(I work at a very popular discount department store. Around three to four years ago, we began rolling out self-service registers in the middle of the store; however, we still have manned registers for larger purchases, or payments of orders in the self-service area. It is 8:00 am and I am running the only manned register open, along with overseeing the self-service, as we are always quiet at this time. A woman approaches with a single pack of underpants. She stands in the middle of the self-service area and begins waving her arms in the air.)

Me: “Can I help you?”

Customer: *huffs, turns with her back to me, arms still waving*

Me: “Excuse me! Do you need a hand?”

Customer: *stomps feet, huffs, and sighs*

Me: “Hello! Ma’am!”

Customer: “Ridiculous!” *huffs and waves arms*

Me: “EXCUSE ME!”

Customer: *turns and looks directly at me* “I guess I can just help myself to this gum here and walk off with it, if there’s no one here to help me or stop me. What are the self-service machines going to do? Stop me?”

Me: “Yeah… Please don’t steal the gum.”

Customer: “Well, who’s here to see it?”

Me: “Me… and the security cameras.”

Customer: “There is never anyone at the registers.”

Me: “I’m at the registers; I can put this through for you.”

Customer: “And how many registers were open before self-service?”

Me: “At 8:00 am? One. Always one.”

Customer: “Well, there’s no one here to help me, and I refuse to use self-service, so I guess I’m not allowed to buy these.” *leaves the pack of underpants on my register and walks off*

(At the expense of buying a house anytime soon, I pop in to a local cafe for an avocado and egg breakfast while out running some errands. They make your sandwiches to order here, and I see the woman in front of me getting a delicious-looking creation of Turkish bread, the mushy green stuff, poached eggs, cheese, and bacon. I locate it on the menu and excitedly order it from the other employee who has come to take my order. She crinkles her nose when I order, but I don’t think much of it, too excited for my mega sandwich. After the bread toasts, she plops it on the counter and gingerly spreads maybe 10% of the avocado the woman in front of me got. My hopes fall.)

Me: “Sorry, could I have a bit more, please?”

Employee: “Ugh.”

(She adds maybe one more teaspoon of avocado to the bread.)

Me: *attempting to lighten the mood and get that holy grail sandwich into my mouth* “I just really want what she’s having.” *points to the woman in front of me, who laughs while clutching her Nirvana sandwich*

Employee: “Oh, gross.”

(The other employee speaks up.)

Sandwich Hero: “[Employee], come on. You know how much goes on a sandwich.”

(My sandwich-joy-thief employee aggressively slams the right amount of avocado on my sandwich. Her entire face is screwed up in disgust. At me? My innocent sandwich? The other employee? The cost of living? I do not know. She adds my cheese and bacon liberally and with gusto. She reaches for the large metal container holding… scrambled eggs. No dice. My tiny prehistoric brain had seen those poached eggs — and had read it on the menu — and no other sandwich would do.)

Me: “Excuse me, but can I have poached, please? I’m not a huge fan of scrambled.”

Employee: *physically recoils* “NO!”

(My sandwich driven brain skips a beat. I look around for my earlier hero — my sandwich maestro employee that had powered the way to my avocado ratio. She, alas, is busy making coffee for the woman in front of me, and I don’t think has heard the other employee refuse me my rightful eggs. My fellow customer, to her credit, is looking at me and the employee with incredulous indignation. I decide she is on my side and I cannot, in good conscience, knock her down and steal her brown-bagged prize.)

Me: “Uh, it says poached eggs come on it on the menu?”

Employee: “Poached. Eggs. Are. Disgusting. And you’re just going to complain in five minutes that your eggs aren’t cooked enough and there’s too much gross avocado on your sandwich. No.”

(My sandwich hero realizes customers have bottlenecked behind me while I prepare to stage a good old-fashioned sit in to get the sandwich I deserve.)

Sandwich Hero: “[Employee]! Put the eggs on his sandwich and hurry up!”

Joy-Thief Employee: “NO. Poached eggs aren’t even cooked; he’s going to complain.”

(My sweet sandwich hero rolled her eyes, muttered something about “not again,” and reached over to take my sandwich away from the woman who was Marie Kondo-ing my breakfast. She deposited my prized eggs on my sandwich and wrapped it up, sliding it towards me and telling me it was on the house. I hastily escaped to protect my sandwich from further unwarranted judgement, and devoured it in my car with the speed of a Labrador whose owner has told it to drop what’s in its mouth. Not all heroes wear capes. Mine wore a black apron and defended my sandwich rights fiercely.)

(For many years, I am a boundary umpire for a local football — i.e. Australian Rules — league. As anyone who follows sport knows, fans like to make their opinions known to the umpires and referees. One of the more memorable exchanges happens as I am coming off the field after a close-fought game that ended with the home side losing.)

Fan: “I just want to say what a good job you did out there today…”

Me: “Thank you.”

Fan: “…because it’s obvious that the league told you to make sure that [Team] lost! And you did a d*** good job!”

(My husband and I own a pub. While I am away interstate visiting family, a new security guard is hired. His job is mainly to check IDs and keep out or remove drunk people. Upon returning, I stop by to see my husband.)

Me: “Hi! You must be the new guard.”

Guard: “You can’t come in.”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Guard: “You’re pissed; you can’t come in.”

Me: “What? I haven’t even had a drink.”

Guard: “Bulls***. I can smell it on you. Now, leave before I call the cops.”

Me: “Look here. I don’t think you realize—“

Guard: “Are you deaf, as well as fat and ugly?! You’re not coming in. Now, waddle off before I call the cops.”

Me: “Listen here. Get [Husband] out here now!”

Guard: “You really are as stupid as you are fugly. F*** off or I’m calling the cops.”

(I pull out my phone and call the pub, as my husband would not likely answer his mobile.)

Husband: “[Pub], [Husband] speaking. How can I help you?”

Me: “Hey, babe, it’s me. The new guard isn’t letting me in. Can you come out, please?”

Guard: “Your pathetic little boyfriend isn’t going to get you in. I say who comes in, and a fat, ugly piece of s*** like you is not getting in. Now, f*** off before I kick both you and your boyfriend’s a**es.”

(My husband is still on the other end of the phone and hears everything. He and the other guard, who is working inside, come rushing out.)

Husband: “[Guard], what the h*** do you think you’re doing?”

Guard: “This woman is drunk and refuses to leave. I’m about to call the police.”

Husband: “No, you’re refusing to let a sober woman in, who also happens to be my wife and an owner of this pub. [Other Guard] will get your stuff; you’re banned from here for life.”

Guard: “But, but… I didn’t know she was your wife. That’s not fair!”

Husband: *now practically shaking with anger* ”It doesn’t matter if it’s my wife or another patron; you should never speak to anyone the way you just did. You’re lucky she hasn’t kicked your a** for it. Now, I suggest you apologize before she does or calls the cops for threatening her.”

Guard: “Umm… I’m sorry. Please don’t fire me.”

Husband: “Too late. You’ll be lucky to get another job after this gets out. You need to get off our property. Go to your car and [Other Guard] will bring out your stuff. You’re hereby banned from here.”

(The guard walked to his car while calling me various names and yelling how this was all my fault. Over the next week, he kept ringing the pub and when I’d answer he’d threaten me. Also, my windshield was smashed, the side of my car was keyed, and my tires were slashed — all caught on the CCTV cameras. Eventually, he was charged with malicious damage and making death threats. He was sentenced to eight months in jail and lost his security license.)

I am the customer in this story. I was on a weekend outing with my young son in the city and we decide to go to a popular fast food chain for lunch. I have not been to this place in a long time as I prefer their competitor. As we approach the counter this exchange happens.
Cashier: ” Hi welcome, what would you like?”
Me: ” Hi yeah I would like ( other fast food chain meal deal) please.”
Cashier: ” Umm we don’t sell those here.”
Me: ” What!? It is one of the most popular meal deals you have! It is lunchtime, on a weekend and your trying to tell me you have run out?”
My son: “Umm mum…”
Me: ” Just a second sweetie…. (Back to cashier) Or you do not know your own menu? What is wrong with you?”
My son: ” MUM WE ARE IN ( FAST FOOD CHAIN)!!
Me: “I am so sorry I am not with it at all today. We will have ( Correct meal deal).”
Cashier: ( Obviously on the verge of laughter) ” No problem, I have had worse. That will be ( total) and for you young man for keeping your mum in check you get to pick another toy with your meal.”
I have never been so embarrassed. And if the cashier is reading this, again I apoligize for being one of those customers.