This happened in the 1970s at a well-known hotel chain in Oklahoma. My (now-ex) wife and I stayed there one night because she was having an outpatient procedure at a hospital in the area early the next morning. 

It was a disaster from the beginning. The room was dirty, to the point where I got stabbed in the foot by a straight pin that was in the carpeting. There were cracker crumbs ground into the carpeting. Very little about the room was right.

As there was no alarm clock in the room, I requested a wake-up call for 6:00 am.

We woke up at about 8:00. No call.

I called the desk and angrily asked what had happened to our wake-up call. “I don’t know. I just came on shift.” No apology; no acknowledgement of the problem that they had caused.

I called the hospital, who said they could still get us in as long as we got there as quickly as we could.

We ran down to the desk, rushed through checkout without looking at the bill, made it to the hospital, got the surgery done, and got home safely.

Then, I got the credit card statement. They had charged us for a meal in the restaurant; we had never been in the restaurant at all!

So, I wrote a strongly-worded letter to the hotel manager, with a CC to the chain’s headquarters. The original, sent to the hotel itself, clearly had “CC: [corporate headquarters]” on it.

A short time later, we received a money order from the hotel for the amount we’d been overcharged, along with a handwritten note apologizing. The note was poorly written, with misspellings and other mistakes. It was obvious that someone in the hotel had intercepted the letter and replied in the hope that management would never know.

Okay. We got our money back.

A week or so later, we got a check from corporate for the full amount we’d paid, along with a very nice, typed letter promising that they would investigate the incident.

We ended up with more than we had paid, which I figured came close to compensating us for all the crap we had had to put up with.

(I’m a part-time bookseller at a local book chain. I’ve been working part-time for almost seven years at this store so I’ve heard it all, but this is the first time I’ve ever encountered this kind of stupid. We were told recently that we cannot leave our zones to help customers; instead, we should direct them to a customer service rep. A customer who’s about 18 or 19 walks up to the register where I am.)

Customer: “Hello.”

Me: “Hi there. How can I help you?”

(I notice she doesn’t have anything in her hands, and I think she wants a gift card, which happens a lot.)

Customer: “So, this is my first time here.”

Me: “Awesome! Welcome in. Are you looking for something in particular or a certain book?”

Customer: “So, do I just pick it out and then bring it back?”

Me: “Sorry, what?”

Customer: “Like, do I pick out what I want and you tell me when to bring it back?”

Me: “We’re a bookstore?”

Customer: “Yeah, so when do I bring these back?”

Me: *thinking that maybe she’s high* “Yeah, this is a bookstore. You purchase items here. Every item has a barcode which I scan up here and then you give me something of a monetary value to take home and keep. This isn’t a library.”

Customer: “Oh. I thought you were going out of business, so I thought I should get something free.”

Me: “I assure you that we aren’t going out of business, ma’am. Now, do you need help finding anything?”

Customer: *stomps foot* “WHY ARE YOUR LIGHTS ON IF I CAN’T GET FREE THINGS?!” 

(She then turned and stomped out the door.)

(My daughter is a driver for a restaurant delivery company and is delivering a meal.)

Daughter: “Hi. I have your food. The total is [price].”

Customer: “I paid with a card already.”

Daughter: “I’m sorry, but the order says ‘cash.’ I have to collect that from you before I hand it over.”

Customer: “I tell you, I paid cash.”

Daughter: “Okay, that’s fine. Let me see your receipt.”

Customer: “It’s on my phone.”

Daughter: “Yes, I know. If you can show me, I can give you the food.”

Customer: “My phone is dead. It needs to charge.”

Daughter: “That’s fine. I can wait a few minutes so you can show me.”

Customer: “Just give me my food and I’ll show you when it’s charged.”

Daughter: “No, sorry. I need the receipt first.”

Customer: “F*** you!” *slams door shut*

Daughter: *to the closed door* “I thought so.”

(The customer got a permanent ban on ordering. You have to wonder just how stupid someone has to be to have the capacity to use a telephone, yet think it’s a bright idea to rip off others while giving a real name, address, and phone number.)

(Something they never tell you until you move to a southern state is that Southerners get very touchy about what actually constitutes “The South.” It’s a particularly sore spot in places like Oklahoma, where geographically the state straddles three different regions. My boyfriend is Oklahoma born and bred, and has some strong opinions on the culture.)

Friend: “Oh, c’mon, Oklahoma isn’t the South! You gotta earn your cowboy boots!”

Boyfriend: “What?! Oklahoma historically invented cowboy culture! You’re from Virginia! All you invented was f****** slavery!”

(I attend a career event with a specialty lab program for high school students and as a second-year, we do individual labs. Our sterile hoods are in a separate area and are quite loud. One of my classmates and I are prepping our hoods while another is in the main lab with our teacher. Glass shatters loud enough for us to hear in the hood room. [Male Classmate] and I look over at each other but continue on with our lab. [Female Classmate] comes in, obviously shaken.)

Female Classmate: “[Teacher] just cussed.”

([Male Classmate] and I are confused, as our teacher is a woman who doesn’t even say “darn” most of the time.)

Me: “What’d you do?”

Female Classmate: “I dropped a beaker.”

Teacher: *entering room* “She dropped it next to my head.”