(I take a day off of work to have a routine dental procedure that requires light sedation. My manager gives me the day off, but forgets to take me off of the schedule. I let her know, and she says that she will take care of it. Fast forward to the day of the procedure. Everything goes fine, and I am home. I am still really out of it from the sedation, though, when the phone rings.)

Manager #2: “[My Name], why aren’t you here? You’re on the schedule.”

Me: “Wah? I spoke to Sunny and he said that I was okay.”

Manager #2: “What? Sunny is the bird!”

Me: “Sunny said I could take the day off to see the Tooth Fairy, and when I come back on Monday, we will count all the fish and give the baths.”

Manager #2: “Allll right, then. See you on Monday? I think?”

(When I got back on Monday it turned out that [Manager #2] texted my manager who filled her in on what was going on, and assured her that, no, I was not on drugs.)

(I work as the manager for a very popular pet shop chain. I am just starting my shift and, since I am doing a Marine Biology degree at university, I like to hang around the fish tanks. This exchange happens minutes into my shift.)

Me: “Hi. Do you need any help there?”

Customer: *blank stare*

Me: “Is everything okay?”

Customer: “You poison your fish, don’t you?”

Me: *taken aback* “Ah, no, we take very good care of our tank. I clean them twice a week and make sure that any ill fish are removed from the tan—”

Customer: “Bulls***, I know you do. That is the reason why my fish died!” *holds up a container with a fish in it*

Me: “When did you buy your fish?” *starting to get angry*

Customer: “I bought the f****** thing last week and now it is dead!”

Me: “You need to stop shouting and swearing or I will not serve you.”

Customer: “GET ME YOUR MANAGER RIGHT NOW!”

Me: “With pleasure.”

(I do a 360-degree spin.)

Me: “Hi there. I am the manager; how can I help you?”

Customer: *mutters* “F****** stupid b****.”

Me: “Pardon?”

Customer: “Look. I need a refund on my fish because it died. Can you do that?”

Me: “Of course. Were there any signs of its death at all?”

Customer: “Well, it was moving its gills and mouth a lot, so I thought it was drowning, so I took it out of the tank and left it out to get some air.”

(Pause.)

Me: “I am not able to refund or replace your fish, sorry.”

Customer: “Why the h*** not?”

Me: “Mainly because you didn’t take proper care of your fish. They are meant to stay in the water at all times. They don’t breathe like we do; they do it by sucking up the dissolved oxygen in the water.”

Customer: “Yeah, they can breathe oxygen. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

(The customer throws the container containing the fish across the store and starts trying to square up with me, wanting to fight me.)

Me: “I am currently studying to become a Marine Biologist, so I do believe that I have some knowledge in this matter. I do request that you leave the store before I call security.”

Customer: “THIS PLACE IS TERRIBLE! EVERYONE DROP EVERYTHING AND LEAVE THE STORE! WHO IS WITH ME?!”

(Everyone keeps shopping.)

Customer: “F*** all of you!”

(The customer ran out of the store.)

My three-year-old daughter recently got a betta fish as a first pet, and one afternoon we go to the local pet store to buy a decoration for his tank. She picks out a yellow submarine and proudly walks it to the checkout counter.

As I’m paying, I feel something large and fuzzy bump into me, sending my daughter a few steps back, as well. A massive dog has jumped onto the counter and pulled the submarine down, breaking it. The dog is bigger than my daughter and she begins to cry because she can’t get to me. 

The woman holding the dog gives a token apology while doing little to rein the dog in. I have to move past the dog and pick up my daughter, who is starting to cry. The lady then proceeds to say there’s no reason to worry; her dog is fine — I wasn’t worried about the dog.

She then proceeds to talk to the clerk checking me out, demanding to know if another employee is working, all while he’s still trying to process my payment. 

The clerk discounts the damaged submarine and I head out, clutching my crying daughter, all while the woman with the dog that’s too big for her to control sits there, unsure why everyone is upset. I’ve always liked dogs, but now I know I don’t like dog people!

(I work at a national pet store. Instead of selling cats and dogs, we rent out space to local animal shelters and foster groups. One day, a lady comes in with her son and decides to adopt a kitten.)

Me: “Here’s [Foster Group]’s paperwork. Here’s where you enter your information, and you’ll want to read over this page and leave your initials here.”

Customer: “Wait, what does this part mean?”

Me: *reading* “It looks like part of their contract is that if you decide you can’t keep the cat, you have to return it directly to [Foster Group]. If you choose to dump or abandon the cat at a kill shelter, they’ll hold you liable for $500.”

Customer: “What? No shelter has ever made me sign for something like that!”

Me: “Well, if you’re planning to keep the cat, it’s not something you need to worry about, right?”

Customer: “How would they even know what I’m doing with the cat?”

Me: “I know they send emails to make sure everyone is doing okay, but I’m not sure how they’d be able to prove you abandoned the cat. Do you want their phone number? It’s their paperwork, not ours, so maybe they’d be able to explain it better.”

Customer: “I don’t like this. I’m going to have my lawyer friend look over this contract. This is ridiculous.”

Me: “Okay, but if you can’t fill out the paperwork now, you won’t be able to take the kitten home today. All the cats belong to [Foster Group]. They wrote the contract, not us, so we have to follow their rules. Are you sure you don’t want me to call them? I have their phone number right here.”

Customer: “No, I’m just going to go home and talk to my lawyer friend.”

Me: “Okay. Here’s a pamphlet with [Foster Group]’s phone number in case you want to talk to them.”

Customer: “Thank you. What did you say they were called?”

Me: “[Foster Group]. They have a website, too, if you want to look them up.”

(The lady stormed out with her disappointed son, who never said a word through the whole exchange. Later, I found out from the managers that we got a nasty complaint from the woman saying that our contracts were “weirdly worded,” even though I repeatedly told her that neither the cats nor the contracts were ours! I still don’t understand why she didn’t want to be held liable for dumping the cat. Why did she want to spend $100 to adopt it if she didn’t plan to keep it?)

Customer: “Are your fish over there?” *pointing to the dog toy aisle*

Me: “No, sir. The fish are under the giant sign that says fish… where the huge wall of fish is.”