My friend and I were in New Orleans for Mardi Gras. We are both New Zealanders. We met up with my American cousin and we were having a few drinks. We went to a different bar, and my friend and cousin went to order.

Shortly afterwards, my cousin came back to me saying I needed to go help at the bar. I went up and saw that the bartender had my friend’s passport and was arguing with her. Turns out the bartender thought it was fake, and was yelling at my friend about how our country isn’t real. I stepped in, showed her my passport, and got the same response. We Googled New Zealand on our phones and showed her, but she still refused to believe that our passports were legit or that New Zealand exists.

We decided to go elsewhere and the bartender wouldn’t give the passport back, still going on about how it was fake. I leaned over and wrenched it off her and ran out before she could call any security. Who knows? The security might never have seen a world map, either!

(I am working as the fitting room attendant. My job is to count garments as people come in, hand them a tag with the number, and count them again as they leave with the tag as a reference. This particular day I have a lady with a single item come through. As she leaves, she shows me her single item, but does not return the tag to me.)

Me: “Do you have your number?”

Customer: “It’s in there.”

Me: “Could you go grab it for me real quick?”

Customer: “You want me to walk all the way back in there?!”

Me: “Yes, please?”

Customer: *stares at me in disbelief for a moment* “You want me to walk all the way back in there?”

Me: “Yes, please.”

Customer: “I only had one item. I’m showing you the one item.”

Me: “I still need the tag back.”

Customer: “But you see my one item. Why do you need the tag back if you see my one item?”

(I am thinking, “A: Do you know how many people I see in a day? Do you really think I remember what you had? B: So I don’t have to clean up after you.”)

Me: “Everybody has to bring the tags back out. That’s just the procedure.”

(She steps around to read the sign with the check-in procedure which, admittedly, tells customers to hang their items so I can count them on the way in, but does not actually tell them anything about me checking them back out.)

Customer: “This doesn’t say I have to bring the tag back.”

Me: “No, it doesn’t, but I do need to you bring it back to me.”

Customer: “You didn’t tell me I needed to bring it back. Why didn’t you tell me I needed to bring it back?”

Me: “I thought it was kind of obvious.”

Customer: “I want to see where it’s written that I have to bring the tag back out.”

Me: “Do you want to see a copy of the fitting room handbook?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: *pauses* “Okay.” *on radio* “[Manager], I have a lady here who would like to see a copy of the fitting room handbook to see where it is written that she needs to bring the number tag back out of the fitting room.”

Manager: *on radio* “Do you need me to come back there?”

Me: “Yes, please.”

Manager: *sighs* “Okay, give me a sec.”

Me: *to the customer* “He’s on his way.”

Customer: “I’m not trying to be petty with you. But I think you’re being petty with me.”

Me: “I’m not being petty with you. Everyone has to bring the tag back out.”

Customer: “I can’t believe that you want me to go all the way back in there to get the tag out. I think you’re being petty with me.”

Me: “I’m really not. Everyone has to bring the tags back out.”

(As I say this, a gentleman comes out of the fitting room with his single item, which did not fit, hands me the shirt, and starts to walk away.)

Me: “Sir, do you have your number?”

Customer #2: “Oh, no, I’m sorry. I forgot.”

(He immediately goes back into the fitting room to get his tag for me. As I place the tag back in its holder, I resist the urge to ask the lady, “Now was that freaking hard?” Instead, I turn to her and smile.)

Me: “Everyone.”

(While we wait a minute longer for the manager, she ends up going get the tag, still grumbling about me being petty with her, then mutters something about not waiting, and starts to walk away just as the manager comes down the aisle. I call after her that this is the manager, and they have a conversation just out of my earshot. After she leaves, the manager comes over the radio again.)

Manager: “Some people just…. are so stupid they just…” *devolves into a string of curse words*

(I work in a franchised prepaid cell phone carrier. Part of my job is helping customers setting up their devices, creating the email account that is going to be attached to their devices, and such. Some services we offer the customers have to pay for, but if I can help them for free I do, as I like to try to keep most customers happy and give our store a better reputation. Some people do try to get fees waived or services for free. This particular company offers you the option to change your phone number for free if you do it online, but if you come to the store there is a $15 charge. A customer comes in the store, and after we greet each other the following ensues.)

Customer: “I need to change my phone number.”

Me: *explains policy*

Customer: “Okay, can you do it online for me?”

Me: “No, ma’am, if I do it I have to charge you.”

Customer: “But you said if it is done online it’s free?”

Me: “Yes, but that’s because we won’t have to do it.”

Customer: “You can do it for me; you have a computer.” *looks expectantly*

Me: “First, ma’am, no matter the way I did it, I would still have to charge you. Second, I cannot put personal information from customer in my computer, for their protection. And third, we are not allowed to access customer’s accounts any other way than the system we use.”

Customer: “Well, you are no help! I’m a paying customer, and I want to change my number!”

Me: “I already told you the options you have.”

(She starts on a rant about poor customer service, how I “don’t want to help her,” being rude, and cussing us out. Then, I yell out to get her to listen to me, and then I speak in a calm but stern manner.)

Me: “MA’AM! I have tried to be nice, and I have explained to you what your options are. Now, either you pay for me to do your number change or you do it yourself.” *looks like she wants to say something* “And if you say one more rude comment to me or the other staff, this store will refuse you service, and good luck driving around trying to get someone to help you around here.”

(The other nearest store is about twenty miles from us. She went quiet and paid her fee. I changed the number for her and then she left. Our boss had instructed us to never to give in to rude customers, and to ban them or refuse service to them if they act that way. The kicker is, the online process takes no more than five minutes and all you need is your phone number and account PIN, but I guess some people are too lazy or entitled to do that.)

(I work the fitting room at my store. I stand in a small foyer between the two fitting rooms, with the bathroom next to me, as well. I am not allowed to keep anyone’s buggy in the foyer, for security and safety reasons, and because frankly, it’s obnoxious, so I have customers park their buggies in a line in the wide aisle in front of me. I get many customers who don’t want to park their buggies there because they’re afraid someone will take their things. Usually they’ll more or less relax when I let them know I’ll keep an eye on their things. But apparently some people are paranoid. This particular woman comes to me, DANCING because she needs to use the bathroom, and tries to pull her buggy into my foyer.)

Customer: “Can you watch this while I go to the bathroom?”

Me: “Yeah, just park it in the line there.”

Customer: “Oh, uh-uh. Nope. I can hold this peepee in.”

(She walked away before I had time to respond.)

(I am on a family vacation to New Orleans. My parents buy tickets for a rock concert, and we go to the venue, only to come across the most unhelpful staff I’ve ever seen.)

Dad: “Where are we supposed to meet for the show?”

Security: “Over there.” *points to an area near the entrance of the venue* “May I see your tickets?”

(My dad shows him the email on his phone, and I can already tell from the guard’s reaction that we’re in for a rough experience.)

Security: “These aren’t tickets. There’s no barcode on these. You’ll have to go to the ticket office and have them try and print them for you.”

(While my dad and mom are visibly annoyed, we decide to go to the ticket office, anyway. In front of us is a man whose tone and annoyance only exacerbates my fear that we aren’t going to get much help. I don’t recall the conversation, but the man proceeds to leave with a very angry look on his face. Then it’s our turn.)

Dad: “We have tickets here, but the security guard said we can’t use them?”

(The worker looks at the email on my dad’s phone, and her confused look doesn’t really quell my fears.)

Worker: “We don’t support this company.”

Dad: “But we bought them!”

Worker: “Let me get my manager.”

(The workers calls over her manager who is waiting in the back, and she also has the same confused look.)

Manager: “We don’t support this company.”

Mom: *interjects and raising her voice* “What are you talking about?!”

Manager: “We only support [Company # 1] and [Company #2]. Not [Company #3]. I’ve never heard of [Company #3] in my life, and I don’t recognize this logo.”

Mom: “But it was on your site!”

Manager: “That may be, but we don’t support this company. There’s no barcode on this, either, so even if we did support it, we couldn’t print it, anyway.”

Me: “So, what do you recommend we do?”

Manager: “Take it up with the owners. I’m not at fault if you bought from a company that we don’t support.”

Mom: *begins to pretty much yell* “WELL, WHY DOESN’T THE F****** WEBSITE SPECIFY ANYTHING ABOUT COMPANIES THAT YOU SUPPORT OR DON’T SUPPORT?!”

Manager: “That’s not my problem. I didn’t design the website.”

Mom: *still yelling* “THIS IS THEFT, I TELL YOU! WHY DO YOU EVEN ALLOW COMPANIES YOU DON’T SUPPORT TO BE ON THE WEBSITE, ANYWAY?! CHECK THE SITE!”

Manager: “Again. Not my problem. You failed to read the policy.”

(We begin to walk away, but the manager interjects once again.)

Manager: “Take it up with the owners. It’s not my problem if people can’t comprehend basic instructions.”

Mom: “WHAT PART OF ‘IT’S NOT ON THE WEBSITE’ DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?! THIS IS F****** THEFT, I TELL YOU! WHY WOULD YOU NOT BOTHER TO FILTER OUT THE ILLEGAL COMPANIES ON YOUR OWN SITE?! YOU MADE IT! THE POLICY ISN’T EVEN IN THE MOST CONVENIENT SPOT, EVEN IF IT’S THERE!”

Me: “Mom, stop, stop, stop. It’s not worth it anymore. I don’t care who’s at fault, so long as we get the h*** away from this place.”

(We ended up bailing, and my mom called our bank to dispute the charges. What baffles me the most is that the website had no indication of this policy of ticket companies that they supported, nor did they make any attempt to check the site to verify our claims. In the end, I ended up writing a negative review on the website and got an apology from the owner.)