I am paged to come help a customer who has a question in the beauty department. Walking up, I’m already annoyed as it is an older gentleman, which usually means that his wife has sent him to pick something up without giving him any information. 

Me: “Did you need help with something?”

Customer: “My wife sent me to get this sunscreen, but I can’t find it with the others.”

I look at the bottle and see it’s a foundation that has an SPF.

Me: “This is a foundation. Do you know what shade she needs?”

Customer: “No, it’s sunscreen. See, it says so right on the bottle.”

Me: “Can I look at the bottle?”

He keeps going on about how it’s sunscreen while I look to see if a shade is listed. Thankfully, I find it and lead him over to where the makeup is. I see we are out of the shade he needs.

Me: “It looks like we are currently out of that shade. Do you want to call your wife and see if another shade will work?”

Customer: “I mean, this is SPF 30. Are there other SPFs in this brand?”

Me: “Sir, please listen. This is a foundation. It’s makeup with an SPF but it is not solely sunscreen. The shade your wife wants is gone. You are going to have to call her and see if another shade will work or you will have to go to another store.”

He still could not comprehend and ended up leaving. Women, please stop sending your clueless partners to shop for makeup for you. It never works out.

For the fourth Saturday in a row, I am the only cashier on duty and I have a ridiculously long line. We are badly understaffed in the first place, and we had both a call-out and a no-call, no-show. I’m doing the best I can. 

A group of people comes to my register with three large items, so I expect it to be a fairly simple transaction. It is, until one of the men holds up two credit cards. One is red and one is blue.

Customer: “Pick one.”

Me: “What?”

Customer: “One is mine; one is hers.”

He nods to the woman who I presume is his wife.

Customer: “Pick the one I pay with.”

Me: “Sir… I literally don’t care.”

Customer: “Pick one!”

I glance at the line, hoping he’ll take a hint, but he’s insisting I select the card he uses. In the interest of getting him out of my life, I pick the red card.

Customer: “D***! That one’s mine!”

Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. Next Saturday, I’m considering calling in sick.

I work at customer service doing returns. I’ve encountered a woman multiple times who bought plates online only to have to return them to the store because they were broken in transit.

Me: “Ma’am, can I be perfectly honest here? This is the fifth time I’ve seen you return these plates. I don’t think it is in your best interest to purchase them online again if the delivery people continue to mishandle them.”

Customer: “But I really like the design and the only store that has them in stock is so far away!”

Me: “But have you factored in the gas and mileage you’ve wasted by driving here multiple times? You could just go once and get it out of the way.”

Customer: “No, I’m just going to reorder them again.”

In my head, I said, “See you soon,” and sure enough, I had to return the plates four more times before I think she finally got the hint and just made the drive to purchase them in-store or just went with a different style.

I work in the deli section of a chain of gas stores. We make anything from hotdogs and sandwiches to pizza and Stromboli. I’m a few weeks into doing deli work, so I am still kind of slow trying to learn everything and often unsure of my abilities.

While I’m working alone on a particularly slow Sunday afternoon, a guy in his late twenties comes to me for something on the go.

Me: “Hello, welcome to [Store]. My name’s [My Name]. What can I get for you?”

The guy looks at our menu for a few moments.

Customer: “I’d like a large ham sub.”

Me: “I’m sorry. We only have one size.”

Customer: “Okay, the largest you have.”

I assume he just said that out of habit.

Me: “Okay, what kind of bread?”

Customer: “White.”

Me: “Okay, sure. Lettuce? Tomato? Mayo?”

Customer: “American cheese, lettuce, tomato, and pickles.”

Me: “Sure thing!” 

I start opening the containers for vegetables and cheese he wants and begin slicing the bread in half as he just stands there, seemingly looking at the menu or at me prepping stuff, and not saying anything. 

In general, people want either mustard or mayo on their sandwich/sub and sometimes get rather upset if I mess up. Before assembling the sub, I ask again about the condiment. 

Me: “So, did you want mayo or mustard?”

Customer: *Still with his mind elsewhere* “Yes!”

Me: *Thinking he misunderstood the question* “Sorry, did you want mayo or mustard on your sub?”

Customer: *Answering without any hint of confusion* “Yes!”

Before I can find a better phrasing to confirm that it is one or the other, he walks off and disappears out of sight and shouting distance and leaves me there trying to think on what exactly he wants.

Afraid of screwing it up and/or getting yelled at for not knowing what he really wants, I quickly ask another coworker walking around nearby and stocking stuff on shelves for help.

Coworker: “Don’t worry about it. Just give him both.”

Me: “You sure?”

Coworker: “Yes. He either wants both or is too stupid to stick around and give you a straight answer!”

Taking her advice, I assembled the sub with everything — half mayo, half mustard — wrapped it up, and rang out his order.

The customer came back maybe ten minutes later and grabbed his food with little more than a “Thanks!” before walking out the door.

Apparently, he had been acting in a similarly “out of sorts” manner while at the front register. He didn’t appear to be intoxicated or on drugs and may have just had an off day.

Looking back, I should’ve been a little more assertive and tried harder for a straight answer, but he never came back to complain, so maybe he did want both. It did give us something to laugh about for a while after that, though.

I’m waiting on a well-known problem customer. This family has caused problems in the past and likes to complain to get free stuff. I treat everyone the same until they treat me otherwise, so this visit starts out well with me laughing and joking around with them. I check on them periodically throughout their meal, and there are no complaints.

When it comes time to pay, one customer shoves his to-go box at me and starts screaming.

Customer: “I’m not paying for steak that’s like shoe leather!”

Keep in mind that he has no teeth and can barely handle his macaroni and cheese. He is yelling to the extent that others in the restaurant have stopped what they’re doing to look our way. I take a step back.

Me: *Very calmly* “Sir, first of all, if you continue speaking to me that way, I will no longer wait on you.”

Customer: “Oh, really?”

Me: “Yes, sir. Second of all, you will use manners when you speak to me. I expect to hear you say please and thank you.”

I could see other tables stifling laughter at this point. He did calm down and converse nicely after this, so I ended up taking the steak off his bill and ringing up his sides and drink a la carte, which ended up costing about the same amount as the meal in the first place.

I received some very nice tips from the tables around us, some of which weren’t even my tables!