that is!” *laughs*

(Very helpful. I started looking for a new vet after that.)

(I am working as a stylist and assistant manager at a hair salon in a mall. It is closing time and there is only one stylist working on a client who came in for a rather complex colour correction that is taking longer than expected; everyone else is cleaning their stations and the salon in general. As assistant manager, I need to count out the till and balance everything for the day. Luckily, the woman who is still having her hair done instructs her husband to pay for her services before she is done so I can count out the till and send everyone but myself and the stylist still working home.)

Me: *counting the till*

Client’s Husband: *standing over me shouting numbers* “42, 86, 12!” *laughs* “Lost your count did ya?!” *laughs more*

Me: “Yes, sir, I did and I am trying to balance out the till so all the others can go home.”

(I start my count again.)

Client’s Husband: “22, 6, 89!” *laughs* “Gotcha again! If I have to wait for my wife, so should everybody! I paid good money on this!”

Me: “Well, all of these stylists are commissioned-based, so they are not being paid to sit here and wait, yet they cannot leave until I can be assured that the till is balanced.”

Client’s Husband: “Well, then, I want my tip portion back. They shouldn’t be paid to just sit there and wait!”

Me: “Again, they are not being paid to just sit here and wait; they are merely stuck waiting unpaid and have places they need to be. The only people that have to stay until after the till is balanced are me and [Stylist working on his wife]. You are delaying this by preventing me from doing my job.”

Client’s Husband: “Well, what if I wanted to buy some products? You can’t refuse a sale, can you?!”

(He proceeds to grab the priciest items from our retail area, none of which would be helpful for him or his wife.)

Client’s Husband: “Keep the tills open and keep everyone here until we leave!”

(It is then that the client herself comes from the sinks, water dripping in her eyes.)

Client: “[Husband]! Stop being such a d**k! Go get in the car outside and stop it!  Let [My Name] do her job and [Stylist] do her job so everyone else can go home! It is no one here’s fault that I tried to colour my hair myself and it is taking longer to fix it than expected!”

(The client’s husband walked out sheepishly, and I managed to balance the till in no time so everyone else could leave for the night. BONUS: The client came back with flowers for [Stylist], left a generous tip for both the stylist and me for staying extra late, and pizza showed up later with an apology to the entire salon for her husband’s behaviour.)

(I do data entry for a company that supplies drug stores with their merchandise. The way our system works is that the customer will phone our office, get our answering machine, and leave a recorded message with their order. I will then play the message later and enter the order on my computer. I can count on the following happening at least once a week:)

Person On Recording: “Hi, [Company]. Here’s my order…” *gives order*

Me: “Oh, great. They didn’t give their name or their store, and the computer won’t let me start entering their order unless we know who it’s for.”

Person On Recording: *continues*

Me: “I hope this is a short order…”

Person On Recording: *keeps talking*

Me: “Maybe I can recognize their voice? …Nope.”

Person On Recording: *keeps talking*

Me: “Please, please, have them say who they are at the end of the message! I’ll have to rewind and listen to the whole thing again, but at least I’ll be able to enter it.”

Person On Recording: “…and that’s it. Thanks!” *hangs up*

Me: “Aw, crap.”

(We don’t have call display in these days, so I have no hope of knowing who the order is for. Then, the next day, this usually happens.)

Caller: “WHERE’S MY ORDER?!”

(I work as a cashier at a big department store.)

Customer: “I’d like to return this hairdryer.”

Me: “Sure. Do you have a receipt?”

Customer: “No, I don’t.”

Me: “Okay, in that case—“

Customer: “I bought this hair dryer for my son. He’s got a terrible illness, and the hairdryer was meant to cheer him up, but he developed an awful rash when he tried to use it.”

Me: “Um—“

Customer: “That’s why I need to return it, see? The poor guy has been through enough; he doesn’t need a rash on top of everything else. His life is so hard. He lost his job recently, and money’s tight, so we can’t afford to waste money on hair dryers that give him a rash, and—“

(The customer keeps talking and talking while I keep trying to interrupt her so that she can start the refund process. During that time, I suddenly realize that I recognize the customer from my last job as a cashier at another big department store.)

Me: “Will you excuse me a moment?” *goes to find manager* “Hey, [Manager]? I’m pretty sure that customer is trying to pull a fast one. I recognize her from my last job. She was notorious for trying to return stolen items for cash.”

Manager: “Are you sure?”

Me: “Oh, yeah. She’s got this tell: she always talks too much and gives a lot of unnecessary details about why she’s trying to return something.”

Manager: “Nice catch. I’ll call the loss prevention guys.”

(The LPs hauled the woman out of the store while she loudly screamed that she needed the money for the hair dryer because of her poor, sick son. The funny thing is that if she hadn’t been such a chatterbox, I might have just processed the return without looking at her too closely.)