I work for a popular coffee chain, and, like most food service establishments, we have a strict policy against non-service pets in the store. State laws allow us to ask if it is a service animal, but it is illegal to ask for documentation; if they say yes, we must take them at their word. 

A man is standing in line with a small dog in his arms.

Me: “Excuse me, sir, but is that a service animal?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “I am sorry, sir, but we don’t permit animals in our store unless they are service animals.”

Customer: “But what about [treat we give for free to dogs]?”

Me: “Sir, we are happy to give you one of those for your dog, but someone needs to wait outside with the animal.”

He walks away, looking confused, and returns almost immediately, still holding the dog.

Customer: “You’re breaking the law!”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “You’re breaking the law! You can’t ask someone if their pet is a service animal!”

Me: “Yes, I can, sir. As I said, that is our policy and it is my job to enforce it.”

Customer: *Getting more irate* “No, you are breaking the law!”

Me: “I only know what I am told, sir. I am not breaking any law.”

Customer: “Yes, you are!”

This whole time, one of our regulars is standing nearby waiting for his coffee. He is one of my favorite customers; he is a very kind, friendly man, and he also happens to be very large and fit. He finally turns exasperatedly toward the irate customer.

Regular: “No, she is not. I know the laws, and she is not breaking them. You are wrong!”

The customer held his tiny dog a little closer, muttered something, and then walked away. My regular got his coffee for free on his next visit!

Related:
Doing A Disservice To Service Animals, Part 7
Doing A Disservice To Service Animals, Part 6
Doing A Disservice To Service Animals, Part 5
Doing A Disservice To Service Animals, Part 4
Doing A Disservice To Service Animals, Part 3

I care for three small children; the eldest is a three-year-old boy. One day, I take them for a walk around a local park, and the eldest becomes fascinated by the people fishing along the river for the opening weekend of the fishing season. As he asks excited questions, some of the fishers turn to answer him and let him see their catches and do things like hold their nets.

As we continue, the eldest asks if we can go fishing, too, and I tell him he can only pretend to fish today. To go fishing for real, he needs to talk to his parents and they will have to get a bunch of stuff.

Boy: “Like what?”

Me: “Oh, a fishing pole and hook, you’ll need bait, and you’ll have to get a fishing license…”

A man on the shore screams a curse, turns, and charges at us.

Man: “That’s bulls***! Don’t listen to that. Why would you need permission? Fishing licenses are just bureaucratic bulls***. Why the h*** do you think you need to get anyone’s permission to go out in the world? Do you really believe all that?”

The rant continues, but at no point is it directed at me; he is screaming at the three-year-old. The kid is startled and tries to hide behind me, but the man rounds me and tries to get closer, spitting without a mask.

Me: “Okay… I was just talking to him. We are on a walk. Could you back up?”

The man ignores me, still getting closer, yelling at the preschooler about government overstepping and his personal viewpoints.

Man: “There’s no one who can take my right to take fish from where God put them for me. They don’t need to track my name! They don’t own me; they don’t own you!”

There was definitely something unhinged about him, and as he got angrier and louder, he was scaring all three children, and the babies started to cry. I scooped up the boy and started pushing the stroller with the other children away, telling the man to please leave us alone. It was slow going between carrying the squirming kid one-handed and pushing the double stroller.

It’s at this moment that one of the oldest fishermen suddenly appeared beside me, whispered that he was a retired policeman, and asked if he could take over pushing the stroller. At the same time, two other fishermen stepped between the yelling man and us. They were trying to distract or placate him, but he was literally yelling over them at us.

Thankfully, with the help of the retired policeman, we got some space between us, but I now found myself on the far side of the river from my car. The policeman told me he wasn’t comfortable allowing me back toward the yelling man, as he was obviously unwell and had a holstered weapon. Instead, I took the kids and hid inside a locked public restroom until he gave me the all-clear.

Apparently, the cops were called to diffuse the situation, and they ultimately got the yelling man to leave because, unsurprisingly, he was fishing without a license. Still, I got an escort back to my car, and the policeman pointed out that it was a man-made river that was stocked with fish… by the government.

I am ringing up a woman in her mid- to late forties.

Me: “Do you have any coupons or gift cards?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “Your total is [total].”

She pulls a huge bundle of coupons out of her purse and tries to hand them to me.

Me: “Sorry, I cannot accept your coupons as I’ve already totaled the sale. You’ll need to take your receipt and the coupons to the front-end office and they’ll give you the total value of your coupons in cash.”

Customer: *Screaming* “You’re only doing this because I’m black! You’re racist! My brother is the chief of police and I’m going to get you fired!

I say nothing as she rants, having the attention of the entire front of the store. When she’s finished, I look her straight in the eye.

Me: “I am not a racist. I believe that a**holes come in every color.”

I look over to my manager in the office and just know that I’m going to be fired. The lady is flabbergasted. She loads her bags into her shopping cart, pays me, grabs the change and receipt out of my hand, and charges over to the front office.

My manager asks me to follow him to the management office. I’m prepared to be fired and my heart is beating at an unhealthy rate. We enter the office, and he closes the door and begins to laugh.

Manager: “I need to write you up, but that was the funniest response to an irrational customer!”

I work at a popular bakery and café on the register. My coworker is male but has an androgynous face and voice.

Me: *To the customer* “Can I help you, sir?”

The customer gestures to my coworker, who is bagging bagels.

Customer: “Oh, thank you, but this young lady beat you to it.”

Hoping my coworker didn’t hear that, I lean in closer to the customer.

Me: *Whispering* “He’s a boy.”

The customer is immediately flustered, especially when my coworker hands him his bagels with the most deadpan expression I’ve ever seen.

Customer: “Thank you, sir.”

With an emphasis on “sir,” he quickly walked out of the cafe. My coworker started growing a mustache after that.

I work at a multiple-story art museum as a gallery attendant. We do not allow food or drink on the upper floors, just in the lobby. It’s Saturday, the museum’s busiest day of the week, and there’s a baseball game happening down the road later in the day, meaning the museum is extra busy.

I am alone on this particular floor, walking back and forth between the two rooms, which are separated by a small hallway with an elevator. I spy a family: Mom, Dad, and two boys aged maybe thirteen and eight, with a red wagon, right in front of the elevator. The older boy takes a water bottle from the wagon, cracks it open, and takes a sip right in front of me.

I make eye contact with the dad and approach.

Me: “Excuse me. I’m sorry, but if he wants to take a drink right here, that’s fine, but we don’t allow food or drink up here on the floor, so it’ll have to stay put away near the artwork.”

Yes, this is totally against the rules. I should have asked them to take it back down to the lobby for storage, but I decide to try to be nice today.

Dad: “Oh, right, sure.” 

They put the bottle away. Dad maneuvers the wagon and the younger boy to the corner near the elevator. The mom and the older boy go off to explore the floor.

All is well and fine for the next few minutes. What appears to be Grandma and another teenage boy go over to the elevator, where Dad and the younger boy are still in the corner. I overhear Grandma ask what they’re doing.

Dad: *Loud enough that I can hear* “We’re leaving because that b**** told [Older Boy] he couldn’t drink water.”

I keep walking, though I definitely blush in anger. Grandma leaves and reappears shortly with Mom and the older boy, while Dad is still going off with “that b****” comments, obviously loud enough for me to hear as I walk back and forth.

When the family is reunited, Dad is still going off about me. I’m still walking back and forth, just about ready to intervene, when Grandma starts.

Grandma: “Well, [Older Boy] should’ve known better! You’re the ones who snuck it up here! It’s no surprise ‘that b****’ said something if he drank it in front of her!”

The elevator thankfully opened and the family departed. I talked to a coworker later; the family never went to the floor below or any other floor. Dad made the whole family leave because they decided to break the rules and got caught for it.