(I am a waitress and two older women are seated in my section.)

Me: “Hi, can I start you off with anything to drink?”

Customer #1: “I would love a diet Coke.”

Customer #2: “Oh, yes, that sounds great. I will have one, too, but no ice.”

Me: “No problem. Can I get you anything else?”

([Customer #1] starts asking a few questions about our menu. After about a minute, she seems done with her questions.)

Me: “Can I get you anything else right now?”

Customer #2: “Yes, can I change my mind about my drink?”

Me: “Of course.”

Customer #2: *starts yelling* “Don’t you patronize me with all that ‘of course’ nonsense. Next time I want to tell you that I have changed my mind, you’d better tell me to get over myself and live with my decisions. Got it?”

Me: “Um, yes, ma’am.”

Customer #2: “Good. Now I would like a hot chocolate with only a little whipped cream.”

Me: “Okay, is there anything else you need?”

Customer #1: *not reacting to anything that just happened* “I am ready to order if that’s all right.”

Me: “Sure.”

Customer #2: *calm* “Oh, good, I would like blueberry pancakes.”

(The place I work at has both takeout and delivery. Sometimes delivery customers request that the driver call when they arrive, which we can do. However, sometimes if the driver doesn’t have a phone we will call the customer from the restaurant and let them know the driver will be there in 5 minutes, etc. Have never had a call like this before.)
Me: “Hi, this is [restaurant] calling.”
Customer (cheerfully): “Ah, you must be my food!”
Me: “Not quite, sir. I’m just calling to let you know our driver is on his way to you right now, he should be there in about five minutes.”
Customer (still cheerful): “Okay, I’ll be down there to meet him!”
Me: “Okay, have a good night.”
After I hang up, a customer comes in to pick up an order, I retrieve it and tell him the price. He starts handing me cash, and then the phone rings. Since I am the only person working the phones, I answer as follows.
Me: “Hello, [restaurant], could you hold for a second please?”
Same customer as before, suddenly not so cheerful: “No I can’t! Where the hell is your guy? I thought you said he was at my door!”
Me: “No sir, I said he was just leaving and should be there soon.”
Customer: “Well why can’t he just CALL ME when he f*ing GETS HERE.”
Me: “He doesn’t have his cell phone.”
Customer: “Well that’s a problem. When is he supposed to get here!?” (It should be literally any minute now, but before I can tell him that he says) “Oh I think I see him! Does he have slanted eyes?” (Literally didn’t know how to respond to that, especially since that’s the owner who’s delivering his order tonight)
He then ends the phone call without even a goodbye.

(I’m at an ethnic food restaurant; the menu doesn’t have any sort of descriptions of the items.)

Me: *to waitress* “What is an [item]?”

Waitress: “It’s a [slightly different pronunciation].” *stares at me*

Me: *stares back for several seconds* “What is it?”

Waitress: “It’s an [item]!”

Me: “I have no idea what that is.”

Waitress: *explains it to me like I’m three years old instead of just telling me it’s a type of pasta*

A few years ago, I took a trip to NYC with my mom and my cousin. It was a girls’ weekend to celebrate my cousin’s upcoming wedding. We spent the morning shopping and stopped in a family-owned Italian restaurant that was recommended to us. The woman who greeted us was the chef, and her elderly mother who’d started the restaurant was behind the register. There were only five tables in the whole restaurant and we were currently the only customers. 

We’d been seated and were chatting about what we wanted to do that night when my cousin suddenly stood and pointed behind my mom and me. Black smoke had started pouring from a staircase in the hallway that lead to the businesses above that one. Thinking the floor above us must be on fire, my mom ran to the back to grab the chef, while we tried to convince the elderly Italian woman, who it turned out spoke no English, to come outside. She couldn’t see the smoke from her place behind the register and kept swatting us away and scolding us in Italian. 

Finally, my cousin physically picked the lady up. Yes, it was as awkward as it sounds, but thankfully, she was a tiny lady and my cousin was strong. We got her outside and she finally saw the smoke, which was now also streaming out of the windows of the floor above her restaurant. My mom and the chef made it outside right behind us, and the mother and daughter began speaking rapidly in Italian. 

My mom took her phone out to call the fire department, but someone else must have already done that because we heard the sirens coming our way. The fire truck rounded the corner, crushing the front end of a cab in the process. That was something else to see on its own. The passengers in the back of the cab started screaming in panic, and the driver just sat there looking bored, like this happened every day.  

Thankfully, no one was hurt. We didn’t find out what had caused the fire, but at least it didn’t spread beyond the second floor. The chef thanked us for helping them, and her mother kept hugging my cousin and kissing both of her cheeks. The rest of the weekend was uneventful compared to that afternoon, and I’ve always wanted to go back and see if that restaurant was still there.

A few years back I worked as a cashier at a popular bakery chain. I always had lots of customers who didn’t understand how things worked at our store because while we are considered fast food, we have higher prices (and better quality) and take a little longer.
We have a pastry display next to the registers with a glass guard up to keep the pastries safe from people touching or sneezing on them. An older gentleman and his family are at my register during the lunch rush.
Me: and would you like a pastry with your meal today?
Older man: yes. But I want you to make sure you wear gloves because there’s a lot of people getting sick right now. I’m trying to avoid that.

(We always use gloves or special papers to grab pastries so I assure him it’s not a problem)

Me: come show me which pastry you would like.
Older man: I’d like this one here in the front.

(The man then reaches over the glass guard and touches the exact pastry he wants)

Me: sir, please don’t reach over the glass.
Older man: I’m telling you which one I want.
Me: but sir, that glass is there so you can’t touch the pastries. So you don’t get anyone else sick.
Older man: I told you I’m not sick.
Me: but if Everyone reached over the glass and touched the food, we couldn’t prevent illness.
Older man: I’m paying a lot of money for this food, just give it to me.

(The mans family looks very sorry and I finish with them and send them to wait for their food. Which apparently took too long for the man who eventually complained.)