CONTENT WARNING: Feces

This story reminds me of one of my own.

Customer: “Hello, I would like to order the peppermint latte with soy milk.”

Me: “Unfortunately, sir, we ran out of soy milk earlier today and won’t have more until tomorrow.”

The time is a bit after 6 PM. We close at 8 PM.

Customer: “But I’m lactose intolerant.”

Me: “We still have oat milk and almond milk.”

Customer: “No. I hate those.”

Me: “Well, we don’t have soy milk, so what can you do?”

Customer: “Fine. I want a peppermint latte, and give me whole milk… whole milk has the most lactose, doesn’t it?”

Me: “Sir?”

Customer: “I know what I said. Whole-fat peppermint latte.”

Me: “Okay, sir…”

So, idiot that I am, I let him pay for it, I made it for him, and I served it to him. He chugged it while maintaining an uncomfortable degree of eye contact, then he sat down at a table and pulled out a book.

Me: “Just so you know, sir, we close in about an hour and a half.”

Customer: “That’s fine.”

Me: “Okay?”

So, half an hour before close, the customer’s body starts emitting distressing gurgles. He runs into the bathroom. He takes about fifty-five minutes s***ting in the bathroom before he emerges, red-faced, panting, and with a nasty smirk.

Over his shoulder, while leaving, the customer shouted:

Customer: “AND THAT WAS FOR RUNNING OUT OF SOY MILK!”

Nervously, I opened the bathroom door.

The smell alone made me start crying. He hadn’t smeared s*** on the walls or anything like that, but the toilet was clogged with foul, muddy, half-liquid s***.

Why do people think they have the right to do these sorts of things to minimum-wage workers who just want to go home at the end of the day?

There’s been a change to tax law this year, due to the “One Big Beautiful Bill”. For new cars where the final assembly was in America, the interest on the loan can be taken off as a deduction on your taxes. 

I’m explaining this to all my clients. One of my clients lights up like a Christmas tree display in excitement. He’s bouncing in his chair like a small child, repeating:

Client: “My car was assembled in California! I’m so excited! I have a Californian car!”

He is so innocently excited and happy it makes me smile too, so I decided to excite him a little further.

Me: “You’re going to be my first client ever to actually take this deduction.”

Now he’s repeating:

Client: “My car was assembled in California, and I’m going to be the first!”

Part of the process to take this credit is looking up the VIN to see where the car was assembled. We both eagerly look up the VIN together. The car was manufactured in… 

Baja California, Mexico. 

My client’s face just drops. He isn’t angry, just super disappointed. 

I feel bad for him. I have a stock of candy in my desk so I can reward myself after doing difficult stuff. I hand him a Deutsch chocolate bar as an apology.

He lights up a bit again, albeit not quite so brightly.

You might remember me from this story. It happened again. 

Just for some background, we’ve moved since the last time this happened: We’re no longer located in the mall, rather we’re located in a strip mall kitty corner to the mall we were originally located in. We moved the year before last year, and it caused a lot of chaos when clients couldn’t find us, even though our old location was visible from the new one.

Unlike last time, this client was actually cognizant enough to be capable of advocating for himself. That didn’t help much. The day was a Tuesday, and we’d had a bout of freezing rain in the morning. 

The client arrives around 1 PM, well after the freezing rain stopped. We did his taxes, his pickup was scheduled for 2 PM, and he went up front to wait. And he waited, and waited, and waited.

Eventually, he called Metro Mobility, and they said that they were ten minutes away. He waited fifteen minutes, called, and was told that they were five minutes away. He waited again for eight minutes, then called and was told that the bus was one minute away.

So, he went outside to wait and called after three minutes and was told the bus was right there. It wasn’t. 

He waited a while, then came back in. He called Metro Mobility again, and they didn’t even have an excuse for the bus not showing up. They didn’t say “The bus arrived and didn’t find you,” they didn’t say “Maybe the bus is in the wrong place,” they said:

Metro: “We don’t see your pickup in the system.”

So, he got them to agree to send ANOTHER bus. It was now 3 PM.

3:45 PM, he’s getting nervous, so he calls in again. Once more, no record in the system. So, he agrees to wait again while they get a bus out there. No time frame.

So, we wait until 4:30 PM. Still no bus, and we close in three hours. He tries to call Metro Mobility, but the call center is closed. Deja. Vu.

Me: “Last time this happened, we resolved it by calling the police.”

Client: “I’ll keep that in mind, but also f*** the police.”

Fortunately, the bus finally arrived at 4:45 PM. The driver complained that he couldn’t find the place. That might have flown last year when you couldn’t find us on Google Maps, but we got that fixed, and the Google Maps pin shows exactly where we are.

The client leveled his most unimpressed glare at the Metro Mobility driver and said, exhausted:

Client: “I don’t particularly care about your excuses. Please, just take me home.”

Related:
Someone Needs To Be Held Accountable

Me: “Thank you for calling [Store], how may I direct your call?”

Customer: “Yes, I’d like to place an order for some devilled eggs for Easter Sunday.”

Me: “…I’m sorry, did you say you want to place an order for Easter?”

Customer: “Yes? Aren’t you taking holiday orders right now?”

Me: “Yes. Yes, we are. For Thanksgiving and Christmas, ma’am.”

Customer: “Well, why not for Easter too?!”

Me: “Because it is November, ma’am…”

A while back, I had sprained a tendon in my wrist badly enough that I had to wear a molded cast on it for several weeks. Working with it was a chore and a half, not because of what I do at my job, but the customers I had to deal with during it.

For whatever reason, nobody seemed to believe me when I told them it was a sprained tendon. One guy actually got so mad that he complained to my manager that I was lying to customers about my injury. Not that I had one, but how I had GOTTEN it.

So, I decided to try and curb this the only way I thought would work.

Me: “This? Oh, a wolf bit me. Nearly took a chunk out of me, but I got one of his teeth here, see?”

Me: “When Fido wants the stick, you GIVE the stick.”

Me: “Ever seen The Hangover? Bit like that but a lot more I.O.U.s…”

Me: “What happened to my arm? Got into an altercation with a guy who didn’t like my gal-pal saying no. Small price to pay, really.”

Me: “My brother said to break a leg before the start of the play. Broke my arm instead.”

Me: “Yeah, it does suck. Had to cancel the play and everything. Would have made a great Captain Hook too if ole Peter Pan wasn’t a little TOO exuberant during practice for the sword-fighting scene…”

Sadly, not a one thought I was exaggerating or telling tales. Yes, even the one involving my playing “Captain Hook” at a local theater that wasn’t even advertising for it then, now, or ever really.

The customer complimented me on my good pirate accent and wished me well for the next play.