I worked for a couple of years at a major historic tourist attraction in London. It was good fun and I immensely enjoyed it, although things could sometimes be manic busy, and although most customers were friendly, some could be somewhat… unpleasant. It was tame as anywhere really. It also had some attractions for children, and while manning these I came to learn just how entitled — and irresponsible — some parents can truly be.

One of the features in the gardens was a maze. It was not particularly for children, although they could go in if they wanted and a lot of them liked it. Parents could take pushchairs in if they want, although the staff had the right to make parents leave pushchairs (strollers for Americans) outside if it got very busy inside.

That day was a hot summer Saturday, and it had been very busy. However, by the mid-afternoon, throughflow had thinned out a bit and I was manning the maze on my own as I had done before. I still had three or four groups coming through every minute, and I had made the decision to ask parents to leave their pushchairs outside the maze.

A lady stalked up to me with her ticket and a baby in a pushchair. I scanned her ticket but politely told her that she needed to leave her pushchair outside. She huffed at me and put her pushchair in a line with all the others. Meanwhile, another group of tourists had come up and I was busy scanning their tickets. I paid little attention to the lady as she walked past. However, as I rapidly scanned through all the new tourists, I glanced at her pushchair and realised… the baby was still inside!

I quickly ran into the maze, and after only a few seconds, I saw the lady. She saw me and hissed angrily.

Lady: “What are you doing here? I’ve left my baby out there with you!”

Me: “I know, and you’re not allowed to do that. You’ll have to come out and take the baby in with you.”

Lady: “But can’t you look after him?”

My duties in the maze included scanning tickets, selling tickets, advising visitors, and managing the many groups of unruly French, German, and Spanish teenagers on language exchanges. My duties did not include looking after babies.

Me: “Madam. I’m here to look after the maze. I’m not here to perform babysitting services for you! I have to walk around quite a bit and I cannot spend all my time looking after your baby. Children, including babies, are allowed in the maze, but not pushchairs. I’m afraid you’ll either have to take the baby with you or leave the maze.”

Lady: *Whining* “It’s the first break from him I’ve had all day!”

Me: “Nonetheless, if you won’t come and get your baby, I’m going to have to call security.”

The baby had been unattended for more than a minute now. As I spoke, I brought my radio up to my mouth and hovered my finger over the send button.

Me: “Also, you don’t know me. How do you know I’m not some old paedophile you’ve left your kid with?”

Just to be clear, I’m not.

She had no answer.

Me: “Now, are you going to get your baby, or do I have to call security?”

She snorted and angrily marched out of the maze and grabbed the baby, who luckily was still there. In hindsight, I should have just called security and let them deal with it and not let the baby out of my sight, regardless of what a b**** his mother was, but all was well that ended well.

She ended up taking the baby around the maze, and about twenty minutes later, she came to get the (now empty) pushchair. The look of pure hate she gave me would have alarmed The Rock, but luckily, off she went and I was not troubled by her again.

You are supposed to always want customers to come back again, but there are some exceptions. She was definitely one of them.

I’m manning the drive-thru at a pharmacy. A woman pulls up to pick up her husband’s prescriptions.

Me: “I have one ready.”

Woman: “No, no, no! There should be another one ready. I called earlier and they said they would have it ready when I got here! This happens every time!”

On and on she goes. I am taken aback by how she is talking to me, making it seem like it is my fault.

Me: “What other medication does your husband need?”

Woman: “It’s his [Sedative]!”

Me: “I apologize; I can get it ready in about thirty minutes.”

She is still upset and just goes off on me.

Woman: “You need to get your act together! This happens all the time! I only have an hour lunch break, and I’m going out of town after work today!”

Me: “We are understaffed and very busy. I apologize again for the inconvenience, but it will still be thirty minutes.”

Woman: “Yeah, well, every place is understaffed. That’s no excuse. You guys need to get your act together. If you have too many people trying to get their prescriptions filled, then you need to turn some people away.”

Then, she drove off.

I wrote this the next day, and the woman still had not picked up her husband’s prescriptions. Typical.

I’m working in a pharmacy and I answer the phone.

Caller: “Can my mother’s prescriptions be filled at your pharmacy, even though they’re normally filled at another location? It’s the same company.”

I get some information and pull up the patient’s mother’s profile and make sure we’re allowed to discuss her medications with him.

Me: “Which prescriptions would you like filled here?”

Caller: “The first one is hydro… hydra… hydrocort something?”

I type in the first couple of letters and the only thing that pops up is an expired prescription for hydrocodone/acetaminophen. I mention this to him.

Caller: “No, the doctor just wrote a new prescription for it.”

Me: “It hasn’t gotten into our system yet, or the doctor is waiting until the end of the day to send it over, as some offices prefer to do.”

Caller: “The doctor gave me a physical prescription; I’m trying to read it to you.”

I confirm what I just heard.

Me: “Sir, you cannot read a physical copy of a prescription over the phone and expect us to fill it.”

Caller: “Are you sure I can’t just give it to you over the phone? I want it to be ready when I come to pick it up.”

Me: “No, sir, that’s against the federal law.”

Caller: “Are you sure? It would make things a lot easier for me.”

Me: “Yes, I’m very sure that’s against the law. You would need to bring in the physical prescriptions for us to fill them.”

Caller: *Upset* “Okay, whatever. Thanks.”

He hung up.

Why do people think the law is just a suggestion?

I’m from the UK, and we have a bakery chain that is famed for its sausage rolls, pizza, steak bakes, and donuts. They usually have everything out hot so it’s perfect for a cold day.

I am going on my usual walk to the park near me just to get some fresh air, and I decide to buy some lunch on the way. [Bakery] is warm and cheap, so I decide to go and get a cheese pizza slice and a coffee. It is past the lunch rush, so a lot of the baked stuff is gone, save for two slices of cheese pizza and various other pastry-encased things.

There’s no one in front of me as I go in, and the staff is busy, so I stand at the counter and wait. Another customer walks in shortly after on his phone.

One of the staff gets a minute to take my order.

Me: “A slice of cheese pizza and a regular salted caramel latte, please!”

The other customer looks at me in a slightly offended manner, and I think that maybe he thinks I’m weird for my coffee choice or something until he pipes up:

Customer: “I want that pizza! I always get two pizza slices for my lunch, and now you have just ruined my day. I hope you’re pleased with yourself.”

This man is probably in his twenties. He is definitely past the age at which he should be throwing tantrums for not getting his way. I’m speechless. I blink back in response, having absolutely no clue as to what I can say back to this man who is throwing a fit over a £1.50 slice of cheese pizza.

Customer: “What do you have to say for yourself?“

Me: “Uh… excuse me? I’m not entirely sure what I’ve done wrong here—”

Customer: “You have just stolen that slice of pizza from me.”

Thankfully, I’m not the only one completely and utterly baffled at this man, as the staff member brings my coffee over and tells the customer:

Staff Member: “Sir, this person has not stolen anything from you. You have not bought that pizza; this young person is about to. Please, calm down.”

She started to ring me up as the customer continued shouting about how unfair it was that he wouldn’t get his two slices of pizza today. I very much enjoyed my legally obtained, unstolen pizza. Get a grip, Pizza Boy.

When I’m nineteen, I am a hostess in a large chain of Mexican restaurants. I’ve hosted before at another restaurant, so I know what I’m doing, and how to (generally) handle customers who are being rude.

It’s a Sunday. It’s lunchtime. There’s an NFL game on TV, and the TVs are only in the bar. We are on a wait of fifteen to thirty minutes. The lobby is full and so is the atrium. We’ve been asking people to wait either outside or in their cars, taking phone numbers to call people back.

In walks a woman with her son, who is probably no older than sixteen. All goes well until I ask the woman for her phone number.

Woman: “Why do you need that? It’s private information!”

Me: “Ma’am, it’s very crowded in here. We need you to wait outside or in your car. The number is so I can call you when a table opens up.”

Woman: “Well, I’m parked in a disabled spot. I need my husband to help me back out.”

I nod, and before I get the number, she walks away — to the bar. Her husband walks in, and the woman flags him down, shoots me the smuggest look, and says:

Woman: “Take us off the list; we’re sitting at the bar!”

I live in a state where there are two places in a bar: the cocktail area (kid-friendly) and the actual bar (not kid-friendly). The woman and her family are sitting in the bar, not the cocktail area. So, my petty self gets the bartender.

Me: “Hey, see that lady over there? She was terribly rude — and her son is definitely underage. Could you… could you card him?”

Bartender: *With a grin* “Oh, yes, absolutely. I can do that.”

A few minutes later, the woman shrieks:

Woman: “He’s DISABLED! YOU HAVE TO LET HIM SIT HERE WITH US!”

Bartender: *Calmly* “There is cocktail seating for families with kids.”

Woman: “But there’s no room!”

Bartender: “Then you’ll have to go to the hostess and get on the list.

The woman stomps over to me.

Woman: “It’s been fifteen minutes. Get me a table!”

I have the pleasure of smiling at her and saying in my most pleasant customer service voice:

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but since you asked to be removed, you’re no longer on the list! It’ll be thirty minutes. Can I get a name and a phone number?”

The look of rage on her face fueled me all day as she stomped out, husband and son in tow.