I am working on reception at a fairly up-market hotel. A female customer comes to check out. She is attractive but looks very tired.

She has been with us for a fortnight and in that time she has never allowed housekeeping into her room. She has requested many new towels, though, leaving the dirty ones outside her door for pick-up.

We have been suspicious about her for a while, thinking she is probably a prostitute. This is against our rules, but the hotel is quite big and people can enter the premises without coming under the nose of reception staff, so it’s hard to catch them out. As long as their customers are discreet and they don’t cause a noise complaint or similar anti-social issue, there’s not much we can do about it.

When I print out the bill, she offers me a wad of cash, many thousands of dollars. We don’t have a credit card imprint, because she checked in with a cash bond, instead. I smile and tell her it will just be a couple of minutes, as we have to check her mini-bar, and dash up to her room.

It is an absolute ruin.

The carpet is dotted with hundreds of burns, where cigarettes have been flicked onto the floor. It’s also stained with food and wine.

The curtains have sweat marks on them. The glass is cracked in the shower. The bed is a wreck, structurally broken at one end and horribly stained across the mattress.

And the whole room stinks of body odour and smoke. It is absolutely overpowering, making me want to retch. We are a non-smoking hotel, and it smells like she was burning tyres in there.

I march back down to reception and let her know we have to repaint the room, replace the carpet and furniture, and charge her for the week it will take to do it. This is a standard charge for room-wreckers, which adds more than $20,000 to her bill.

She pays at once. In cash.

(I’m in the ER with my husband after he broke his arm. A woman and her adult daughter are in the curtain area next to us from what I can gather the older woman had a fall and hit her head and doesn’t remember what happened and lost her hearing aids. The nurse is asking her some general questions.)

Nurse: “Okay just a few questions: what is your full name?”

Older Woman: “[Name].”

Nurse: “Great, and your birthdate?”

Older Woman: “Pardon?”

Daughter: *bit louder* “Your birthday mum”

Older Woman: “Oh it’s [birthdate].”

Nurse: “Who is the prime minister?”

Older Woman: “I’m sorry what?”

Daughter: *louder again* “Who’s the idiot that runs the country?”

Older Woman: “Oh that’s Tony Abbott”

(My husband and I start can’t help but laugh. The nurse had a good chuckle too.)

(I’m working in the technology department of our store one evening when a guy comes in and starts browsing the hard drives.)

Me: “Good evening, sir. Can I help you today?”

Customer: “Yes, I want to buy a hard drive.”

Me: “Okay.”

(I explain about the different sizes and uses for backup or file transport. The customer looks at me with red, bloodshot eyes and nods slowly.)

Customer: “I don’t want one with maggots in it, though.”

Me: “Um. Pardon me?”

Customer: “The maggots. That live inside the middle of the hard drive. I don’t want them.”

Me: “Do you mean the magnets inside?”

Customer: “No, the maggots. They live inside the middle of the hard drive. My friend told me about the maggots that live in there.”

(This conversation continued on for several minutes until I politely excused myself and left him to browse. My tech supervisor laughed for a good ten minutes when I told him later.)

(I work at a petting zoo which has emus. Emus are big and scary-looking, but ours are friendly and enjoy treats. However, they’re occasionally over-eager, and if you hold food on your flat hand, they might accidentally get your skin with a peck. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s uncomfortable. For that reason, I give kids lettuce to give to them, instead of their usual pellet treats, since you don’t have to use your flat hand.)

Boy: “We’re out of lettuce. Can I feed them those?” *points at buckets of pellets nearby*

Me: “Are you sure? We just need to make sure your mum is okay with it. Sometimes they do peck a bit harder than they mean to, so it can pinch.”

(The kid is very eager, and the mum gives us the go-ahead, so I help the kid hold out his treats. Shortly, this happens.)

Boy: “He pinched my hand!” *starts to cry*

Boy’s Mother: “Wow, isn’t that cool?! You got a kiss from the emu!” *to me* “Can I have a treat? I want an emu kiss, too.”

Boy: *suddenly stops being upset* “Wow! I got an emu kiss! Can I feed them again?”

(Great parenting, and unlike with most parents, I didn’t get blamed for the emu pinch that I warned them about!)

(I work in a drive-thru at a fast food store.)

Customer: “I would like a bacon egg burger.”

Me: “Was that a bacon and egg muffin?”

Customer: “Yes, but add tomato and ketchup.”

Me: “Okay, that’s $4.95. Please drive forward.”

(The customer pays, gets his muffin, and then drives away. He comes back through the drive-thru about five minutes later.)

Customer: “Excuse me. I ordered a f****** bacon egg burger, and you gave me this s***.”

Me: “I’m sorry. You ordered a bacon egg muffin with tomato and ketchup. What’s wrong with it?”

Customer: “I just wanted a burger.”

Me: “So, a hamburger with bacon, egg, and tomato?”

Customer: “Yes, just give me my f****** burger.”

Me: “Okay, I’ll get that out to you.”

(He gets his burger and drives away, but he’s soon back in my drive-thru.)

Customer: “How f****** hard is it to make me a f****** burger?”

(I’m tired of his ranting.)

Me: “So, exactly what do you want?”

Customer: “A f****** bacon egg burger.”

Me: “Yes, but what exactly on the burger and what bun?”

Customer: “A normal bun with bacon, egg, burger, tomato, and ketchup.”

Me: “Right, I’ll get that to you.”

(I then go make a quarter-pound burger with no cheese added, bacon, egg, and tomato, with ketchup, worth double his original payment.)

Me: “There you are; just so you know, next time you order just say that you want a quarter po—”

Customer: “I don’t give a f*** what I say; you should know what I want!” *drives away*