I work in a family-owned Greek restaurant. I’m not quite sixteen and this is my first job. After a few months of work, I can generally handle most tasks, such as filling drinks, making salads, and taking phone orders.

It’s been a stressful shift so far. My boss — an old Greek lady — is micromanaging everything she can. I already struggle with anxiety, especially when taking phone calls, but it got so bad that I was on the verge of tears at one point.

The phone rings while I’m trying to fill drinks, so I have to stop and rush over to fix it.

Me: “Hi, this is [Restaurant]. How can I help you?”

Caller: “Hi, I’d like to place a to-go order.”

Me: “Absolutely, what can I get you?”

Caller: “I’d like a Greek salad with extra sauce and pita bread. Do you guys still have anchovies?”

Me: “No, sir, I’m sorry. Anything else for you today?”

Caller: “Um, how about some spaghetti with meat sauce? Oh, and an extra toast. With lots of butter and seasoning on that.”

Me: “Absolutely, sir. Will that be all today?”

Caller: “Yes, it will. Y’know, I have no idea how people like you put up with us idiots and still manage to be so cheerful. It’s a blessing.”

I’m speechless.

Caller: “Thank you so much. It’s so nice to hear a happy voice.”

Me: “No, thank you, sir. Can I get your name and phone number, please?”

The caller gives me both.

Me: “This is [Restaurant], next to [Store], and your order will be ready in ten minutes. Thank you!”

I had a smile on my face for the rest of my shift.

At the pizza shop I work for, if a person calls in for delivery, we ask how they want to pay. If they want to pay with a card, we have to enter their card information into the system. After we confirm the authorization on the payment, we have no way to see the credit card number. If you were to print the ticket, it would only show the last four numbers of the card with the authorization number. 

One day, it’s just my general manager and me in the store. I walk out from the back and she’s on the phone.

Manager: “Again, I’m so sorry. I will definitely look into that ASAP. Tell the officers to come in and ask for [Manager] and we’ll do whatever we can.”

After she hangs up, she pulls a stack of credit card receipts out of the safe and begins going through them. She hands me a small slip of paper that she’d been writing on while on the phone.

Manager: “Do me a favor and look at last night’s transactions and try to find these three totals. A customer got delivery last night and was charged three different times on her card. I need to see if these totals are in the system and I’m going to see if the signatures match.”

This is easy, as you can organize tickets by their total, and I find and print a copy of all three orders.

Me: “Only one of these is delivery; the other two are from the counter… and have an employee discount added to them.”

She hands me the other receipts and asks me to help her look for those three tickets. She finds the delivery one and I find one of the counter ones and burst out laughing.

Me: “[Counter Person] is a f****** moron.”

It turns out that last night, our counter person wrote down this lady’s entire information, used it to buy two meals for herself, gave herself the employee discount, and then SIGNED HER OWN NAME TO THE RECEIPT. The police arrive and my manager shows them the receipts. She starts talking with them about how [Counter Person] also used this lady’s card to buy $500 worth of stuff online. While this is going on, the phone rings and I answer it.

Counter Person: “Hey, [My Name], can I place an order for delivery?”

She placed the order and, I kid you not, she TRIED TO USE THE STOLEN CREDIT CARD. It didn’t go through because the customer had already canceled it, so she said she’d just pay cash. I always wondered who got there first: the pizza or the cops.

I’m behind one person checking out at a grocery; he is older, probably in his late sixties or early seventies. No one is behind me until it is my turn to check out. This grocery store still offers bags; however, a mix of guests shop at other stores where you have to bring your own, so it’s just a habit.

Cashier: “Hello, do you need a bag?”

Customer: “And why the h*** would I not need one? Do you think I’m going to carry it out one by one? Do you have a better idea?”

The customer turns to me and says:

Customer: “What a freaking idiot.”

Of course, his tone is nasty, argumentative, and seeking attention. Good thing I read these stories and literally have been waiting for a few years now to be in this situation. I show him my bag.

Me: “The reason she asked is that most people bring in their own bag and she didn’t want to start bagging to only have to stop and redo it.”

Customer #1: “Well, we aren’t in California. I want a d*** bag…”

Honestly, I tune him out because it’s far too easy. I do know that at this point the cashier relaxes a little and says some words back to him I’m sure she wouldn’t have otherwise, but she knows at the moment that I have her back.

He leaves, it’s my turn, and then a person joins the line behind me.

Cashier: “Was it really that strange that I asked if he needed a bag?”

Me: “Not at all. What’s strange is being rude about it, but pleasant people surprise me these days.”

Cashier: “Customer service is the worst.”

I turn to look behind me and the customer rolls her eyes at me.

Me: “It is. Stay strong.”

To that cashier, I hope you read this. You are awesome!

I work as the lunchtime cook at a popular pizza chain, and I’m cleaning up at the end of my shift when I get a call.

Me: “Thank you for calling. If I can get a phone number I can start your order.”

Caller: “No, I don’t. I want a pizza.”

Me: *A little confused* “Okay, and what can we get you?”

The customer starts talking to multiple people on the other end of the line, presumably to get the order situated. I’m doing my best to get their food punched into the POS, but the customer insists on changing toppings and sizes multiple times, all the while still talking over me on the phone and answering questions from the people with her.

Finally, we get to the end.

Me: “And will that be all for tonight?”

Caller: “What’s my price?”

Me: “Its $24.55, and we should have it ready in—”

Caller: “That’s incorrect and you will change it.”

Me: “Unfortunately, with the extra toppings you got on your pizzas, this is the correct price.”

I list off the toppings and their costs.

Caller: “I don’t understand what you’re saying! Who’s taking my call right now?”

Me: “Uh, [My Name]?”

Caller: “Uh-huh, and who’s cooking, then?”

Me: “That would also be me.”

Caller: “Oh, my God, you are so stupid! Never mind. I guess I’ll have to get good answers from people who aren’t incompetent. I hope you cook better than you speak!”

They hung up, leaving me confused. They later harassed the woman on the till the same way when they came to pick up their food, saying they’d never shop here again. They’re still regulars.

I answer the phone.

Me: “Hello, [Bookstore].”

Caller: “Yeah, do y’all sell steam radiators?”

Me: “I’m sorry. What?!”

Caller: “Steam radiators.”

Me: “No, sir, we’re a bookstore.”

Caller: “Do y’all know where I could find one?”

Me: “No, I’m sorry. I don’t.”

Caller: “Oh. Well, can y’all order one for me?”

Me: “No. Again, sir, we’re a bookstore.”

Caller: “Aw, man. All right…” *Hangs up*