(I’m the store manager, and I have been called to customer service to speak with a woman. I’m 29, 5’6”, and 120 pounds, so I’m not always taken seriously, but I’m used to it. When I arrive, she sees me and assumes I’m another minimum-wage minion, despite not wearing the uniform blue vest, and my name tag clearly stating, “STORE MANAGER,” under my name. The woman is in her mid- to late 40s, honestly the stereotype of a person who would demand to see a manager.)

Me: “Hi. How can I help you today?”

Customer: “Go away.”

Me: “Didn’t someone call for me?”

Customer: “No. Leave. Now!”

Me: “Okay…”

(I start to walk away when I hear the woman berating my associate, saying she’s going to tell the manager about my attitude and demand we both be fired. I walk back.)

Me: “Ma’am?”

Customer: “What?!”

Me: “I do believe you’re waiting for me.” *points to my nametag*

Customer: *looks me over* “No wonder this store has gone to s***. Children are running the place!”

Me: “I’m not a child, ma’am, but I am the store manager. How can I help you?”

Customer: “You can fetch me a grownup.”

Me: “I can call for anyone in this store, ma’am, but I’m still the highest manager.”

Customer: “You’re a disrespectful b****, that’s what you are! When the real manager gets here, I’ll tell him all about you!”

Me: “Still me. I’m still the manager. And I haven’t been disrespectful, but from what I’ve heard, you have, and quite honestly, I don’t appreciate the way you’re speaking to my employees.”

Customer: “You are disrespectful! Just now! I guess your parents never spanked any sense into you; how anyone could be so rude to a paying customer and not be fired… I won’t be back!”

Me: “Okay. I’ll have security escort you out and be sure to notify my staff of your decision.”

(Two plain-clothes loss prevention associates came forward and ushered the woman to the exit. The entire time, she was screaming about me pretending to be a grown-up, threatening to sue the store. I never did find out why I was called up there.)

(I am a baker, so while I do not deal with difficult customers, I get to hear all the stories. The latest incident is a customer who wanted a custom cake for Monday but when she called on Thursday, she was informed she needed to order by Friday. She calls on Saturday, about an hour before the store closes, a few hours after the decorator has left, outraged that she can’t get her cake. A few days later, my brother has asked me to buy something for him, so I call the store late in the day to place an order.)

Assistant Manager: “Thank you for calling [Bakery]. This is [My Name]. How can I help you?”

Me: *in a higher pitch than normal* “Hi. I’d like to place an order for a cake.”

Assistant Manager: “When would you like it for?”

Me: “Tonight.”

Assistant Manager: “So, you want a cake from the case or…”

Me: “Actually, I want a three-tier [custom cake that we don’t make].”

Assistant Manager: *laughing* “Oh, I know who this is now.”

Me: *laughing* “I tried to be as ridiculous as possible, but I didn’t know how long I’d last without breaking. But in all seriousness, can I order [item]?” 

Assistant Manager: “No!”

Me: “Fine! I’ll make it myself!”

(My store usually only has one or two cashiers at night because we have several self-checkout machines and if it gets too busy, someone from the departments comes up to ring. I am busy trying to clean up my department when a call for an additional cashier comes across the radio. I answer it and head up to the registers where I see one customer checking out with a few items and two elderly people behind them. Even though an additional isn’t really necessary, I sign on anyway, and the two elderly people come to my lane.)

Me: “Hi. Did you find everything you were looking for?”

Customer #1: “Yes, we did, thanks. We are just getting this one item. You know, back in the day, people weren’t incredibly rude and would let people with one item go ahead.”

Me: *silent*

Customer #2: “Yeah, we were praying that someone could come to help us and it looks like you answered our prayers.”

Me: “Okay… Your total is $2.”

Customer #1: “Thank you so much for helping, dear. You really were an answer to a prayer. Hopefully, next time, people will remember their manners.”

(They leave and I go to the cashier.)

Me: “Did you hear that s***?”

Cashier: “Kind of. I know they were being obnoxious. They were upset that the woman I was checking out wouldn’t let them go first, even though I had already begun scanning her items.”

Me: “And we had every single self-checkout open, too! They kept saying that they prayed for help and if I were them, I wouldn’t be wasting prayers on petty stuff like that.”

Cashier: “I could’ve helped them if they would’ve waited literally thirty seconds. Old people are the worst.”

I have been working in the food preparation area of our store for quite some time, and I am on an overnight shift. Besides me, there is a person on register, and a manager who is very friendly, but follows the rules. A couple comes in with their three younger children around midnight.

The father orders a foot-long sub for each person, and when I see the order, each sub has the same meat on it, but everything else — veggies, dressings, and cheese — is different. I already know what this is leading to, so I am very careful since the store is empty.

I do each sub separately, printing out the tickets ahead of time and taping the ticket to the corresponding sub when I’m done with it. Finally, all five subs are finished and I call the number. The father picks up the subs and the family leaves the store.

I immediately rush a second set of the same tickets back to the manager, and she nods when she sees the order.

The customer returns just as I am walking out of the back and asks the cashier to see the manager. Our manager comes out, and the father shows her the subs. I notice they have moved the tickets around, and the father claims they are all wrong.

My manager helps me make a second round of the exact same subs, and refunds the cost to the man: $30. He walks out with free subs, and we have to log everything on the subs as waste and throw them in the garbage.

I look at my manager after we’ve finished, saying that I hate some people.

She sighs, and says, “Me, too.”

I was sitting in the parking lot at my local superstore waiting for my friend when I felt the entire car rock. I looked over to see a man loading groceries into the car beside me. He had opened his door far enough and with enough force that he shook my car. I looked at him for a moment before shaking my head and returning to my phone.

Then, there was a knock on my passenger window. I looked up to see the man peering in at me. He grinned and gave me the middle finger before getting in his car.

I’m a small woman and as such I generally avoid confrontation, but I was angry. I got out of my car to inspect the damage and saw that, aside from a small scratch I couldn’t prove he’d made, the door was fine. The man saw me get out and quickly locked his door and put his keys in the ignition. 

Click click. He stared at his steering wheel, confused. Click click. Again. Click click. He pounded on the steering wheel. Click click. Click click. Click click.

I must have looked crazy, standing in that parking lot laughing as hard as I was. His battery was dead! He sat there for another half-hour in 85-degree weather before he got it started.

I would have helped him jump his car even after he hit mine, had he not acted like such an a** about it. In the end, I didn’t have to do anything; karma did my dirty work for me!