It is the day after the Boston bombing suspect was arrested. Every business in Boston was shut down for a whole day the day before and the police and state officials even asked us not to go out for any reason in case the suspect was armed and in the vicinity.

I work in a bakery and I am looking through the cake order forms.

Me: “There’s a cake order for today?”

Manager: “Oh, I’ll check with the pastry chef if we have that today.”

He checks and of course, we don’t have it since we make cakes the day before.

Manager: “Okay, I’ll call the people who ordered it. They should understand since we had that emergency yesterday.”

Soon after, he calls the people who ordered it and offers them any cake in the bakery. I can hear him getting frustrated and hanging up in a very upset way.

Manager: “They weren’t happy about it at all.”

Sure enough, when the customers come in, I hear them yelling at him.

Customer: “Why couldn’t you have called us yesterday? It’s their son’s first birthday and we’ve been telling them how great your cakes are but we have to settle for this?!”

Manager: “Look, your friend should understand we had an emergency yesterday; did you want me to risk my life just for you?”

((NB: I work at a relatively known tourist attraction, where I give tours. Nearly every day I have an interaction that goes something like this.)
Me: And if you have any questions, I’ll be waiting by the exit. Have fun!
Visitor: *Approaching me and the opened exit door* Is this where we go out?

Because of the health and safety lockdowns, my company has all the stores reduce their hours and have one person working the day unless it’s delivery day. The reduced hours are posted along with guidelines for shopping in the stores: no more than ten people in the store at any given point, only touch what you’re going to buy, etc.

I am sweeping the entryway and the sidewalk to get rid of debris. The store has been open for half an hour at that point, so all lights are on, the door is unlocked, and the cash register is open. Customers see me open the store door after I am done sweeping and come over. They read the sign in its entirety and then proceed to open the door. What’s the first thing that they ask?

Customer: “Hey, so, are you guys open?”

Huge mental head-desk followed, along with several other people who did the exact same thing. This is going to be a long couple of weeks.

So I work at Wendy’s, and most of the time it’s actually pretty awesome. I’m lucky to work with a bunch of great people, and to have some great managers. There are the exceptions, of course, but overall, everyone’s great, and i have a lot of fun at work. The other night, however, I had a not-so-fun experience.

This family comes in, and the all end up ordering the 4 for $4, which is fine. Literally everyone orders the 4 for $4, and it’s a really easy order to put together. They order two with JBC’s, both as-is, and two with Crispy Chicken BLT’s, one as-is, and one with only mayo, so no big deal there either. I hand out the order and go to help drivethrough. A few minutes later I hear a voice from the counter, and it’s the woman from the family.

“These are all wrong,” she says, depositing three of their sandwiches on the counter.
“I’m sorry about that,” I say, “What do you need?”
She proceeds to go through about ten different permutations of what she needs done differently to the burgers, before eventually deciding that one of the burgers is, in fact, correct, and that she needs the other two to be a Crispy Chicken BLT with only mayo, and a regular Crispy Chicken BLT, as-is. I take the sandwiches over to the sandwich guy, and tell him what to make. I check the sandwiches, just to see what was wrong, and there’s a Crispy Chicken BLT with no mayo, and a regular JBC.
Whatever, I think. It’s not that big a hassle.
The sandwich guy finishes the sandwiches, and I bring them out to the lady.
“Alright,” I say, “Here is A Crispy BLT only mayo, and here is one as-is.”
The lady takes the sandwiches, looks confused, and then hands back the as-is BLT. “No, this was supposed to be a regular JBC.”
“Alright,” I say, and I take the sandwich back again.
At this point, I am understandably exasperated, because she has just askes us to remake EXACTLY WHAT SHE HAD BEFORE. Apparently, she catches the sandwich guys eye-roll as i tell him the new order, because as I come back to the front, she says “Y’know I can go somewhere else!”
“I’m sorry?” I say.
“I can go somewhere else. I don’t need your attitude or your eye-rolling! You messed the order up, and I’m telling you to fix it.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, and I go to take the order of the elderly couple who has been patiently waiting the entire time I’ve been dealing with the customer. I am unfailingly polite, and engage them in a short, non-Wendy’s-related conversation, as I try to do with all of my guests. The woman, waiting for her sandwich, glares at me. I finish up with the old couple, fetch the woman’s sandwich, and give it to her. She storms off, and I look at my coworkers, and share a knowing sigh. We laugh at the lady for the next hour.
And that is the greatest part, that these people think they’re winning by causing a scene and humiliating you, but the minute their back is turned, everyone is laughing at them, often including other customers.
A happy ending to the story, her husband comes up to the counter with his burger, the one that his wife had previously deemed not-actually-wrong-after-all, and ironically the only one that had actually been wrong in the first place. I apologized, made some small talk, and sent him on his way. he was unfailingly polite, assured me that it was no big deal, and was the model of a nice respectful customer who gets it.
I suppose opposites really do attract.

I’m in line behind my friend at a now-defunct steakhouse chain whose slogan is “More Bigger, More Better! Nicer!” It is set up cafeteria-style, where you order your steak at the start of the lane and then proceed down the line to get all your sides, drinks, dessert, etc. You pay at the register at the end and they bring your steak to your table once it’s done. My friend gets to where you can choose your type of potato and he chooses French fries. The server places a noticeably small amount of fries on his plate, so few that you could count how many fries were on his plate.

Friend: “Excuse me, could you please put more fries on my plate?” 

Server: “I’m sorry, but that’s the standard amount we give out.”

Friend: *Incredulous* “Seriously? You’re telling me that this is the standard amount of fries I get? That’s not how it’s been at your other locations.”

Server: “I’m sorry, but the amount we’re told to give out.”

Friend: “Hey! Your motto is ‘More Bigger, More Better! Nicer!’ Put more fries on there!”

The server then picks up the service tray holding the fries and dumps the whole thing — which was more than a quarter full — out on my friend’s plate, which is now overflowing with a mound of French fries.

Friend: *Sarcastically* “Thank you!”

Server: “You’re welcome!”

Me: *To the server* “I think I’ll have the mashed!”