The summer after my senior year in high school, I worked collecting shopping carts at a grocery store. I lived on the coast, so it was hot as Hell during the summers. It was one of those “uppity” grocery chains so we had a pretty strict dress code: a white, long-sleeve dress shirt, tucked into khaki dress slacks. But because I worked outside for a good portion of the day, management let me wear khaki shorts and a short-sleeve button-up. All was fine until toward the end of the summer when we got a new general manager who was MUCH stricter on policy than the old one had been.

When I came in for my first shift with the new manager, he called me into his office.

Manager: “There have been some changes. Your uniform is clearly lacking in several areas and I’ll need you to correct it. We’ll need you to go home and change into pants and the provided long-sleeve button-up.”

I thought he had mistaken me for someone who worked inside.

Me: “Actually, sir, I collect carts, so I’m allowed to wear shorts.”

Manager: “Son, I said what I said. Either you adhere to the dress code or you go home.”

Me: “So, I don’t have a choice but to wear pants, in ninety-plus-degree heat, in the height of summer?”

Manager: “That is the policy. And being smart with me is not getting us off on the right foot.”

Me: “All right. Then I’m going home.”

Manager: “Good. Thank you for your understanding.”

I walked out of his office, fully understanding that he expected me to actually come back. But his ultimatum was to either wear pants or not come to work, so I chose the latter. I was going away to college in a couple of weeks, so I chose not to sweat my butt off for six hours a day for $7.25 an hour.

I was at home about an hour later, chilling, and I got a call from my manager. He was furious.

Manager: “Why the h*** are you taking so long? We are swamped and desperately need a cart collector!”

Me: “I’m not coming back.”

Of course, he didn’t take this well.

Manager: “Get back here right now or you’ll be fired!”

Me: “Well, I thought that was the idea.”

He was absolutely dumbfounded. He hadn’t expected me to call his bluff on something he considered to be so inconsequential (because he wasn’t the one outside pushing carts in the heat). He tried to talk me into coming back, but I told him he gave me two options, and I had chosen option two.

I never went back to work. I found out that the cart collectors were only made to wear pants for a few days after that until the new manager relented and let them wear shorts. I never got a call with an apology from him, but I didn’t care. I enjoyed the time off before going to college.

I fully realize that this was an immature and unprofessional thing to do. I know I was fortunate at the time to be a teenager who didn’t have a dire need for a job so I was able to make this move. He was a jerk from the initial approach, and I was in a position to return his fire, so I went for it. I’d never in a million years think of doing something like this at my full-time big-boy job.

When I got my first job, I worked at a wildly popular tourist location in their cafe. Now, being a young eighteen-year-old at their first job, I did everything to a T. Working food service isn’t hard, but the customers never make it easy for you.

On this particular day, it was quite busy and I couldn’t see the end of the line. The kitchen was throwing orders up to the pass, and each cashier’s transaction was probably no more than two minutes, so we were constantly moving. It was required of us to also upsell as much as possible — not that we were rewarded for it or anything, but if the manager didn’t hear us try, we would get talked to.

I had done a bunch of fairly easy orders and customers could see how busy we were, so they were generally quite nice to us… except for this one lady, her husband, and their child who was definitely way too old for a stroller.

This lady came up, ready to order, but she had a question.

Customer: “I just wanted to know what the grilled cheese is? Like what is that?”

In all honesty, I was a little shocked because it’s not like a grilled cheese was like… a food from a different culture? I could understand if it was literally any other food, but a grilled cheese is quite common in North America. This woman was speaking North American English with no accent.

Me: “Um… it’s two pieces of bread with a few slices of cheese in between, and we grill it on a panini press.”

She didn’t really seem to understand the concept.

Customer: “So, it’s like a sandwich?”

Me: “Yeah, they just grill it so that the cheese melts and it’s crispy.”

Customer: “Um, okay. I’ll get one of those, then.”

Me: “Okay, cool. Would you like it with some fries and a drink?”

The lady instantly froze. I repeated the question and she just blinked.

Me: “Did you want fries and a drink, or did you just want the grilled cheese by itself?”

Customer: “I don’t know what that means.”

Me: “Oh, uh… did you want it as a combo? With fries? And a drink?”

At this point, this lady was getting really annoyed, and I really probably should have ended the conversation there, but alas, she went on.

Customer: “I don’t know what that means. I just want a grilled cheese.”

Me: “I was just asking if you also wanted fries and a drink?”

And then she absolutely lost it.

Customer: “I DON’T KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS! THAT’S TOO MANY OPTIONS! I JUST WANT THE GRILLED CHEESE! WHY ARE YOU BEING SO RUDE?!”

Her husband also chimed in and started yelling at me, saying that this was terrible customer service and it was too complicated to understand. I literally just stood there waiting for them to finish. The lady ended up demanding that someone else take their order because I was making it difficult for them.

I pulled someone else to go help and walked into the kitchen and began crying instantly, mostly out of frustration because it was literally not that confusing. I watched through the kitchen doors as the guy helping this lady tried to calm her down, but she was throwing hands like her life depended on it.

To this day, any time I see a grilled cheese, I just get flashbacks.

I work at a pizzeria, so as well as dine-in, we do a lot of takeout and delivery. During the day, I’m the only server doing takeout and tables. I had a guy call in for a pick-up.

Me: “Your total will be [total], and you can pick it up at [time].”

Customer: “Okay. I just tested positive for [health crisis illness]. Can I come in to pick it up?”

NO, absolutely you can’t.

Me: “No, but you can pay over the phone. And then, when you get here, stay in your car, and I’ll put your food on a table outside, and when I get back inside you can retrieve it.”

Customer: “Okay.”

Thirty minutes later, this guy is waving at the front door trying to get my attention, no mask. I just stand and stare. Finally, he calls.

Customer: “Hello, I’m outside.”

Me: “Sir, get back in your car.”

I seriously don’t get what is wrong with people.

I work in a supermarket, and I’m on holiday for two weeks when this story takes place. It’s a small town, and we’re the only supermarket for miles; therefore, we’re inundated with people buying alcohol, with some of it for people under eighteen. In the UK, it’s against the law to knowingly buy alcohol for underage people; at the time this occurred, the assistant making the sale could be fined up to £1,000 and the store could lose its license to sell alcohol.

As always with retail you’re taking it from both sides; the customers and the company. Local police and councilors announced a crackdown on underage drinking (a good thing) by fining the stores. The company decides to boost morale by making the most senior staff member culpable for any mishaps with disciplinary action and possibly the sack.

News of this happens whilst I’m on holiday. My friend, recently promoted to a very senior duty manager (to close down and lock up the store on an evening, when alcohol sales are at their highest) pushes back against the new rule, obviously stating how unfair it is and that there should be training for staff, extra signage to warn customers, etc.

Nothing.

So, he makes signs to put up in the store. Head office doesn’t like it and demands they be taken down.

So, [Friend] demands to change his hours so that’s he’s not responsible.

Nothing.

I get a text on Friday evening from another colleague to say at the start of [Friend]’s shift, he closed the store. No alcohol sales means no chance of being out.

Since those in charge are tucked up in bed, the news doesn’t hit them until Monday morning that the store has closed at 6:00 pm instead of 10:00 pm for three days running.

I arrive back in fresh on Monday morning to hear that [Friend] was summoned up to head office for a meeting — and he took the union representative up with him.

He leaves a few months later, the store gets increased signage warning of underage drinking, and all the staff receive training on asking for ID. Funny that.

I work in a kind of divey bar, and as such, we have a bit of wiggle room with rude customers. I love it that way.

I am serving a table. From what I can gather, it is a woman, her boyfriend, and a friend of the woman’s. I go to take their orders, and the friend orders a bacon cheeseburger with fries (we offer a choice of fries or salad with most items). The girlfriend orders a bacon cheeseburger, too.

Me: “Would you like fries or salad with that?”

Woman: “Fries.”

Cue her boyfriend looking at her and loudly asking:

Man: “Oh, seriously? Are you sure you want fries?”

He then grabs his stomach and starts shaking it at her in a very obnoxious way. Her friend looks absolutely shocked and the woman looks super humiliated. I just ignore it.

Me: “Yep, fries, no problem!”

I look at the boyfriend.

Me: “What do you want?”

I kid you not, he asks for the exact same thing.

Man: “Can I get a bacon cheeseburger with fries?”

Without skipping a beat I grab my belly, shake it at this guy, and say:

Me: “Oh? Fries? Really? Are you sure?”

The two women absolutely die laughing and the guy goes scarlet and starts yelling.

Man: “Oh, no! I didn’t mean it like that!”

I told him I didn’t care, and I walked away. I got a massive tip from that table!