Years and years ago, I worked retail as a minor. This was the 1980s, so in some non-corporate businesses, you could get away with this. I looked more grown-up than most kids my age, probably because I dressed more adultly than was usual for a dinky little gift shop.

Customer: “You have to give me a discount! I know the owner! He always gives me 50% off of everything!”

Me: “Lady, I really doubt that.”

Customer: “I know the owner! I’ll get you fired if you don’t give me the discount!”

Me: “Oh, would you, please?! Please get me fired.”

Customer: “What?”

Me: “He’s a slave driver! He doesn’t even pay me! I want to be fired!”

Customer: “W-what?”

Me: “The owner is my dad. Now get out. He would never give anyone a 50% discount because we’d be losing money.”

She went all red with embarrassment and rushed out without buying anything. I had to put back everything she had brought to the counter, but it was worth it just to yell at someone. I was the only one in the shop that day since I was covering for my dad, so I knew I wouldn’t get in trouble. And it’s true I wasn’t being “paid,” but my parents paid for my college so that I didn’t have any student loans, so I guess that was fair compensation.

I work at a busy Japanese restaurant, and my coworker had an encounter with a table full of entitled customers consisting of an older woman and a bunch of middle-aged to young women.

It was relatively lively and I was busy handling orders in the kitchen while the hall staff were running around like headless chickens trying to take everyone’s order. My coworker started to take the table’s order. They listed off twenty or so items.

Coworker: “All right, give me a second while I input all this.”

Older Customer: “No, do it now.”

Soon after receiving their order, they complain that the lotus chips the older customer received were overcooked. Our lotus chips typically are fried to all h*** to remove the sweetness and moisture. taste pretty good and are by no means overcooked. But whatever, they give them another batch of chips that were cooked the exact same way, and they don’t complain about it again.

Once some empty dishes have piled up on their table, my coworker comes by with a tray to collect it. As he pulls up to the table, he’s holding the tray in one hand with a lax wrist and is by no means ready to carry anything. Before he can properly support it so that he can grab things, two of the younger women dump their beer glasses on the tray. The tray is at an angle and isn’t supported so my coworker has to quickly scramble to make sure they don’t fall.

Things start to slow down, so one of my managers takes her break. She is relaxing on her phone when the older customer storms over.

Older Customer: “Why are you resting? Get me a fork!”

Since my coworkers are mostly Japanese where the customer is always king, and despite living in a society where you can tell these people to f*** off, we had to leave them be and remain polite. There is a limit on dining time, so the second it was up, they told them to leave. They got up to pay… and then sat back down.

They were asked to leave three more times to make way for more customers. They didn’t leave at all. Then, when it suited them, they finally left. When a customer leaves, we bang on a small drum and say thank you. Needless to say, they didn’t get this treatment!

I’m a cashier at a big chain retailer. I have a rare muscular disability, so I have a stool (that I purchased) that I use while I’m working. While I can walk short distances and stand for short periods of time, I have a lot pain if I do it for a while. I have a wheelchair, but I typically don’t use it at work since I don’t walk too much at my lane, and the stool is a lot less bulky. I also typically work a small, belted self-checkout lane.

I’m working at my typical self-checkout lane when a woman comes to check out with a mountain of groceries. I greet her warmly and with a smile.

Me: “Hello, how are you?”

Customer: “I’d be better if this store wasn’t so f****** confusing. I couldn’t even find the gift cards! What kind of a store doesn’t have gift cards?”

There is a gift card stand right next to my checkout.

Me: “I have a stand right over here if you’d like one?”

The woman responds while looking at her phone.

Customer: “Good, get me two $10 [Fast Food Restaurant] cards. And hurry. I’m sooo tired of standing.”

I know that I can walk that far without a problem.

Me: “Of course, just a moment.”

I walk over to the stand, grab the gift cards, and come back to see the woman putting my stool off to the side and sitting on it.

Customer: “Good, you’re back. Ring up my stuff and tell me when you’re done. I need to call my mother.”

I start to die on the inside because it’s a self-checkout, but I don’t want to be yelled at any further.

Me: “Ma’am, I’d be happy to help you scan your items, but I need my stool in order to do that.”

She looks at me and huffs.

Customer: “Excuse me? I’m a paying customer! I’m tired and I want to sit! Now do as I say, or I will get you fired!”

My legs start to shake and pain begins in my knees and ankles.

Me: “Ma’am, I have a physical disability, and I use that stool to avoid getting hurt. If I stand for too long, I get in a lot of pain.”

Customer: *Getting louder with every word* “Well, I had to stand for hours to get all of this! And you’re probably faking your disability so you can sit! Just check me out!”

My supervisor, who must have heard all of the commotion, comes over and sees that I’m standing and obviously in a lot of pain.

Supervisor: “Hey, [My Name], what’s going on? Why aren’t you sitting on your stool?”

Customer: “Finally, a manager! Your stupid employee won’t ring up my stuff, and she wants me to give her my stool so she can sit on her f****** lazy a**!”

My legs give out and I fall to the ground, crying in pain.

Supervisor: *Concerned* “[My Name], are you okay?”

He goes on his walkie-talkie and calls a code that means an employee is injured.

Customer: “Don’t be so dramatic! She’s obviously faking it!”

Supervisor: *Livid* “Ma’am, she has a physical disability and needs that stool, not to mention that you’re at a self-checkout. If you want a cashier to check you out, then you should head over to our staffed registers.”

Customer: “But I don’t want to wait in that line!”

My manager comes practically running from the back of the store.

Manager: “[Supervisor], what happened to [My Name]? Does she need an ambulance?”

I shake my head no, still crying. Meanwhile, the customer starts snapping at my manager.

Customer: “HELLO! I STILL NEED SOMEONE TO RING ME UP! MY ICE CREAM IS GOING TO MELT!”

Manager: “Ma’am, we have an emergency with our employee. We need to help her first. Once this has been settled, I will gladly help you.”

Customer: “SHE’S FAKING IT! AND BESIDES, SHE’S TOO FAT FOR THIS STOOL, ANYWAY!”

Manager: *fuming* “Ma’am, get out of the store or I will call security. You do not get to talk about my employee like that!”

Customer: “YOU HAVE TO CHECK ME OUT! IT’S THE LAW!”

Manager: “LEAVE! NOW!”

The customer starts screaming at my manager that we clearly don’t know “who she is” or “what she can do to us” if we don’t check her out immediately. During her rant, my manager, finally having heard enough, turns to the supervisor.

Manager: “[Supervisor], call security.”

[Supervisor] nodded and called for them on his walkie. The customer shrieked even louder, demanding the number for corporate so that she could “report how horrible this store is at customer service!”

Security showed up quickly, and they almost dragged the customer out of the store. [Supervisor] and [Manager] made sure I was okay and told me to take the rest of the day off, fully paid. They called my mom, who came to pick me up and take me to the urgent care just to be sure. I was fine, but they gave me a note to take some time off to rest. Later, I was told that the customer was banned from the store.

I work at a retail department store. Our main inventory is clothes, but we do have a few snacks and candies at the front by the registers for customers to purchase. I was covering someone’s break at customer service the other day when a man walked up to me with a HALF-EATEN KitKat bar.

Customer: “This was stale.”

I was confused for a moment because I wasn’t even sure we could do returns on foodstuffs, so I called my manager really quickly to ask.

Manager: “Yeah, of course, you can give him a refund.”

Me: *To the customer* “Do you have the receipt?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “Do you have the card it was purchased with?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “All right, then. To do a non-receipted return, I’ll need your ID. Your total refund will be $1.72.”

Customer: *Grumbling* “All of this for a dollar?”

I almost died about then. You’re the one who wants to return it, sir! It is a hassle for pretty much no money, but you ate half and came to me and wanted to return it; you’re creating the hassle! Just eat the rest of the candy and be on your way if you’re that frustrated!

I ended up just giving him cash, and he didn’t give me too hard of a time, but man, I was in disbelief.

My wife and I are “senior citizens”; in other words, we are OLD. My dear wife is a strong, independent, take-no-s***-from-anyone type of woman. I adore her for it! She keeps me in line, pushes me to be a better man, and is the reason behind my (modest) success in life. She is sarcastic, is wicked smart, can cuss like a sailor, and as she gets older, her filter is practically non-existent!

A few months ago, we decided to treat ourselves. We made reservations and went to a rather high-end restaurant. They had a maître de, sommeliers, highly trained waitstaff, etc. My wife, even though she is in her seventies, has very little grey hair and can pass for fifty-five. She was wearing a very pretty white, lacy blouse, very flattering black pants, and black flats. She looked GOOD!

When we arrived, there was no line surprisingly, and the maître de had apparently stepped away from the podium where he stands. We waited there; my wife was right next to the podium, and I had sat down at one of the benches provided by the entrance. Another couple came in. Without missing a beat, the man walked up to the podium and addressed my wife.

Man: “[Man’s Last Name] — we have reservations for two.”

Wife: “I’m sure someone will be with you shortly.”

The woman huffed a little.

Man: “Please seat us now!”

Wife: “I don’t work here; I’m waiting to be seated.”

Man: “Seat us now!”

Wife: “Right away. Walk this way.”

They followed my wife as she walked around the partition separating the entrance to the dining area, circled around to the other end, and led them back to the entrance. She pointed to the bench.

Wife: “SIT DOWN!”

The man looked like he was going to blow a gasket.

Wife: “I don’t work here, you moron. You wanted me to seat you, so sit the eff down!”

As the couple were sputtering, and before it could escalate future, the maître de arrived, we gave our name, and he led us away.

There was no yelling and no threats of police. We had a wonderful meal. The other couple was several tables away from us. We didn’t interact again with them, but they did shoot us dirty looks now and then.