(I work in a grocery store in a small town. We have an older regular customer who always comes in and stays until closing, always with a large order and several special requests. I get off early and run into her while shopping, waiting for a ride from a coworker.)

Me: “Hey, [Regular]! How are you tonight?”

Regular Customer: “Hi, [My Name]. I’m pretty good. Do you remember those danishes I got last time? They were so good! I wonder if I have time to find them. Probably not.”

Me: “I can go look for them for you. I have time.”

(I go and find them, and then find the customer again.)

Me: “Here they are!”

Regular Customer: “Oh, good!”

(I continue to shop with her, helping her reach things off shelves and find things in the store. I agree to help her to her car when she’s done. I then split off to buy my own stuff, and I go back to the register she is at to see if she or my coworker would like any more help.)

Coworker: “Everything is on the same order, right?”

Regular Customer: “Yes, but this first part has to be separate. It goes somewhere else.”

(My coworker starts on her order, making sure to keep everything separate. I go to get a second cart and start loading the first part of her order.)

Coworker: “How many cokes do you have?”

Regular Customer: “Eight.”

(We count the cases of pop. She has seven.) 

Me: “You only have seven. This week’s coupon is four for $12. You want me to get another? They’re right in front of the check-stand.”

Regular Customer: “I have eight.” 

(We count again and we get seven again.)

Coworker: “No, you only have seven.”

Regular Customer: “That gal lied to me. [My Name], can you get me another, please? You know which one I want.”

(I get the extra Coke for her. By this point, the store has been closed for fifteen minutes and my coworkers should have clocked off by now. I notice the coworker giving me a ride is almost done.) 

Me: *to my coworker* “You can wait out back for me. I’m gonna help [Regular].”

Regular Customer: “[My Name], do you have a ride?”

Me: “Oh, [Coworker] is giving me a ride.”

Regular Customer: “Don’t you live far? I don’t want you walking. I can give you a ride.”

Me: “No, but thank you. I’m getting a ride from [Coworker].”

Regular Customer: “Are you sure? I don’t want you walking.”

Me: “No, I’m okay. But thank you.”

(My coworker helping her finishes her order. The customer doesn’t understand that she only has one order, thinking she has three, instead. She then writes three separate checks rather than one. I gather her last few things when my manager gives me the keys to the front door. By this point, the store has been closed for 25 minutes and everyone is ready to go home.)

Manager: *quietly so the customer can’t hear* “Get her out of here and lock the door when you’re done.”

(I help the customer to her car. She can’t find her keys, when they’re in her hand, and she has very specific instructions on where everything needs to go. She even counts the cases of pop again.)

Regular Customer: “I have eight. I thought I had nine.”

Me: “No. The coupon was four for $12, so you got eight. Any more would have been regular price. Remember? You had seven, so I got you another to equal eight.” 

Regular Customer: “I thought I had nine. Oh, well. I hope they charged me right.”

(It is now almost forty minutes after the store has closed and my manager comes out to get the keys from me.)

Manager: “Sorry, [My Name], but I have to lock the doors before I clock off. You’ll have to walk around the building.”

Me: “That’s okay. I’m almost done. Have a good night.”

(I finish loading the customer’s car. She insists on giving me two of the danishes she bought and a pack of chips. We normally don’t accept things like this while working, but I decide that since the customer is a regular and I’m helping her as a friend, not an employee, I can take them.) 

Regular Customer: *for what feels like the hundredth time* “[My Name], do you have a ride home?”

Me: “Yes. [Coworker] is around back. I’m gonna walk back there to meet her.”

Regular Customer: “Let me give you a ride.”

Me: “I’m fine.”

Regular Customer: “No, get in. I don’t want you out by the creeps.”

(I give in. She then insists on waiting until I get into my coworker’s car before leaving.)

Coworker: “God! That woman drives me nuts!”

Me: “Want a Danish from her?”

(I work at a call center doing tech support for a big company.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Company] support. My name is [My Name]. How may I help you today?”

Customer: “Yeah… my phone’s locked.”

Me: “I’d be more than happy to assist you with that. Now, when you say, ‘locked,’ what do you mean?”

Customer: “It’s just locked.”

Me: “There are different kinds of locks that can happen on your phone and each lock has a different way to fix it. What does the screen say?”

Customer: “It’s locked. What don’t you get?”

Me: *still trying to maintain my customer service voice* “Sir, what does the screen say?”

Customer: “It says it’s disabled.”

Me: “Okay! And is there a timer, or does it just say its disabled?”

Customer: “It just says it’s disabled and to connect to [Company Media Player].”

(I explain to the customer how he ended up in the predicament.)

Me: “It seems the only way to get your phone working again is to connect to [Company Media Player] and restore the phone to factory settings.”

Customer: “What?! Are you f****** kidding me? Don’t you all have some button you can push to fix this?”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir. We don’t have that ability. The only way to fix it is as I described.”

Customer: “But won’t I lose everything if I set it back to default?”

Me: “Do you know if your phone has been backing up to the cloud wirelessly?”

Customer: “That thing where the government and random people can see all my s***? H*** no!”

Me: “Then, yes, there is a very real possibility of data loss here.”

Customer: “F*** you. I’m just going to get a new phone and have them import everything over.”

Me: “That’s always an option if that’s what you want to do, but I do advise that you won’t be able to transport your data over because your device is disabled.”

(We went back and forth like this for a few minutes more before the customer became belligerent and I warned him twice before disconnecting the call. I logged everything that happened in the case notes and advised if the customer calls back to get him to a supervisor. I checked back on the case before the end of my shift and the customer did indeed call back. The advisor who got him next wrote in their notes that he was calling to get a refund on a phone he bought because he wasn’t able to transfer over data and his carrier said they couldn’t help. They also noted that when they tried to get him to a supervisor for assistance he became very angry and disconnected the call himself.)

(I have gotten a ticket for supposedly not coming to a full stop before making a turn. Instead of paying the fine, I decide to go to traffic court to see if I can get it reduced by explaining what happened. While sitting in the gallery waiting for the judge to handle other cases, I can see that he is pretty strict and I start wondering if I’ve made a wise choice by going to court. I really become concerned when the next person, a young man around my age, is called by the court clerk and his charge is read.)

Judge: “You stupid little [expletive]! Didn’t I tell you what would happen if you appeared in my courtroom again?”  

(The judge carries on like this for a few more minutes while the young man stands there looking miserable. I can see that the judge is getting madder and madder. The young man apparently has a poor driving record and has been in this same courtroom several times before. Finally, the judge tells him that his license is suspended and to get the h*** out of his courtroom. While this is going on, I keep thinking, “Please, don’t let me be the next one called!” And, of course, I am the next one called. The clerk then reads the charge.)

Judge: “How do you plead?”

Me: “Technically guilty, I guess, Your Honor.”

Judge: “Hmm, how long have you been driving?”

Me: “About eight years.”

Judge: “Have you had any other tickets?”

Me: “No, Your Honor.”

Judge: “Well, that’s a very fine record, young man. Dismissed!”

(I am 17, working as a temporary receptionist for a company where my dad also works. It is my first real job and I am pretty nervous. One of my first calls comes from a client who asks for my dad, but he is currently in a meeting. When I tell the client this, he starts talking about what a great guy my dad is, how smart he is, etc., all the while not knowing that we are related. It is pretty harmless, until…)

Client: “I bet you have a huge crush on him.”

Me: “Well, actual—”

Client: *cutting me off* “Come on, he’s a handsome guy! I’m sure all the girls over there think he’s a cutie.”  

Me: “No, he—”

Client: *cutting me off again* “Oh, it’s okay. You can tell me! I won’t tell anyone.”

Me: *uncomfortably chuckling*

Client: “See! I knew it! You have the hots for him. Ooh, I’m going to tell him!”

Me: “No, you see—”

Client: “You don’t have to be shy! I’m sure he’d be flattered.”

Me: *finally losing patience* “Well, actually, I’m pretty sure I don’t have a crush on my own father.”

Client: “Your father? Whoa! You’re [My Dad]’s daughter?”

Me: “Yes.”

Client: *huffily* “Well, that’s no fun.”

(I offered to transfer him to my dad’s voicemail, which he accepted, but not without letting me know once again that I had ruined his “fun” game.)

(I’m on a bus. The driver is a substitute and does not normally drive this route, and as such has made several wrong turns, etc. All three passengers, including me, have just laughed it off and tried to help her get back on track. We’ve reached the end of the line, where all three of us happen to be getting off.)

Driver: “Sorry about that. Thanks for being patient with me.”

Passenger #1: “No big deal. We got here in the end, and we’re only a few minutes late.”

Passenger #2: “Honestly, I’m not in a hurry. It was actually kind of amusing.”

Driver: “Well, at least you didn’t yell at me.”

Me: *yelling* “YOU ARE AN AWESOME BUS DRIVER!”

Related:
Hail To The Bus Driver, Part 7
Hail To The Bus Driver, Part 6
Hail To The Bus Driver, Part 5