Our family operates a bakery, but my husband also repairs iPhones, etc., on the side.

A big SUV pulls up in front of the shop and out gets this not-so-petite girl with all kinds of rhinestones, shocking pink and leopard print, skin-tight leggings instead of pants, the whole nine yards. She trots into the store.

Customer: “Someone tol’ me that some man here does cell phones.”

Me: “Yes, my husband repairs broken glass and stuff like that, depending on the type of phone.”

Customer: “Do you have any pictures of his work?”

Me: “Not really, since it’s just a matter of changing the glass or the case.”

Customer: “No, no, I want him to fix my phone but I want to see his work.”

Me: “There are no photos to show. He just changes the glass or the case and it’s done; nothing worth taking pictures of.”

Customer: “No, I want him to pimp my phone. You know… with rhinestones and bling and s*** like that.”

Me: “Sorry, he doesn’t pimp phones with diamonds like that; he just fixes broken glass.”

Customer: “D***, I want to pimp my phone.”

Me: “Sorry, no pimping here!”

You don’t want a fifty-year-old white man pimping your phone!

I am the cashier in the gas station. A customer comes in to pre-authorize a pump.

Me: “Hello, how can I help you?”

Customer: “I want to put $90 of regular gas in pump eight and buy two of the windshield washer fluid.”

Me: “That will be $99.65, then.”

He passes me his company card and it is denied.

Customer: “Can you put the windshield washer fluid as gas?”

Me: “I don’t understand what you mean.”

I want him to repeat to be sure I have not misheard him.

Customer: “Can you charge me $9.65 extra as gas, and I will take the two bottles?”

He wants me to charge the price for the windshield washer fluid as gas.

Me: “I cannot do that.”

Customer: “Okay, remove the windshield washer fluid; I will just take gas, then.”

I don’t know if he realised he had asked me to help him fraud his company, or if he knew it and had tried his luck.

I’m the customer in this one.

My girlfriend and I notice a new Mexican restaurant that is not opened yet. As we are fans of this kind of food, we make a point to go there once it opens. Since we are in our car passing in front of the restaurant, we don’t see the opening date.

Two weeks later…

We’re near the restaurant, looking for a place to get some food and we notice the restaurant is full of people eating. We go in, order our things, and we go to the till to pay for our things. The guy that served us just tells us it’s on the house.

We find it weird. Weird enough to make us start noticing “small” details we hadn’t noticed before.

There are a lot of people that have no food in their hands that have been talking to each other since before we entered the restaurant, and there are an unusual number of employees to man the restaurant — I’d say twice too many. On one of the tables there is a small projector pointing to a white wall.

Little did we know, the restaurant has not really opened; this is a VIP pre-opening. We manage to get out of there just before they ask everyone to sit for a speech by the restaurant owner.

The embarrassment we’ve just avoided is huge. My girlfriend is too embarrassed to go there anymore.

I still don’t get why the doors were not closed or why there wasn’t anyone checking the door, though.

There wasn’t a big sign or whatever to warn us.

(I work for a company that produces, among other software, a word processor. A customer calls in, sounding frantic.)

Me: “Thank you for calling [Software Company] technical support. My name is [My Name]. Can I have your case number?”

(The customer is very stressed and barely restraining himself.)

Customer: “SRX…”

(I check that I have the right customer.)

Me: “I’ll be happy to help you. What is the issue?”

Customer: “My word processor is not loading up, and I have to give this report to my boss in ten minutes! I demand that you repair your f****** software before that!”

Me: “Sir, I cannot promise any time frame but I will certainly work as fast–”

Customer: “NO! I NEED THIS FIXED IN NOW NINE MINUTES!”

(I stand my ground, as I’m going to be fired if I commit to a specific time frame. After two more minutes of pointless arguing…)

Me: “ABRACADABRA HOCUS POCUS SHAZAM!”

Customer: “What the f***?”

Me: “Is it fixed?”

Customer: “You think you’re funny? Of course not!”

Me: “Sir, I tried the magic way and it doesn’t seem to work. How about you let me work at it as fast as I can?”

Customer: “FINE!”

(Two minutes later, the problem was fixed and he was happily printing.)

(I work in customer service in a furniture store. While most of our items on display are the size of the actual product, our display beds are scaled down so they don’t take up too much space and have the actual size printed very clearly on the signs and on the boxes they come in. A woman walks up to the counter and wants to return a bunk bed.)

Woman: I would like to return this.

Me: Okay, and what is the reason you are returning it?

Woman: It’s not the right size.

Me: Um..I’ve never had this happen before. Do you mind if I check? It might take a while.

Woman: No, that’s fine.

(I put the bunk bed together and measure it. It is the correct size.)

Me: I’m certain it’s the correct size. They’re children’s bunk beds, were you looking for something larger?

Woman: No I wanted one like that (she points to the waist high, 2.5′ long display model with wooden barriers on both bunks). I have just adopted newborn twins and I thought that bunk crib looked cute but when I put it together at home it was huge.

Me: That’s not a crib. It is a children’s bunk bed set and it’s best for children who are 2-6 years old.

Woman: Can I buy the one you have over there?

Me: (concerned) No, That’s a display model and it’s not meant to be slept in.

Woman: Can I speak to your manager.

Me: Sure, but he will tell you the same thing.

(She asked the manager to sell her the display model without specifying what she was going to use it for and, surprisingly, he sold it to her. She came back the next day to return the display model and complained that her crib mattresses didn’t fit.)