(I’m working in electronics when two older women call me over for help. They appear to be mother and daughter.)

Daughter: “Can you help us with the routers?”

Me: “Yes, of course! What’s the question?”

Mother: “We want to know which one is better. Is that blonde-haired boy working today? He helped us last time.”

Me: “No, I’m sorry. He’s not in today.”

(I help them make their selection.)

Daughter: “Do you know anyone we can call to set this up?”

Me: “I’m sorry. I do not.”

Mother: “What about that blonde-haired boy? Can’t he come to our house and set it up?”

Me: “I don’t think he’s allowed to.”

Daughter: “Well, as long as [Store] doesn’t know, he can.”

Me: “No, I really don’t think he’s allowed to do that.”

Mother: “But it’d be his free time! We’d pay him.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I really, really think he’s not allowed to.”

(After they left, I texted my “blonde-haired boy” coworker to tell him what happened. He said he definitely wasn’t allowed to go to their house to set it up. That, and he didn’t feel comfortable with it.)

(I work at the front desk at an assisted living home for seniors. I’m just sitting here, minding my own business, when a rather upset resident in her 80s comes up to the desk.)

Me: “Hello, [Resident]. What’s the matter?”

Resident: “I don’t know if I should tell you…” *wringing her hands*

Me: “It’s okay; you can tell me.”

Resident: *shifts eyes around before leaning in close* “He’s coming back. Voldemort.”

Me: *eyes go wide* “Uh…”

Resident: “You don’t believe me. No one does. But Voldemort is coming, and the children are going to die.”

(I called for staff to come help her to her room, and just stared as they walked her back to her room while she continued on about Dark Marks and wards and spells. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh at the riddikulus-ness or be super impressed that an 80-year-old had Harry Potter knowledge. I think I’ll go with both.)

(It’s nine pm when a man comes up to the photo lab counter. I ask him if he needs help and he does. I walk him over to a kiosk and start showing him how to work it.)

Me: “All your sizes for photos are at the top; currently we’re on the 4×6 size. Also, each photo that you select will have to be cropped to a 4×6. If you don’t do it now, it’ll have you do it before you checkout. It’ll be a lot smaller, though, so it’s easier to do it right when you click on the photo that you want.”

Customer #1: “Wait! I have to crop every photo?!”

Me: “Unfortunately, yes, or else it won’t let you check out. Each photo has to be cropped to the size print you want it to be.”

Customer #1: “That’s f****** ridiculous! Can’t I just send it to you guys through my email and have you do it?!”

Me: “I’m sorry, we can’t do that.”

(He slams in his chair and leaves, taking the phone cord we lend to customers to use at our kiosks with him. Then a woman sitting at another kiosk calls me over.)

Customer #2: “Ugh. The computer is all messed up!”

(Somehow the checkout page is now only an inch large, and I have no idea how she did this. I try everything I can to fix it, but nothing works.)

Me: “I’m sorry, I think the computer is broken. Perhaps we could work with another one?”

Customer #2: “Ugh. Whatever.”

(She then moves to the next kiosk over. Then the man next to me asks for help.)

Customer #3: “So, would a DVD be done before you close?”

Me: “We close at 9:30, so I would think so!”

Customer #3: “Also, it never asked for my name; how would you know it’s my order?”

Me: “It should have asked for your name when you checked out. If it didn’t, then the order wasn’t placed.”

(This happens everyday; a customer hits a wrong button when they’re done and instead of being sent to checkout, they delete their order without knowing it.)

Customer #3: “Can you check?!”

Me: “I’m sorry, I haven’t received your order. Looks like it wasn’t placed.”

Customer #3: “So, what do I do now?!”

Me: “I’m really sorry, but unfortunately if it didn’t ask for your name, then the order wasn’t placed. So, we’re going to have to reorder your DVD.”

(He picks a kiosk and starts scanning his photos. He puts four pictures on the scanner, and one isn’t picking up.)

Customer #3: “What’s going on? It’s not getting one of them.”

Me: “It seems to work better when you do one at a time; I know it takes longer, but a lot of people have more luck with it that way.”

(He then puts two in, and it still only picks up one photo.)

Me: “Yeah… Looks like it’s being stubborn; maybe try one at a time?”

Customer #3: “I DON’T DO PICTURES ONE AT A TIME!”

(He then storms out. The woman from before calls me back over.)

Customer #2: “How do I get the underscore?”

Me: “Press shift.”

Customer #2: “Oh. I did control and it made the screen smaller.”

(So, that’s how she messed up the computer!)

(I am at a Renaissance Faire. I have created a custom piece of artwork for a customer. He ordered it a month ago, and it features his, his wife’s, and his children’s names. As he is coming to pick it up today, I have it visible behind my counter. A woman is looking at the piece and complimenting me on it. She seems a little drunk.)

Customer: “Gah, that’s so beautiful. How much is it?”

Me: “Well, that’s a custom order; he paid [total] for it. If you are interested, I can create something custom for you.”

Customer: “Nah, I want that one!”

Me: “I’m afraid that one is paid for; it was custom made and it has his family’s names on it. I can create one for your family, or if you want to take something home today, I have a similar piece for sale over here.”

Customer: “Why can’t I have that one?”

Me: *more firmly* “It’s not for sale. It belongs to someone else.”

(The drunk woman starts crying, but goes quiet, and sits down outside my booth. Five minutes later, I am talking to another customer and hear shouting. The woman has snatched the piece from behind the counter and is trying to run away with it! She makes it around the corner with me in tow yelling, when a man steps up and blocks her way with outstretched arms. Too drunk to figure out how to get around him, she sits down and starts crying. I take the piece from her, then realize the man who blocked her path is the customer who ordered the custom piece! I hand it to him, laughing.)

Me: “I guess you had to earn this one!”

(We sent the drunken woman to first aid to get her water and help her sober up. This year, she came back to the faire far more sober, and was browsing my shop. I don’t think she remembered the previous adventure, and she ended up buying a piece that was legitimately for sale.)

(I hand an order out and call out the name like normal. A customer walks up to get her sandwich, looks confused, and just stares at me for a few seconds.)

Me: “Is there anything you need?”

Customer: “Yeah, this was supposed to be heated.”

Me: “Oh, sorry, they must have missed that part when they were ringing it in.”

(Because the bread has nuts, I turn to ask a coworker if we can put that on the press, due to the allergen issue. The customer seems extremely displeased by this, her eyebrows climbing high enough to nearly hide in her hair. She rolls her eyes, crosses her arms, and scoffs. I turn back to her.)

Me: “Okay, we can heat that up for you. It’ll just be a second.”

Customer: *sarcastically* “Wow, really? That fast?”

Me: “Well, that was an exaggeration. It’ll take just under a minute to heat.”

(This earns another eye-roll.)

Customer: “But my soup will be cold by then! It probably already is.”

(By now her soup has been sitting on a plate for all of a minute.)

Me: “Oh, okay. I can pour it back and re-ladle it for you when your sandwich comes up, if you want.”

(This is entirely acceptable since it hasn’t even gone up to the counter yet. Her sandwich now only has ten seconds left on the press.)

Customer: “That seems really unsanitary. Just get me new soup.”

(The press beeped and her sandwich was done. Her soup was still sitting next to me, steaming hot. I decided to give up and just get her new soup. I poured her soup back after she left.)