I was a teenager and a pretty creative weirdo. My family was poor, yet we had enough food to feed us all — not always what we wanted but enough — and of course, any guests would be filled, too. 

One night, I decided the mashed potatoes were boring, so I grabbed the food coloring and managed to sneak over my father’s shoulder as he prepared it to let a couple of drops fall in. I thought he would be annoyed by me playing with food, but he found it hilarious and there we were, laughing like crazy, dyeing the mashed potatoes blue. 

Unbeknownst to us, my brother had invited a friend over for dinner. When the guy saw the blue mashed potatoes, he was so shocked it was as if we’d popped a dragon head on the table.

Despite thinking I was super funny with my dye, I took pity on him.

Me: “Don’t worry. Those are very ordinary mashed potatoes. It’s just cake dye.

But he never got over it. He ate his salad, barely touched the meatloaf, and kept making disdainful faces over the potatoes, which would trigger a round of “it’s just dye” again. After a painfully long dinner, the guy scurried away with my brother and didn’t show his face again until he left. 

My brother came back to us once his friend was gone and started to lecture us.

Brother: “How dare you serve this joke to my friend?! I’m always welcomed with filet mignon and lobsters when I have meals with his family!”

And on and on he went.

Father: “[Brother], we aren’t financially equal and there’s no way we could afford this cost of a meal like that.” 

Me: “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were having a guest. It was bad timing to play around, but ultimately, the dye was tasteless and harmless. In fact, there’s even a type of potato that is blue purely from nature! I think your friend was being a little close-minded to stop at the color, despite the very normal taste.”

It turned out that the real offender was the meatloaf, and the dyed potatoes were just adding insult to injury. To my brother’s friend, to be given anything other than expensive steaks or other delicacies was unbelievable. 

My parents were furious and hurt, rightfully. They always pride themselves on being good hosts, not letting anyone be thirsty or hungry, and feeding them fairly good and nutritious food. Menus would be set with guests beforehand, normally, but what can you do on no notice?

Since what we provided was not good enough, that friend never stayed over again for meals.

I’ve just put in my order at the tills for a soup and sandwich to go, and they directed me to the other end of the counter where orders are picked up. I’m waiting fairly close to the counter but not standing right in front of it. The customer behind me looks at me, walks past me, and stands directly in front of the counter. The customer is an older man and all of the employees have East Asian accents.

Employee: *In accented English* “The soup was to go?”

I raise my hand and step closer.

Me: “Ye—”

The other customer butts in impatiently in French.

Customer: “Yes, cinnamon raisin!”

The employee, probably just hearing the “yes,” goes back to fill up the order. I come over and peer over the counter and see that she is filling up a bowl with my soup, but I actually wanted it to go. I try to call to her across the counter, but she is all the way on the other end and I don’t want to disturb everyone in the area.

Me: *To the other customer, in French* “Didn’t she ask if the soup was to go?”

Customer: *Indignantly, in French* “I don’t know! Mine is a cinnamon raisin bagel!”

The customer huffed and puffed impatiently and didn’t apologize, and when the poor employee came to the counter with my order on a plate I told her that it was my order and it was actually to go. She gave a side glance at the other customer, who was red and huffing, and kindly went to correct my order.

I don’t know if this guy couldn’t understand the language, the accent, or the question, but would it kill you to wait your turn in line and pay attention to what people are asking you?

Related:
No Soup For You!, Part 2
No Soup For You!

I have a landline phone which came with my apartment. I exclusively use my cellphone for all business, so all calls on the landline are scams.

I answer the phone one day.

Me: “Hello.”

Scammer #1: “Hi, I am [Scammer #1] from Microsoft and I am calling about your computer.”

I’m pretty sure his name is fake. I try to suppress my glee at this scam as they are my favorite to mess with.

Me: “Oh, dear, what is wrong?”

Scammer #1: “We are receiving signals from your computer about [some made-up issue that I don’t care to remember].”

Me: “Oh, give me a second to log into my PC. It will take me a second.”

He’s probably thinking he has an easy mark. 

Scammer #1: “Sure, take your time.”

I mute my phone, log in to YouTube, and open my anti-scammer video. Then, I unmute the phone. As the scammer waits, I play a video of dial-up modem sounds.

Normally, that is where the story ends, but you probably noticed the “#1” in the scammer’s name.

The next day, the phone rings again.

Me: “Hello.”

This scammer has a different voice but gives the same name.

Scammer #2: “Hi, this is [Scammer #2] calling from Microsoft.”

Me: “Really, we are doing this again? I would have thought that after what I did yesterday I would be on your do-not-call list.” *Hangs up*

Let’s see if they call back tomorrow.

A woman comes into our shop, walking directly toward the counter where I am working. She puts a purse she visibly bought from us on the counter.

Customer: “Hi, I’d like to get a refund for this purse.”

Me: “Hello! I’m really sorry, but according to store policy, we don’t give out refunds.”

Customer: “What do you mean by that?”

Me: “It means that, unfortunately, you can only get store credit for the item or just exchange it for something of equal value. Store credit doesn’t expire, so if you don’t want anything else, it is probably the safest choice!”

Customer: “But I don’t want store credit or another item, I just want my money back. I’m from Europe and I won’t be coming back to your store ever again. This is ridiculous; no one told me about this.”

Me: “We have a sign right here on the counter and it is printed on every receipt we give out to customers.”

Customer: “Well, anyway, I don’t want anything from this store so you are going to give me my money back right now; just find a way. And be quick. I don’t have all day.”

I went to the back of the store to ask the owner what to do. She told me to process a refund just to get the customer out of the store.

I went back to the front to tell that woman about the good news. She didn’t have the receipt and didn’t remember when she’d gotten it, so it was a pain to retrieve it from the system, and when I finally found it, she didn’t even have the proper card to get the refund on, since it was her husband who bought the item in the first place.

Every time I asked for anything, she would just throw a fit and be rude to me, so I ended up having to get her the refund anyway. She stormed off without even a thank-you or a goodbye.

Related:
Refunder Blunder, Part 50
Refunder Blunder, Part 49
Refunder Blunder, Part 48
Refunder Blunder, Part 47
Refunder Blunder, Part 46

I own a small shop in a very touristic area. As a courtesy, we will accept American money, but we give back change in Canadian money. It’s our legal currency before all, and it’s so rare that we get American money that it isn’t worth keeping a full set of change for it. Most tourists (from anywhere) will opt to use credit cards, which we accept, too.

I’m working in the back when I hear screaming coming from the front, so I go to see what’s the matter.

A lady is having a full temper-tantrum because she’s getting Canadian money back for her very precious and expensive — her words — American money. She’s contesting our exchange rate. We are not a bank, and the exchange rate changes every day, so we round it up every week or so. She keeps calling us thieves, crooks, and whatnot. Then, she starts calling our currency “monopoly money” and worthless.

She rejects paying by card, claiming we’ll clone it or something. All of this is under the eyes of a mortified but silent husband. At this point, I’m done with her; I’d rather lose a sale and have her out of here.

Me: “Okay, it seems we won’t reach a satisfactory solution here, so keep your money, we keep our goods, and have a nice day.”

I gesture to the door.

Customer: “What? No, I want those things and I can afford them! I’m not poor!”

Me: “No, we are done here. Please leave.”

Customer: “No! I’m not leaving without my things!”

Me: “Yes, you are. Bye.”

I open the door to incite them to leave.

Customer: “No! No! NOOO!”

She flails about and knocks down a nearby display, breaking multiple items.

Customer: “I want my stuff! You can’t make me leave! You can’t!“

Me: “Okay, now you can stay to pay for those.”

Customer: “I ain’t paying for any broken crap!”

Me: “You break, you pay.”

Customer: “No, I want my stuff!”

She points to what she selected first; it’s still on the counter. I have had enough. I gesture to my employee to keep her busy for a few minutes while I go call the police. Thankfully, the station is only a few streets away and they make it while she’s still here.

Two officers walk in and ask what’s going on. Before I can reply, the lady butts in.

Customer: “Arrest them both, right now! They are thieves, trying to force me from my precious and expensive American money! I’m not buying anything and they won’t let me leave without giving all my precious and expensive American money to them!”

One of the officers tries to talk her down into a calmer attitude, taking her to one side. The other starts asking my cashier and me for our version. I retell him everything and show the pile of broken items with the emptied display right beside him. I also offer to go watch the security camera in the back with him. He accepts, and when we come back, both officers exchange a little chat.

Officer: “So, what do you want to do?”

Me: “I would just like her to pay for the destroyed items and leave.”

Customer: “I didn’t break anything! It’s them! They broke it all and they are trying to pin it on me to rob me of my precious and expensive American money!”

Officer: “We watched the security camera; we clearly can see you throwing that display down. We suggest you pay for the broken items, or we will have to arrest you for destruction of merchandise.”

She looks concerned and says she’ll agree to pay, to everyone’s relief. My cashier scans all the boxes of the broken stuff.

Cashier: “Okay, it’s [total], please.”

Customer: “Okay, here.”

My cashier extended her hand, but the lady didn’t put the expected money or card in it. She instead spit in her hand!

She was handcuffed and arrested for assault on my cashier and destruction of merchandise. As she was dragged out to the police car, the husband, who had watched everything from a distance, offered to pay for the broken items, so the destruction of merchandise charge was dropped.

He could not talk off the assault charge.

In the end, they went away after the officers took all our depositions, and I gave a copy of the camera footage. I also gave my poor cashier the rest of the day off.

Related:
Loonie Over A Toonie, Part 6
Loonie Over A Toonie, Part 5
Loonie Over A Toonie, Part 4
Loonie Over A Toonie, Part 3