I work at a local, small-batch gelato place. During a fairly busy evening, a man comes up to the counter and orders a small gelato. While I’m scooping it for him, he says the following:

Customer: “I bet there’s a whole bunch of air in the bottom of that cup.”

Me: “Sorry?”

Customer: “It’s a money-making scheme. You probably just coat gelato over the top of the bowl and leave a whole bunch of air in the bottom.”

Me: “Actually, we use flat spatulas to scoop the gelato so that it fills up the entire cup.”

The man ignores what I say and proceeds to reach over the glass and grab the cup from my hands as I’m scooping it. He then uses his tasting spoon — used — to scoop all of the gelato out of the cup and onto the glass. He holds up the now empty cup.

Customer: “See? There’s nothing in there.”

Definitely one of my worst customer interactions.

When I am a teen, I am walking down the street, enjoying the summer sun, and sipping from a Gatorade bottle that I brought from my house. Set up in a parking lot along the street is a taco truck. I haven’t come within fifty feet of the truck.

A vendor leans out of the side of the truck and points at me.

Vendor: “Hey! Hey, you need to pay for that!”

Me: “Huh?”

Vendor: “You need to pay for that bottle!”

I shook my head at this and kept walking, but the guy actually climbed out of the truck and started chasing me. I ended up booking it down the street and outpacing him, but it was still one of the scariest events of my life at that point, and I ended up avoiding that stretch of street for a couple of years afterward.

Customer: “I would like to order a pack of Martin Strings in the gauge of 9-46.”

Me: “Great, do you have an item number or SKU number for those strings?”

Customer: “No, I don’t, I just thought you would have that already.”

Me: “Well, sir, we sell thousands of different musical items every single day and it’s hard to keep record of everything. I would be happy to look that up for you, though.”

Customer: “Okay, thanks!”

As I’m pulling up the item on our website, the customer is mumbling something under his breath.

Me: “Okay, sir, I believe I found the set you’re looking for?”

Customer: “Now make sure it comes in the right tuning of EBGDAE, okay?”

Me: “Well, sir, the strings come how they come and it is up to you to tune them correctly.”

Customer: “So, you mean to tell me that they don’t come tuned?”

Me: “Sir, you have to put the strings on the guitar before you can tune them.”

Customer: “Well, I believe that is bad customer service. If you expect me to order, then you must make sure they are in the correct tuning.”

Me: “Sir, the strings don’t come in a tuning; the term ‘tuning’ refers to the tension you set the string on the guitar that creates a certain pitch. There is no such thing as strings that come in a standard tuning.”

Customer: “Fine. Then I will order from a different company that will tune them for me, so I can play my guitar without sounding like a [disabled slur].”

Me: “Okay, sir, make sure the next company you order from gets the standard tuning for you on the strings!”

Customer: “What are those sandals ringing up as?”

Me: “$9.99, miss.”

Customer: “Is that 60% off?”

Me: “Um… I can check.”

I check the original price really quickly, thinking how odd this request is.

Me: “No, it’s only about 40% off.”

Customer: “But your advertisement said all sandals are 60% off.”

Me: “May I see this ad?”

She shows me one of our email advertisements that says, “Up to 60% off!”

Me: “Ma’am, it says up to 60% off; it does not guarantee that you’ll get 60% off.”

Customer: “So, your ads are full of s***?”

Me: “No, they aren’t, ma’am, it just means that not all of our sandals are 60% off.”

She starts screaming at me.

Customer: “No, your ads are bulls*** and your cards do nothing useful and I want my 60% discount.”

I’m doing my best not to rip off her head and keep a calm tone.

Me: “Ma’am, I can’t further discount an item. If you want another discount, you may go talk to customer service.”

She stormed over there and the store manager eventually came up and made me give her 60% off. I’ve never been more disappointed in my manager in my life.

I was born with a host of congenital birth defects and spent the first six years of my life confined to a wheelchair. I was a patient at a nationally-known philanthropic children’s hospital and they flew me in once a year for followup procedures and the like. 

The hospital was located in Salt Lake City, which is also known for being the location of the headquarters for a certain religious movement.

After one of these yearly followups, my mother and I were at the airport to fly home. I was five years old. It had been a long week, my mother was exhausted, and I was being a handful. So, finally, my mother wheeled me to the window and told me to watch for when our plane came in in an effort to get me to quiet down.

Everyone else at our gate was a group of religious missionaries reading their holy books, so the entire gate was pretty quiet.

Soon, I saw the plane taxi into our gate and I called out to my mother, “MOM! MOM! THE PLANE IS HERE! AND BOY, IS IT A BIG MOTHERF*****!”

The only sound that could be heard after that was the sound of the aforementioned holy books slamming shut.

My mother wished the earth would just open up and swallow her right then. She walked over, grabbed my chair, and took me right into the bathroom where my rear was warmed soundly. Afterward, she asked where I’d heard that word and I told her that some of my older cousins and their friends use that word all the time. Their father got quite an earful from my mother later.

Fast forward to a year later. We arrived at the airport to go back to the hospital and my mother said, “Sweetie, do you remember this place?”

I looked up at her with huge eyes and responded, “Yeah! This is the place where you can’t say no bad words!”

My mother just about lost it.