I’m cooking on the supper rush, the board is packed, the orders keep coming in, and the parking lot can’t fit even one more car. My coworker calls out order number eighty-four. They pick up their food.

A man comes to the window and talks to my coworker.

Customer: “I don’t want to wait. You just called out order eighty-four, and mine is eighty-nine. I want my money back.”

I come to the window and my coworker takes over the fryers.

Me: “What’s the problem, sir?”

Customer: “You’re on number eighty-four, and mine was eighty-nine. I don’t want to wait; I want my money back.”

Me: “Well, I’m sorry to hear that, sir, but at any restaurant you go to, you’ll have to wait for food.”

Customer: “Well, I’m leaving. I want my money back.”

Me: “Okay, sir, I’ll give you a refund.”

I start punching in the refund.

Customer: “Just give me twenty-one dollars.”

Me: “I have to find your bill and process the refund properly or the cash will not balance tonight, and I could lose my job.”

Customer: “No, you won’t. There will be more money in it.”

I am finishing up punching in the refund.

Customer: “Oh, my God, just give me twenty, then!”

Me: “Excuse me, sir, I understand that the customer is always right, but you’ve decided you no longer wish to be my customer, so now, I’m right. And I will do this my way.”

I hand him his cash.

Me: “Have a nice day, sir, and please, next time, take your business elsewhere.”

I work for a theatre company that produces several shows over our season. It’s not uncommon for people to call in to exchange their tickets for a different date, different show, or different location.

Me: “Good afternoon! This is [My Name] at [Company]; how can I assist you?”

Customer: “I’d like to exchange my tickets, please.”

Me: “Can I have the order number, please?”

The customer gives me the order number and I see it was for a performance the previous weekend.

Me: “I’m showing [Show #1] for last Sunday. Did you mean to give the number for [Show #2] in four weeks?”

Customer: “No. That’s the right one. I hated the show and want to exchange it for something else.”

Me: “I’m sorry the show wasn’t to your taste, but I can’t exchange your ticket after you’ve used it.”

Customer: “Yes, you can. If I don’t like a sweater, I exchange it. This is no different.”

Me: “This is very different. You purchased a ticket to an experience; you had that experience. I can’t exchange your tickets. I can ask for a manager to review and be in contact with you.”

The customer hung up. My manager did the review, and it turns out that this person has a history of this type of behaviour. He’d created a new profile on our system so the history wasn’t available to me. He did not get his exchange.

I went into a local small town branch of a nationally owned chain, looking for a white noise machine. I had a previous humidifier that I used for this purpose (to create noise, not to humidify). I wanted to find the same thing but couldn’t remember the brand.

A salesperson approached.

Employee: “Can I help you find anything?”

Me: “I am looking for a very loud, very cheap humidifier that doesn’t necessarily need to work.” 

Employee: *Without missing a beat* “You’ve come to the right place.”

It is late March, 2020. I am at a popular members-only warehouse store. After doing my shopping, I pick a line and wait for the cashier.

The man in front of me is carrying only two very large jugs of pine-scented floor cleaner. The store is entirely out of sanitizers, and judging by the look on the man’s face, he is pretty proud of himself for buying floor cleaner, instead.

Pre-health crisis, most folks put their membership card on the conveyer belt with their purchases. This man clearly doesn’t feel safe doing so. He looks around and thinks for a second, and I can practically see the lightbulb in his brain when he comes up with his solution.

The man picks up the little divider that goes between customers and squeezes his card into the plastic that covers the divider.

He looks really proud of himself, but I’m pretty sure that grimy plastic divider, with a visible line of dirt under it, is the least clean place he could have put that card.

I was in Canada from the USA. I wanted some things I couldn’t find nearby, so I set up a delivery at a drop box for a large online retailer. The nearest one was listed as outside a building. I walked the mile or so to the location, circled the building, and didn’t see anything.

I walked into the building at the same time as someone was walking out. I saw a front desk and a sign that said, “Back in fifteen minutes,” so I waited.

A few minutes passed, and a man came to the door. He paced outside but didn’t open the door or knock to be let in. It occurred to me then that there was probably a key card or something to allow people in the building and I had slipped in when I shouldn’t have.

Finally, someone came to the front desk wearing a “Security” badge. She hit a button and the man outside the door stormed in.

Security Guard: “Hello, [Man]—”

Man: *Pointing at me* “What is wrong with you?!”

Me: “I’m just—”

Man: “You should have let me in!”

Me: “I—”

Security Guard: “[Man], why would she let you in?”

The man pointed to a patch on his shirt. It said, “HEAD OF SECURITY.”

Me: “I’m not from here. I’m sorry. I’m just trying to find the [Company] drop box.”

Man: “You should have let me in!”

Me: “Why would the head of security not have an entry badge?”

The man turned red and stomped off. I turned to the security guard who was trying not to smile.

Me: “I’m sorry. I followed someone in. I’m just looking for the delivery box. I—”

Security Guard: “It’s okay, honey. He knows better; he probably forgot his key card. The drop box is around the back down in the loading dock.”

I didn’t use that location again for fear I’d run into that man again.