I’m working my checkout lane, and one of my college classmates is in line just behind my current customer. My classmate also happens to be Asian-American.

Customer: “I have a coupon for that pasta sauce.”

She has two different types of pasta sauce at different prices: three more expensive and four cheaper.

Me: “I’ll apply it to one of the more expensive ones.”

Customer: “No, you’ll apply it to all of them!”

Me: “I’m afraid it’s one coupon per item, ma’am.”

Customer: “Well, I have four coupons! Use them all!”

My classmate speaks up.

Classmate: “Ma’am, I have one of those coupons you can use; I won’t use it.”

The customer accepts, and I thank my classmate.

Me: *To my classmate* “I bet you can calculate what the discount will be when I apply all of these coupons before the register does, huh?”

Customer: *To me* “How racist! Just because he’s Asian, he must be good at math?!”

Me: “Uh… no, ma’am, because he’s the captain of our mathlete team.”

Customer: “Well… it’s still rude to assume!”

Classmate: “She didn’t assume anything. You are the one who assumed she was being racist. Oh, and the discount if applied to the most expensive items first will be [correct amount].”

The register confirmed this, and the customer paid, leaving red-faced. She complained about me, and now we have the store rule to not acknowledge people we know as customers in front of other customers.

I’m a cashier at a retail furniture store, and I am bored out of my absolute mind since it is a weekday morning and the store is about as dead as I’ve ever seen it. Regardless, I’m at the counter probably trying to think of words that rhyme with “bucket” or some other absurdity, when this younger couple comes up with a couple of pillows and whatever else. I scan their items and start getting them in bags, and their total comes out to some odd dollars and six cents.

The guy pulls out his wallet and gets a $50 bill. They both go through their pockets and can’t find any change, so he just gives me the fifty.

Guy: “Man, this is why I hate stores. They always make you break stuff for no reason.”

I say something about how it’s a pain and make some joke about sales tax that I’ve used every day for a year. I start getting the guy his change — whatever dollars and 94 cents — and I count out loud as I’m getting the coins — 25, 50, 75, 85, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94 — and as I’m about to give it to him, he says:

Guy: “See what I mean, man? Look at all that change.”

And that’s where things get bizarre.

I give him his change and the receipt and tell him to have a good day.

Guy: “You realize you would’ve been better off giving me a dollar?”

I sort of give him a look and just explain.

Me: “I know carrying the coins around can be annoying, but the computers will tell the managers at the end of the night exactly how much is supposed to be in the drawer, and they throw a fit if it’s off at all, above or below what it’s supposed to be.”

Guy: “No, you just gave me more than a dollar in change for no reason.”

He balls his hand into a fist around the coins and starts shaking them like a maraca.

Me: *Confused* “Sir, I’m pretty certain I gave you the 94 cents I was supposed to.”

Guy: “Yeah, man, that’s more than a dollar.”

And he walked off.

I am befuddled.

I work in a tourist attraction that can be privately hired for events like weddings. I am on the call with a potential client.

Caller: “I am looking for an event space that can hold up to twenty-five people. Can you accommodate that many?”

Me: “We have the space and license to accommodate up to five hundred, ma’am.”

Caller: “I didn’t ask if you could accommodate five hundred! I am simply asking if you can accommodate twenty-five! I don’t know why you have to make it so complicated!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. Yes, we can accommodate twenty-five.”

Caller: “Honestly, not everyone got a math degree at Harvard, or whatever!”

Me: “I was simply stating that we have plenty of room, ma’am. I meant no offense.”

Caller: “Now, there’s a chance we might be thirty-five if everyone RSVPs. Can you squeeze them in if they decide to come?”

Me: “…yes, ma’am. We can accommodate thirty-five.”

Caller: “It wouldn’t be too much of a squeeze?”

Me: “…no, ma’am.”

Caller: “Well, don’t you need to go check, or measure, or something?”

Me: *Trying to push the point home* “I got a degree in math from Harvard, ma’am. I don’t need to check.”

Caller: “Well, aren’t you a little showoff?”

She ended up booking the space for thirty-five people. When she turned up, she didn’t realize quite how massive the space was. Her money, at the end of the day!

I am working at a visitor’s center at a famous national park. We are surrounded by some majestic mountains, and a family of guests is admiring them.

Mother: “Oh, wow, those mountains are huge!”

Father: “Yeah! It’s crazy to think the tops of them are in space.”

At this, I look up, as what he’s said is just so… wrong. His wife and all three of their children are also now staring at him.

Mother: “What do you mean, honey?”

Father: “Where the mountains get white on the top, that means they’re in space.”

Mother: “Uh… no, that’s just snow.”

Father: “No, that’s space. That’s the tops of the mountains passing into space and glowing white.”

Mother: “No, that’s snow, and they’re not in space.”

Father: “I don’t think you know what you’re talking about.”

The youngest child lets out a loud sigh.

Child #1: “Ugh! Daaaad! Mom’s right. That’s snow! No mountain is tall enough to be in space! Even Mount Everest doesn’t reach space!”

Father: “Well, duh! That’s because it’s on the equator.”

Child #1: “Dad! Absolutely nothing you just said is true.”

Father: “Look, when rocks go into space, they glow white! Just look at the moon!”

The mother and all the kids just stare in horror at the patriarch of their family. They start walking down one of the nature trails, and I can hear them just long enough to overhear one of the children start saying:

Child #2: “Okay, Dad… let me tell you about the atmosphere…” 

Related:
The More You Read The Worse It Gets, Part 12
The More You Read The Worse It Gets, Part 11
The More You Read The Worse It Gets, Part 10
The More You Read, The Worse It Gets, Part 9
The More You Read, The Worse It Gets, Part 8

I’ve been in the restaurant industry for over fifteen years. I’ve heard some s***. But a few months ago, I was waiting on a couple, probably in their early forties. The wife asked for an iced tea without ice. The husband asked for a water, and then said:

Husband: “I’m not sure if I want ice. Is your ice cold?”

We had been having a good interaction, so I thought he was making a dad joke and kind of chuckled. (So did his wife.) But no. He just stared at me.

Husband: “Why are you laughing?”

I kind of stumbled a bit but couldn’t think of a response at first. I finally said:

Me: “I’m confused by your question, sir.”

Thankfully, his wonderful wife just side-eyed him and asked:

Wife: “Are you f****** serious? Are you okay?”

Which led to this exchange…

Husband: “Yes! I want to know if their ice is cold!”

Wife: “[Husband], what are you doing?”

Husband: *To me* “Answer my question, please.”

Me: “Umm, it’s frozen water, so yeah… it’s cold?”

Husband: “Then I don’t want ice.”

Me: “Gotcha.”

As I walked away, I heard his wife ask if he was having a stroke. He responded by telling her not to belittle him and then asking for my manager because he needed clarification on whether ice was cold or closer to room temperature.

I’m still thinking about it several months later.