I’m a bridal consultant at a very popular bridal salon in my town. I have many years of experience and love what I do. Most of the bridal gowns in my shop are “special order”, meaning they must be ordered before they are made by the designer, and lead times can be anywhere from four weeks to eight and a half months. Not everyone knows this when they come shopping for a gown. That’s the whole point of me being there. I make sure we can get the dress in time, that any desired customizations or alterations are possible, and that the price is within the bride’s budget.

When this particular bride and her mother stepped into the store, they immediately went to the racks and started ripping through the neatly hung gowns.

Me: “Hi, I’m [My Name]. I will be your consultant for your appointment.”

This bride had a fairly short engagement — about four and a half months — and I knew that only some of the gowns would be available in time. As I tried to explain the process to her and her mother, she sharply cut me off.

Bride: “Just let us shop and leave us alone!”

I was STUNNED to be spoken to so rudely. So, I did as I as told: I left them alone, even when I saw them looking at dresses twice the bride’s budget that wouldn’t arrive until months after her wedding. I never took any of the gowns back to a dressing room or asked the bride if she’d like to actually try them on. Even after they stood by for a while, clearly waiting for me to take the bride back to the dressing rooms, I just continued on with my other work as if they didn’t exist.

Eventually, they realized that I had no intentions of acknowledging or helping them in any way, and they left without getting to try on any gowns.

The owner asked me about it after they left, and I told her the whole story.

Owner: *Laughing* “Good for you!”

I’m a receptionist at a salon. During a busy day when there are about eight people waiting for a haircut, a woman comes in and walks up to me.

Customer: “I’m in a hurry, and if you could take me right away, that would be great.”

Me: “Sorry, ma’am, but others have been waiting here before you. You’ll have to go after them.”

Customer: “Why can’t you just take me now? I don’t need that much done!”

Me: “We see our clients in the order they come in.”

Customer: “You’re discriminating against me!” *Storms out*

I have a client bring her non-English-speaking mother back to the spa a week after having her brows done. I guess the aesthetician who did her brows had made them too thin.

Daughter: *Demanding* “You need to do something about it! Make them thicker and reshape them again!”

By industry standards, her mother’s brows are fine: nice arch, clean line, and not dramatic for a grandma.

Me: “How do you propose I fix her brows?”

Daughter: “Make them thicker!”

One of my methods for dealing with angry clients is to repeat back to them what they have asked.

Me: “How would you like me to thicken them?”

I’m assuming she wants a pencil or brow powder to cosmetically thicken them.

Daughter: “Make them thicker. Reshape them and make them thicker!”

When you shape brows, one is usually removing hair.

Me: “Would you like a brow pencil to fill them in?”

Daughter: “No! Make them thicker!“

Me: “So, without makeup, you would like me to remove more hair to make them appear like there is more hair?”

I’m repeating this in front of the entire spa, where all the customers can hear this crazy lady.

Daughter: “I want to speak to the manager!”

Me: “I am the manager.”

Daughter: “You are useless! Why can’t you fix her brows?!”

Me: “Ma’am, I cannot make hair grow back; only time can do that. Her brows are fine, and your mother has not indicated that she is upset about this.”

The mother has been standing there doing and saying nothing to her daughter. In fact, she looks quite embarrassed. Now this lady is screaming at me, so I tell her to lower her voice.

Daughter: “I will not lower my voice! Make her brows thicker! I don’t give a f*** if everyone hears me. Your staff is stupid, and the clients are idiots if they come to a spa like this where they cheat you and can’t fix a problem!”

Me: “Ma’am, you are now being aggressive to me, my staff, and the clients. Your request is unreasonable because I am not God and cannot grow back your mother’s eyebrows. Just wait four weeks and they will be back to how you want them for your mother. Please leave the spa now, or I will call the police.”

Daughter: “No, I won’t leave.”

Now all the clients, about five at the front, three in the back, have come up and are looking at this lady. I’m thinking, “F*** me. They are never coming back.”

Other Customer: “Lady, get out or we will call the police and let them know you are being aggressive and threatening. She has tried to fix your problem. You are being completely unreasonable, and now you’re disturbing us!”

She looked at me, looked at the clients, and actually left!

I developed back problems from constantly sitting at a desk job and decided to seek a massage. I found a massage parlor ran by a group of young Thai women who all used Disney character names as their work names.

My first few visits were nothing notable. However, one of the girls on hand named “Jasmine” was not a particular favorite of mine; she was rather rough with her fingers and she had a strange odor about her. I decided after two sessions with her that she would be someone I would politely pass on when offered.

Then, along came “Bambi”, a girl with a touch like magic that would put me to sleep throughout the entire sessions. I went from paying for one-hour-long sessions with her to two-hour-long sessions, and I would give her a tip along with it all. This ended up igniting a serious problem.

Every time I would show up for a massage, Jasmine would answer the door to tell me that Bambi was not there and that all the other girls were busy. She would then try to pull me into a room despite my protesting that I was only interested in a massage from Bambi. It should be noted that there was a camera in the hallway leading to the door, so the girls could see the customers as they were approaching.

I then resorted to phoning in and reserving appointments with Bambi. This worked a few times until one occasion.

Me: “Hi there. I have an appointment with Bambi at [time].”

The girl at the desk looked at her computer screen with a puzzled expression.

Receptionist: “There are no scheduled appointments for Bambi.”

Right on cue, Jasmine popped up out of nowhere.

Jasmine: “I’ll take you!”

She began pulling me to a room. This time, I loudly protested, and they ended up producing Bambi for my requested appointment.

Later on, I appeared for another appointment with Bambi, and all was going smoothly until Jasmine walked into the room, handed Bambi a phone, and said something in Thai. Bambi took the phone and excused herself outside of the room with an uncomfortable expression on her face, with Jasmine following behind and closing the door. I put my head back down into the face cushion and waited.

About thirty seconds or so later, I heard the door open and promptly close, and then I felt a set of hands rubbing on my calf. I immediately returned to my relaxed state. This was shortly interrupted by the sound of someone frantically twisting that was clearly a locked doorknob, followed by a thunderous banging on the door and shouting something in Thai repeatedly.

I looked up to behold Jasmine with her grubby paws on my calf, looking like she’d been caught with her hand in the cafe tip jar. She rushed over and opened the door, and she and Bambi engaged in a screaming match in Thai while a third girl desperately tried to break the two combatants up. Once the situation was finally defused, Bambi furiously slammed the door shut and walked toward me yelling:

Bambi: “Can you believe that b****? She called my boyfriend and said I needed to talk to him about something really important. And she knows we’re having problems right now!”

After that incident, I decided to refrain from visiting that parlor for a few months, hoping that by the time I returned, Jasmine would have either moved on or been fired. After booking an appointment with Bambi, who was still there, I showed up… and who should answer the door but Jasmine.

I wasn’t having it this time. I put my hand up.

Me: *Firmly* “Bambi! I’m here for Bambi!”

Jasmine: “Yes, massage with Bambi. Please come in.”

She led me into a room and pointed to the massage bed.

Jasmine: *Casually* “You can get undressed.”

I decided not to make any further moves until Bambi personally walked through the door. As I stood there fully clothed and pacing in a semi-circle, I noticed Jasmine was still standing there with an expectant look on her face.

Me: “Bambi! I’m here to see Bambi!”

Jasmine: “Yes. Bambi!”

An awkward silence followed.

Me: *Confused* “Bambi! I want Bambi!”

Jasmine: “Yes! Bambi! Me! You book a two-hour massage, I give it to you, you always like it, you always pay and give a big tip and say I’m the best, and you always come back for me!” *Points to herself* “Bambi! You just forgot what I look like because it’s been a very long time. Please undress.”

I left and never went back again.

I got my first job at a salon out of cosmetology school and was told I’d get at least two days off every week. I ended up with a 100-degree fever the night before my two days off. My boss called me first thing in the morning to beg me to come in for a nine-hour shift.

Me: “I can’t; I’m running a fever and I feel terrible.”

Boss: “Knock back some DayQuil and get in.”

I didn’t think much of it. I didn’t usually work nine-hour days, so I assumed I’d get a break, especially since I was sick.

I did not get to sit down for the entire nine hours that I was there. I had to beg to go and buy cough drops and some soup because I was starving. My manager wasn’t even going to let me take lunch. I was young and dumb and did not know that was illegal.

I got to eat two bites of soup before my boss came in the back and yelled at me that we were backed up and they needed another stylist on the floor because SHE had to do managerial duties. I managed to get up and finish out my day.

I left with a fever of 102 AND got a ticket for running a red light because I was so out of it. I shouldn’t have been driving.

The next day, my boss called to tell me to cover for another employee who needed the day off. I didn’t answer.