(I am working alone in a chocolate store. I transferred from another store about three months ago. I get a call, and thankfully it isn’t busy.)

Customer: “Hello, I am wondering if you have a sale for your chocolates going on?”

Me: “Well, we always have a sale on something. What are you looking for today, sir?”

Customer: “Buy-three-get-three-free on the showcase.”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, we just finished that sale.”

Customer: “What?”

Me: “We only had it for the summer; it’s October.”

Customer: “But you always have it during this time!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but the sale is done.”

Customer: “How long have you been here for?”

Me: “Over a year, sir.”

Customer: “See? You haven’t been here long enough!”

Me: “If you want, this Saturday, we’re having a similar sale for one night. Buy two, get one free.”

Customer: “When’s that?”

Me: “Well, it’s [event], and between seven to ten we’re having that sale.”

Customer: “Good. That’s the sale I want. Goodbye.” *hangs up*

(I remembered later that he would need tickets to get that sale, since it was a charity event, and I wasn’t working it.)

Related:
Sail Fail, Part 3
Sail Fail, Part 2
Sale Fail

While driving my parents’ car on a long trip at night, the engine just stops and all the warning lights come on. I’m able to get the car off the road and open the hood. There is a massive amount of smoke and steam coming from the engine and after checking, I find that there is no coolant at all in the reservoir. I get to wait by the car while arrangements are made to pick both the car and me up.

The next day after examining the car, it is determined that a coolant hose came off while I was driving, and that caused the engine to overheat and seize. Over the next few days, my father acquires a new engine and swaps out the old engine with the new one. We then find out that my brother had taken the car in for some repairs a few days before my trip to dealership, and it was one of the hoses they worked on that came off.

My father is in contact with the dealership, but they say they are not at all at fault and refuse any kind of compensation. So, my father decides to take them to small claims court.

After a few months, we are all at the courthouse. The judge comes in and the case is read to her. As soon as the dealership’s name is mentioned, the judge asks for the lawyers — both ours and the dealership’s — to come forward and have a private discussion. This seems very odd, but all we can do is wait for our lawyer to come back and tell us what’s going on.

After a few minutes, our lawyer comes back with a smile on her face. Apparently, the judge is also having “issues” with the dealership, so she has to remove herself due to a conflict of interest. We can’t believe it.

Once the judge has officially removed herself from the case, the dealership settles for everything we wanted.

(I work at a coffee franchise. The particular location is nestled into the corner of a gas station, and as such, we have no area for customers to sit and eat their food. It’s almost nine pm, and a middle-aged man walks up to my register, and I’m the only senior employee in the store at the moment.)

Customer: “I’ll take a large [coffee] — two milk, two sugar — your soup of the day, and a BLT.”

Me: “Okay, will that be everything for today?”

Customer: “Can I get the food in those china dishes you guys have?”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, we don’t carry china dishes at this location. If you’d like, I can direct you to [Other Location nearby with a dining area, owned by the same person as my location].”

Customer: “Bulls***! I know you guys have those d*** dishes; I got my food in them just yesterday!”

Me: “I’m not sure what you want me to do, sir; we don’t have any dishes at this location. We have no tables, as we’re in a gas station, so there is no reason for us to store them here.”

Customer: “I see plenty of f****** reason! I want my food in them! I want to speak to your supervisor.”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but she is only in from six until three. However, I’m currently acting supervisor as the senior employee right now.”

Customer: “Well, f*** you, then! I’m going to [Place I told him he should go to]!” *storms out*

New Hire: “Well, that was interesting. Are you worried he’s going to complain?”

Me: “Nah, the camera’s are recording everything, and [Manager] knows me better than that. There’s no way she’s going to take the word of some dude who wants to eat soup on the floor of a gas station over me.”

(As I predicted, my manager called me in during a shift next week to bring up the complaint from the man. She had gone over the tape and heard the whole exchange. Apparently he had gone to the other location and threw a tantrum because, as it had passed nine pm, they had tossed their soup because were going to close in a half-hour. She told me I did all I could, and even tried to make sure the owner still got a sale.)

(A customer comes into our drive-thru every week, skips the speaker box, and goes straight to the window. We’ve been telling him to order at the window, but he just nods his head and rattles off his order. This week’s encounter…)

Me: “Hi, I just need you to drive around and order at the speaker.”

Customer: “Yes… Can I get a medium [drink], please?”

Me: “Yeah, we’re not equipped to take orders at the window anymore, so I need you to go back around and order at the speaker.”

Customer: “Wait… Sorry, did you say something?”

Me: “You need to go… back around… and order… at the speaker.”

Customer: “But it’s broken or something.”

Me: “What?”

Customer: “Yeah, there’s a sign on it.”

Me: “There is? What does it say?”

Customer: “Please drive through!”

Me: “That’s after you place your order!”

(I didn’t think a person needed step-by-step instructions to place an order at the speaker… not that he was paying attention much in the first place.)

(I have a table at a local festival where I am selling copies of the books I wrote. A male customer, probably between 45 and 50 years old, comes to my table. He asks how it’s going — the usual — and then picks up my newest book about a zombie world. I tell him a bit of what it’s about. I’m a girl.)

Customer: “Hmm… I’m just trying to think if a boy would like this.”

Me: *happily* “Of course a boy would like it!”

Customer: “Yeah, but the protagonist is a girl.”

Me: *not quite as nicely as my last answer to him* “So? Boys can read about girls.”

Customer: *shaking his head* “Nah. No they can’t.”

Me: “Why not?”

Customer: “They can’t relate.”

Me: *clearly annoyed at this point* “Of course they can! Girls read books about boys.”

Customer: “Yeah, but that’s different.”

Me: “How? How is that different?”

Customer: *long pause* “Girls are different.”

Me: “No, they’re not. A girl reading a book about a boy is the same as a boy reading a book about a girl.”

Customer: *still shaking his head* “No, I don’t think so.”

Me: “Why can a girl read a book about a boy, but a boy can’t read a book about a girl?”

Customer: “Well, my son is 17… and he likes to read… I don’t have any cash on me, though.”

Me: *smiling* “That’s okay; I take credit cards, too.”

Customer: “Oh…”

(He buys it, I think only because he realizes he is being a moron and feels bad for clearly offending me.)

Me: “Do you want a receipt emailed or texted to you?”

Customer: *rudely* “No, then I’ll have to give you my information.”

Me: “Okay, you don’t have to get one; I was just giving you the option.”

(It was so hard for me not to sign the book, “I hope you like it even though it’s about a GIRL!” But I was also giving away chapter samplers for my next book, and was able to finish the transaction off with, “Oh, and here’s a free chapter sampler for my book that’s coming out next year. Your son will definitely like it because it has girl AND boy protagonists.”)