Customer: “I want to make a complaint! The cashier triple-charged me for the cheese!”

Me: “Really? Let me see the receipt so I can give you a refund.”

Customer: *shoves the receipt at me*

Me: “Ma’am, you said the cashier triple-charged you?”

Customer: “Yes, and she was very rude and disrespectful!”

Me: “Ma’am, our receipts show which till the sale went through on. You were on self-checkout, so you overcharged yourself. Are you still wanting to make a complaint?”

Customer: *stammers and quickly leaves, minus her refund*

Next Customer: *jokingly* “Hi, I’m feeling guilty and would like to complain about myself as well!”

This story is part of the Even-More-Customers-Are-To-Blame roundup!

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(I’m working cash when a group of guys early 20s comes in.)

Me: “What would you like to drink with your combo?”

Customer #1: “Coke, please.”

Me: “Is Pepsi alright?”

Customer #1: *forlornly* “I guess…”

(I finish the rest of their orders and I overhear their conversation.)

Customer #1: “It sucks that they don’t have Coke.”

Customer #2: “Yeah, it’s 2012. Can’t Coke and Pepsi just get along?”

(I’m allergic to tomatoes and peppers, and most relish/pickles have peppers in them.)

Me: “I’d like a burger but with no tomato or relish or pickles. Just lettuce, onions and mustard, please.”

Waitress: *confused* “Okay?”

Me: “I’m allergic to tomatoes and relish and pickles. All the other toppings are good.”

Waitress: “All right.”

(The burger arrives, and it has nothing on it; it’s just a patty on a bun.)

Me: “Hey, um, this burger is completely plain. Could I get it with mustard and onions on it?”

Waitress: “Uh, no.”

Me: “Why not?”

Waitress: “Well, my cousin is allergic to mustard, and onions are disgusting!”

(I have been telling my coworkers that I’m going to visit my friend who is working at a steampunk festival the upcoming weekend. None of them know what steampunk is, so I explain it to them and show them pictures on my phone, citing a few of my favourite examples.)

Me: “My favourite was Steampunk X-Men. The guy playing Cyclops had a huge backpack covered in hand-wheels and steam tubes because in steampunk, it would need all that to contain his laser eyes.”

Coworker: “Oh, really? How did it work?”

Me: “Um, it was a costume.”

Coworker: “It was fake?!”

(This is a story my dad has told often. It happened back in the 70s.)

Telemarketer: “Congratulations, sir. You have been selected for our contest. If you can answer one skill-testing question, you’ll win a prize. Are you in?”

My Dad: “Sure.”

Telemarketer: “Okay. I’ll give you four letters. Unscramble them to reveal the name of a well-known American comedian. First name is Bob. Okay? E, O, H, P.”

My Dad: “Bob Hope?”

Telemarketer: “Congratulations! You’ve won a month’s worth of free lessons at [local dance studio]!”

My Dad: “No, thank you.”

(A few days later, he gets a call again. Clearly, they’ve forgotten to cross him off their list because they give the same contest and question. Dad, however, decides to have a little fun.)

My Dad: “Is it Bob Pohe?”

Telemarketer: “No, sir. Would you like to try again?”

My Dad: “Oh, sure. Is it Bob Hepo?”

(Dad goes through every combination he can think of except the correct answer. Eventually, the telemarketer gives up.)

Telemarketer: “Sorry, sir. We do, however, have a consolation prize. You get a month of free dance lessons at [local dance studio]!”