An elderly couple approaches me.

Customer: “The music on the PA is too loud!”

I can’t even make out the song because it is playing so low. I shouldn’t, but I laugh, assuming it’s a joke. The man stands there just staring at me sternly.

Customer: “I’m not joking! Call your manager and tell them to turn it down! Our carts were literally bouncing off the ground when we were going down the meat aisle! Call your manager now!”

I would have been more than happy to bring my manager’s attention to his ridiculous excuse of a complaint had he behaved like a human being. As I am walking toward the microphone to make the announcement for the manager, the guy is insulting ME like I maliciously turned the music up to earthquake mode before he came in.

I cannot stress enough that I cannot even make out what song is playing.

I get on the system and say, as loudly as I possibly can:

Me: “CUSTOMER NEEDS ASSISTANCE UP FRONT, PLEASE!”

I know, I was mean… but revenge is sweet.

Related:
Never Joke With The Customers… Ever!, Part 3
Never Joke With The Customers… Ever!, Part 2
Never Joke With The Customers… Ever!

I drive a taxi. One evening, I picked up three men who were all around thirty. They asked me to take them to a well-known gay bar in downtown Copenhagen.

They asked if they could listen to some music. My radio wasn’t working properly, so all I had was my own CD in the CD player. That day, I happened to be listening to Volbeat, which is a bit on the heavy side.

They complained that they don’t want to listen to heavy rock, so I turned it off again. A moment later, they wanted to listen to it anyway, so I turned on the music again. Two minutes later, they again decided that they didn’t want to listen to heavy rock. Again, I turned off the music. When they changed their mind yet again a minute or two later, I just ignored them, as we were only a few minutes from their destination.

When I didn’t turn on the music again at their request, one of them shouted “hate crime” several times. That he used such a term just because he didn’t get everything his own way actually shocked me.

To me, a term like that is not something you should use lightly.

I am planning a birthday party for a client’s six-year-old daughter.

Client: “Oh, and [Daughter] loves Beyoncé!”

Me: “Haha, of course! We can get the DJ to play lots of Beyoncé.”

Client: “Can you try to get her for the day?”

Me: “Get… Beyoncé?”

Client: “Yes. Please check if she’s available.”

Me: “She won’t be available, ma’am.”

Client: “How can you know?! You haven’t checked yet! Call her!”

The company my husband works for employs and sponsors a large number of international workers, which can sometimes lead to amusing cultural misunderstandings. Recently, he told me of a team meeting in which [Coworker #1], a Chinese national, happened to be the only person who was not American or Canadian in a room of twelve people. Their manager was giving a presentation when he ended a sentence with an unintentional cue.

Manager: “…and freeze.”

Coworker #2: *Singing* “Everybody, clap your hands!”

Cue eleven straight-faced people, manager included, raising their hands to clap in perfect, rhythmic synchronization, while [Coworker #1] looked on with an expression of growing confusion and horror.

Their meeting was derailed for another fifteen minutes while they all tried to explain to [Coworker #1] that the “Cha-Cha Slide” was an invasively popular song played at nearly every public dance function, and his coworkers hadn’t suddenly been brainwashed by a cult trigger word.

This happened some years ago when I was in my early twenties, living and studying in Iceland. I once had to do a Uni assignment on heavy metal music. I went to borrow the only book in the city library about the history of heavy metal music.

I couldn’t find it, so I asked a librarian for help. Next to her was another patron who had been chit-chatting with her. As soon as I mentioned the book, he jumped up.

Patron: “I know that book!”

And he went to find it for me — all the while sort of complaining that it’s the devil’s music and so on (both in a joking but also serious tone).

He only pointed the book out for me but refused to touch it. As soon as I picked it up, the guy seriously made the cross with his fingers against the book!

The librarian and I talked a bit about this type of music, while the guy rambled on and on about it being bad and associated with the devil.

Then, he made the assumption of the year for me.

Patron: “Since you’re such a big fan of metal music, you must be covered in tattoos! And you probably smoke and drink and party all the time!”

None of that was true in any sense.

In his (tiny) defense, I was covered up in bicycling gear due to a fairly cold spring day, so he could only see my very plain face.

And then, he gave me the best offer ever: a promise to introduce me to the world of classical music. The joke’s on him, though.

Me: “Actually, I’ve been playing the flute since I was eleven, played in a harmony orchestra for many years, and am an avid fan of classical music, operas, and many others.”

The look on his face when I revealed that none of his assumptions and heavy metal stereotypes were true to me was absolutely priceless.