In my second year of college, I was living with the roommate I’d had in the dorms the year prior. The first year, our schedules were the complete opposite, so I didn’t run into this issue.

[Roommate] had a terrible time getting up in the morning and asked if I could help wake her up as I was a chipper morning person. The first morning I did it, I woke her up about half an hour before I was leaving, and there was my first mistake.

She was not a morning person. Until I left, she kept grumbling and cursing at me and generally being mad.

From then on, I would wait until I was walking out the door, flick her lights on and off leaving them on, and yell for her to wake up before running out the door to escape her wrath.

I’m young and female. I’m fueling up at a nearby gas station. I am completely minding my own business and have made no indication whatsoever that I need any type of help. It’s worth noting that I’m the only female currently pumping gas; all the other customers at the other pumps are male.

The gas station attendant comes over and instantly gives me “creepy” vibes. He tells me I’m pumping gas wrong, takes the gas nozzle out of my hand, and proceeds to demonstrate the “right” way to pump gas — which involves tilting the nozzle a grand total of ten degrees to the side and using both hands on the handle. This is something I can’t do as my left hand is full with my wallet and keys due to women’s clothing lacking any form of pockets.

Attendant: “You’re spraying gas all over the ground, and you’re going to get it all over yourself. This is how you need to pump gas.”

Me: “Yeah, there’s so much gas on the ground already.”

The attendant looks down. The ground is literally bone dry; there isn’t a drop of gas on it.

Attendant: “There’s no gas on the ground.”

Me: “That’s my point.”

Attendant: “You have an attitude problem. I’m just trying to help you.”

Me: “I don’t have an attitude problem; you do. I never asked for any help.”

Attendant: “You have a major attitude. I’m only trying to help here!”

The gas pump shuts off as it has filled my tank. Luckily, I wanted a full tank. But if I had wanted to stop after twenty dollars, for example, I wouldn’t have been able to since he took over pumping. The attendant also hangs up the nozzle himself, which fails to give me the option for a receipt.

Attendant: “And you should put your keys and wallet in the car when you’re done with them so you can use both hands on the handle. You should be glad I’m preventing you from getting gas all over yourself.”

Me: “My door locks automatically after so much time; I’m not about to lock myself out.”

Attendant: “Geesh, what’s your problem? I’m only helping!”

Me: “Next time, ask if the person wants help.”

He left at that point, muttering something I didn’t hear under his breath. I left, too. When I got home, I immediately filed a complaint with the gas station’s company. I only got a form letter in response; I have no idea if they took further action that I wasn’t privy to.

I am working at [Fast Food Chain] to pay for college. It is the summer before my sophomore year studying education, and I spend the time I’m not at the restaurant tutoring students. I have been on shift since 4:00 am, and it is nearly 11:00 am, when I will clock out. I am beyond tired.

A well-to-do-looking woman comes up to my register and orders a meal. I ring her up and accept her cash. In our system, you type in the amount of cash given, and then it tells you the change. I must have looked at the wrong box because I give the wrong amount of change. I give back the correct number of bills, but I give the total in coins back instead of what I owe. It is a simple mistake, and I immediately realize I’ve done it after I hand her the coins.

Customer: “You gave me the wrong change!”

Me: “Yes, I just realized that I—”

She speaks in a super-condescending tone, about half the speed of a normal conversation:

Customer: “Okay, sweetie, I know math is hard, so I’m going to count it out with you.”

Me: *Stunned silence*

It is a slow point in the day and my manager notices the transaction taking longer than normal, so she comes to see what is going on. She hears the woman talking to me like a five-year-old. It is a good thing she is there, or I probably would get rude.

Manager: “Look, she just made a simple mistake. There’s no need to talk to her like that.”

Me: “Here’s the correct change, ma’am.”

Customer: “All you workers are so incompetent! You can’t even do basic math.” *To me, still speaking at the speed of a snail* “Get a job, sweetie.”

Me: “…but I have two?”

At that, she takes her food and leaves, surely feeling entitled and victorious.

Me: *To the manager* “Can I go home now?”

Manager: “Yeah, just go clock out.”

That was one of the rudest customers I have ever had, but sadly not the worst. Good thing I finished my degree and will hopefully never work in fast food again!

I’m a manager at a small chain fast-casual sushi joint. We accept online orders for pick-up or delivery through third-party platforms. We have standard online options for modifications with a space after each item for comments. Also important to note, we don’t (currently) charge for additional sauces.

I have an online ticket come in for delivery an hour before close, with four sushi rolls and a rice bowl. All five items have notes in the comments that they want extra sauce. The bowl, which is a special promotional lobster item and thus gets a bag of chips free, also has notes that they want an extra bag of chips. This happens thirty minutes before close, as I’m supposed to be having two employees leave, but we’re getting hit with a rush.

A guy walks in holding a bag with four rolls and a bowl. Please note, he really does talk this way.

Customer: “Hey, I gots a issue.”

Me: “Yes, sir, what can I help you with?”

Customer: “My girl ain’t gots her sauces.”

Me: “Oh! I remember that order. Was it supposed to be [lists off the extra sauces they had typed in]?”

Customer: “Nah, nah. That ain’t right. But I ain’t know this stuff. Hold up. I gots it wrote down in the car.”

He leaves and comes back in with the ticket we stapled to his bag.

Customer: “See? She done tole me what she be needin’. This ain’t be for me. It be my girl. She’s be eatin’s it. And she done paid for them sauces and ain’t seeing’ ‘em.”

Me: “Sir, I know what happened. I personally made and sauced all of your food. I saw the comment about extra sauces, and since it didn’t specify that you wanted them on the side, I put the extra on the meal items already.”

Customer: “But my girl done paid for them sauces and ain’t gots them, and I drove back here for thems list there. How’s I gonna pay and ain’ts gots ’em?”

Me: “Sir, typing a comment does not mean that you’ve paid extra. In fact, I can’t charge you extra for sauce. There’s no button in my register for it. I know I already put extra on all of them, but if you give me sixty seconds, I can grab an additional side of each of those for you.”

Cue him arguing with me for the next ten minutes, not letting me step the three feet to the sauce station, about how they’ve paid for extra already and now had to drive all the way back here just to get their money’s worth. After he finally lets me grab the sauces:

Customer: “And she gots to has her chips she done paid extra for, too.”

He points again to the typed-in comment asking for extra chips.

Me: “Sir, the chips are only available when you purchase a lobster meal. There is absolutely no way to get extra, by asking or paying. It can’t be done.”

Customer: “But she done paid, so how’s you gonna be says that?”

Me: “Sir, typing a request does not charge your card extra money. I have been a manager here since before we started the lobster promotion, and there has never been a way to buy just the chips. I absolutely cannot give them to you. There are those sauces for you, though, and I hope you have a great night.”

He finally left after more than twenty minutes. I’ve never had a problem giving people extra sauces, within reason. Our boss does cap it at two extra sauces per entrée, and this guy only wanted one each. We’re just supposed to tell people that there isn’t a charge for sauces.

Related:
The Sauce Of Confusion

I work in a specialized technical field that deals with police departments. Aside from equipment repairs, we also offer technical phone support. I overheard this from another technician on a support phone call.

Officer: “My equipment is not working. The display is blank.”

Tech: “Is the equipment turned on?”

Officer: “Yes, it’s turned on.”

Tech: “Is the power cord plugged in?”

Officer: “Yes.”

Tech: “Is the power cord plugged in at the other end?”

Officer: “No.”

Tech: “Plug it in.”

That had to be one of the best tech support calls I ever overheard!