(I am a cashier. Everything is going fine with this particular transaction, until we get to the total.)

Me: “Okay, ma’am, your total is $255.62.”

Customer: “What? That cannot be right! Did you scan everything correctly?”

Me: *swing the screen towards her so she can see* “I don’t see anything overcharged or doubled here. It looks fine, but I can check.”

Customer: “No, you should know what you overcharged! This has to at least be $100 over!”

Me: “Ma’am, you purchased 139 items. That makes them about two dollars each on average, which sounds about right to me.”

Customer: “Did you take off the sales?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. The computer automatically does it to each item.” *I point to where the computer has subtracted sales from items that were scanned* “I don’t think that it would have missed enough to cause $100 difference.”

Customer: “You must have scanned everything twice!”

Me: “Ma’am, that is almost impossible to do. The computer would have caught on.”

Customer: “Then there is something wrong with your computer! Do it by hand!”

Me: “Um… excuse me?”

Customer: “Ring up my items by hand!”

Me: “Ma’am, you have over a hundred items, and customers are already waiting. I have offered to make sure nothing was overcharged, and I have not seen anything that appears to be wrong.”

Customer: “DO IT BY HAND!” *she is actually screaming by this point*

Me: “Ma’am, that simply is not possible. I can take some items off and bring your—”

Customer: “So, you did overcharge me!”

Me: “No. Not at all. I can return items that you think you may not need. That will bring your total down. If you would like, we can quickly do that.”

Customer: “But I need this stuff!”

Me: “Then I need you to pay the total.”

Customer: “And I need you to take off the extra charges!”

(My manager, by this time, has wandered over. He looks over the list on the computer.)

Manager: “Ma’am, there are no overcharges. Once you pay and have your receipt, you will see that this is correct.”

(The woman, fuming, finally pays and storms out. Five minutes later, she struts up to me, pushes into the cashier’s booth, and shoves her receipt into my face.)

Customer: “LOOK! You did overcharge me! Look!”

Me: “Ma’am, what you are pointing out is a can of beans marked at $1.05.”

Customer: “Yes! And they were on sale!”

Me: *pointing to the “-10” on the receipt, showing that the coupon was taken off* “No, the coupon subtraction is right there. That would only be ten cents, not the hundred dollars you believed earlier. Now, please leave this area, since only cashiers should be behind the register.”

Customer: “You cannot just admit that you overcharged me! You should be fired! You stole from me! You are a thief!”

Manager: “Ma’am, I have contacted the police. I cannot have you in the cashier area, or badgering employees. I am going to have to ask you to leave, or you will be removed!”

Customer: “Good! The police won’t let you get away with stealing! I WANT MY MONEY BACK!”

(She ended up being escorted out by the police, screaming the whole time that our store was a scam. I have never seen anything like that since.)

(My boyfriend and I are at a popular Australian-themed restaurant. I’ve never worked in a restaurant, but I’ve worked retail and customer service, so I always try to be nice and tip a lot. I take a bite of my baked potato, and my teeth stop on something crunchy. I pull out a shard of glass just as our server comes over.)

Server: “You’re looking concerned. Can I help with anything?”

Me: “I am so sorry. I never complain, but there’s a shard of glass in my potato. Normally, I wouldn’t say anything, but I thought I’d tell you so you could check the rest of the food back there.”

Server: *looks horrified* “Oh, my gosh! I am so sorry! I’ll be right back!”

(In a few minutes, the owner comes out.)

Owner: “I hear you had some glass in your food?”

Me: “Yes, but I don’t think I ingested any, so we’re good.”

Owner: “Wow, it’s not often you meet someone who’s nice about stuff like this. Because of that, we’ll comp your meal.”

(They also gave us a gift card for our next meal. We still eat there; we only found glass once, so I figure it’s okay!)

(I’m purchasing an “old pawn” ring, meaning that it’s pre-owned and is usually older, from the 50s through the 70s. This particular ring isn’t that old, probably from the mid to late 70s, and is sterling silver. It has some tarnishing, which I am fine with. The sales person, probably no more than 21 years old, rings me up.)

Salesperson: “Okay, your total is [amount]. Are you going to be wearing the ring out the store?”

Me: “Yes, I am planning on it.”

Salesperson: “That’s fine. Just let me clean it for you.”

(The salesperson then proceeds to get a bottle of fingernail polish remover and a cloth, and starts to wipe down the ring. If I’d known what he was going to use, I would have declined, as acetone is TERRIBLE for most porous stones and, since this ring has mother of pearl and coral, most of it is porous. But that’s not the kicker. As he’s wiping down the ring, he starts with this:)

Salesperson: “Just for future reference, use fingernail polish remover to remove any tarnish from your ring. It’s the best thing, as it has no harsh chemicals in it.”

Me: *stunned silence for a minute* “Uh, acetone is one of the harshest chemicals you can buy without a license. Look at the label! It says do not use near flames or while smoking. You think that’s safe? EVERYTHING has chemicals in it!”

(He just had a “deer in headlights” look on his face. I truly wanted to face-palm, but felt that would have been TOO rude.)

(I work at a chain clothing store that also has a website that you can order from. Sometimes, if they are out of an item online, the call center will direct a customer to a store that has it in stock and have the customer order it from the store. One day an online rep calls me for this type of transaction, to check if I have the item a customer wants. I look, find the item, and this takes place…)

Me: “It looks like we have that item!”

Online Rep: “Great! Let me patch the customer over to you and you can get that sent to them!”

(A lady answers with a thick Southern accent:)

Caller: “Hello?”

Me: “Hello! So, you want to order [item] today?”

Caller: “Yes… so, it’s going to be shipped from a store to me?”

Me: “Yes, that’s right! We happened to have it in stock, even though they’re out online. “

Caller: “So, wait… how long is it going to take?”

Me: “It’ll be the standard three to five day shipping, ma’am.”

Caller: “Where is this store located?”

Me: “We’re in Albuquerque, New Mexico. “

Caller: “You’re going to ship it all the way from New Mexico? I’m not sure I want to wait that long…”

Me: “Well, it’s still three to five day shipping, so you will get it in three to five days.”

Caller: “But all that way? I don’t think I want to wait that long… I’ll just wait for them to get more online. ”

Me: “Okay, but if you do that, you might have to wait several weeks for them to get in, and then you’ll have to wait for it to ship to you. I can get it to you in three to five days.”

Caller: “I just don’t want to wait for it to come all the way from New Mexico… bye.” *hangs up*

(It occurred to me after she hung up that she might have gotten New Mexico, the state, confused with Mexico, the country. Either way, three to five day shipping still means you’ll get it in three to five days. And, ironically, our warehouses are on the west coast, so it probably would have to have gone a longer distance if she had ordered online.)

(I work on a college campus as a dispatcher for the campus police. The college is small and backs right up to a mountain and desert area so there can be wildlife. It also has a larger number of international students. One evening I am at work and my sergeant on duty is going over paperwork in the office when I get a panicked, hysterical 911 call.)

Me: “911, what is your emergency?”

Caller: *with a heavy accent* “Oh, oh, oh, please! You have to help! You have to help!”

(Adrenaline starts pumping; I can tell by her voice that she is truly terrified. My change of demeanor has my sergeant leaping up, ready to get out the door as soon as we have a location.)

Me: “Ma’am, please tell me where you are.”

Caller: “I’m in my car— I’ve locked the doors. Oh, my god, there are people walking around! They are going to get eaten!”

Me: *thinking: WTF, eaten?* “Ma’am, what is the emergency? Where are you parked?”

Caller: “It’s— There’s— It’s wild foxes! They are right here! By the [Building], just-just-just here!”

(My sergeant, who is listening but can’t be heard, loses it. She is cracking up so much and I have to stay professional sounding.)

Me: “Ma’am, did the foxes approach you in anyway? Are they following people around?”

Caller: “No; oh, god, is someone coming? There are people just out and they could get eaten!”

(My sergeant indicates that she will go so the other officers can complete their rounds.)

Me: “Yes, ma’am, an officer is on there way. Foxes generally don’t eat people. It is okay.”

(My sergeant is there in about three minutes and then calls me less than ten minutes later, laughing so hard she is crying.)

Sarge: “[My Name]! They… they… they are just two baby foxes! Tiny cubs! Playing in the sprinklers… She locked the car and wouldn’t even roll down the window to talk to me! There are students taking pictures of the foxes. I finally got her to crack the window and convinced her she could drive away. BABY foxes!”

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