(I’m a teenage girl and interning at the local music store my dad works at. As he is also a musician, he has many instruments (guitars, basses, drums, etc.) that he will occasionally leave in his car overnight. The night before this happens a guitar was stolen from his car. My dad describes it, and tells me to be on the lookout for it. As luck would have it, the thief brings it in to try to sell.)

Thief: “I was wondering how much I could get for this guitar.”

(I recognize the guitar.)

Me: “Of course. Let me just look it up.”

Thief: “Just hurry up. I’m really busy.”

Me: “I’m having some trouble finding it. Let me just grab my dad. He knows more about this stuff.”

(After I explain everything to him, my dad leads me back to the register.)

Dad: “Sorry about that, sir. What did you want to do with this guitar?”

Thief: “I wanted to know how much I could get for it.”

Dad: *pretending to look something up* “Funny thing, that guitar is coming up as stolen.”

Thief: *goes white* “That’s insane, my best friend gave this to me last night!”

Dad: “Well, he can’t be a very good friend if you’re already trying to sell it.”

Thief: “You’re crazy, man. I just want to sell this guitar.”

Dad: “[My Name], go in the back and call the cops, would you?”

(Before I could do anything the thief abandoned everything and ran out the door. My dad’s coworker called the cops, and they picked up the thief a few blocks away. The best part was that my dad got his fairly expensive guitar back!)

Me: “Thank you for calling. How may I help you?”

Caller: *has a strange, whistly and whiny voice* ” Hi, I’d like some organ music by Bach, played by Bach.”

Me: “Well, we have a lot of recordings of Bach’s organ music but we don’t have any of him performing it.”

Caller: “Well, why not?”

Me: “Recording technology hadn’t been invented when Bach was alive.                 ”

Caller: “Well, why not?”

Me: “Well, in the late 1800’s, Thomas Edison invented—”

Caller: “[My Name], it’s [Coworker].”

(One of my coworkers had played the perfect music nerd prank on me!)

Me: “How much are these CD cases, please?”

Shop Assistant: “40 pence each.”

Me: “I’ll take ten, please.”

(The shop assistant pulls out calculator. I stand there in disbelief with £4 ready in my hand.)

Shop Assistant: “That will be £4, please.”

(I hand over £4, thank him, and turn to go.)

Shop Assistant: “Hang on, I may have got that wrong…”

(I turn around in utter disbelief, shake my head once, and leave. My friend is waiting outside.)

Friend: “What happened? You look weird.”

(I explain.)

Friend: “We need a coffee to restore our faith in humanity.”

Me: “Should we order separately… just in case they need a calculator for two coffees?”

(I have been employed at this store for maybe two weeks and haven’t learned the antiquated computer system for instrument rentals yet. A customer comes in and asks for a used instrument to rent monthly. I go down into the catacombs, pick out the best quality one [as I was trained to do] and come back up after about five minutes. I input her stuff into the computer, and can’t get it to print correctly.)

Customer: “I’m getting really tired of waiting.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, this is my first time doing a monthly contract and I’m not sure—”

Customer: “I would have loved to have been there for your job interview. What, are you related to someone?”

Me: “Pardon?”

Customer: “I mean seriously, are you working this job to get through DeVry? Just print the d*** contract.”

Me: “I’m trying to, ma’am, but—”

Customer: “It took you so long to get back up from the basement because you got lost, right?”

(She continues this tirade for the next five minutes as I keep trying – and failing – to print her contract correctly. Finally, my boss walks out of his office.)

Boss: “Ma’am, we won’t be renting you this instrument today. You should go.”

Customer: “Excuse me?”

Boss: “Believe it or not, [My Name] is worth more than a clarinet, and based on how you’ve treated him, I can only imagine the horrible stuff you’d put a clarinet through. You should go.”

Customer: “Well, if this MORON actually had two brain cells—”

Boss: “This moron has read more books than you have sentences. Please leave.”

Customer: “Fine, I’ll go, but I’m going to tell all my friends not to come here.”

Boss: “The way you treat people? You don’t have any friends. Goodbye, and don’t come back.”

(She storms out, as I stand flabbergasted.)

Boss: “I’d rather close than serve customers like that.”

(Best. Boss. EVER.)

(In this record shop, they put empty CD boxes on the shelves and store the CDs in cardboard wallets behind the till. I took a box to the counter, and told the assistant how happy I was to have found it, a rare CD that I’d wanted for a while. She rang up my purchase, found the cardboard wallet, SHOOK OUT MY NEW CD ONTO THE COUNTER, PRINTED SIDE UP, AND SLID IT OFF THE EDGE TO PICK IT UP. When she gave it to me, I opened the box, looked at the disc, and sure enough, it had several deep, parallel scratches.)

Me: “I’m sorry, but… I don’t want this now that you’ve scratched it.”

Assistant: *looks at disc* “Oh, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Me: “…”

(Her manager refunded my money, but I never did get a copy of that CD.)