Me: “Thank you for calling [Orthopedic office]. How can I help you?”

Caller: “PUT MY DAUGHTER ON THE PHONE!”

Me: “I’m sorry? This is [Ortho]–”

Caller: “No it isn’t! Now put my daughter on the phone right now! She knows she isn’t supposed to have boys over!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, I think you have the wrong number.”

Caller: “NO I DON’T.”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m afraid–”

Caller: “You better be! I’m on my way home RIGHT NOW and god help you if you’re still there!”

(By this point we have several calls waiting to be answered. My supervisor signals me to transfer the call to them so I can get back to my job.)

Me: “Ma’am, I assure you this is a medical office. Would you like to speak to my supervisor?”

Caller: *dripping with sarcasm* “Oh suuuure! Put me through to your supervisor!”

Supervisor: “Thank you for calling [Orthopedics], how can I help you?”

Caller: “WHAT?! WHO ARE YOU? WHY ARE YOU IN MY HOUSE?!”

(It took several minutes for my supervisor to get the woman off the phone, after which she called three more times…)

This story is part of the Overprotective Parents roundup!

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(For three years, my job was to deal with angry parents. I was very good at it. Most of the time.)

Parent: *angrily* “I need to speak to someone about my daughter’s roommates!”

Me: “Okay, ma’am, what seems to be the problem?”

Parent: “Her roommates are awful to her! ”

Me: “Okay. Can you detail the problems for me? The more specific you can be, the better we can help your daughter and her roommates settle their problems.”

Parent: “They curse, and they play loud music, and they’re, well, they’re just not like us.”

Me: “In what way are they not like you, ma’am?”

Parent: “Well, they’re… farm people.”

(Twenty seconds of absolute silence as I am, for once, thrown off my game. I’ve heard racial B.S. and religious B.S., but never farm B.S.)

Parent: “Not that there’s anything wrong with farm people. It’s just that we’re not farm people.”

(I’m still in shock. She keeps going.)

Parent: I mean, farms are useful, but we’re from the city. My daughter grew up going to the theater and to museums.”

Me: “Ma’am, I can assure you, as a kid from a farm myself, I’ve been to the theater and to museums. What we probably have here is a personality clash.”

(There’s about a ten-second pause that just drips with uncomfortable.)

Parent: “Perhaps I should speak to someone else.”

This story is part of the Farmer roundup.

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Customer: “Hi, I’d like a Playboy for my son.”

Me: “…excuse me?”

Customer: “You know, a Playboy to play with.”

Me: *trying very hard not to laugh* “You mean a Gameboy?”

Customer: “Yeah, that!”

(The customer suddenly realizes what she said.)

Customer: “OH!”

(As a result of the US/Canadian currency parity, a lot of customers have been angry that they have to pay the Canadian price instead of the cheaper US price.)

Customer: “Which price do I have to pay: the American or Canadian?”

Coworker: “I’m afraid you have to pay the Canadian price.”

Customer: *angrily* “Why?”

Coworker: “Quite simply, we buy from Canadian publishers with Canadian money. Also, that book was bought before the price parity; therefore, to sell at the American price would mean that we would not be making any money.”

Customer: “Well, I want you to explain to my seven-year-old daughter why she’s not getting this book for Christmas.”

Me: “…because her dad is a cheapskate?”

This story is part of the Christmas Day roundup!

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(The phone rings at around six-ish.)

Me: “Hello, this is D-…”

(I hear loud crying in the background.)

Man: “Hello, Disney World? I’m just calling to say that if my children don’t finish their vegetables in the next five minutes, we won’t be visiting you this year.”

Me: “I… er… What?”

Man: *whispering* “Thank you.” *click*