(I am 19. It is my last day working at a sandwich shop. I have just called an order up and am packing the next one. My friend’s mom comes up to collect her order, so I make small talk while packing the next when a blonde female customer comes up.)

Customer: “Excuse me? I have thirty minutes for lunch. I don’t have time for this.”

Me: “Ma’am, you are order [number]. I’m packing it right now; don’t worry.”

Customer: “I’ve been waiting forever for my lunch; they really shouldn’t hire kids to do this job.”

(She continues on about how the wait time has been unacceptable — keeping in mind that it is the lunch rush. I think it matters that I am not talking to a friend, but rather being respectful by not ignoring my friend’s mom.)

Me: “Ma’am, I have your order right here. We’ve just hit the two-minute mark, and our goal is to get it out to you in less than three.”

(I turn to my friend’s mom as I place the bag on the counter.)

Me: “And people like her are the reason this is my last day.”

(I work in a sandwich shop. There are a bunch of people who are regulars to the store and order the same sandwich everyday, every single time they came in. The only problem is, I am new and don’t know these people OR their orders. A customer comes into the shop and stands at the glass partition. I stare at him through the glass, waiting for him to begin his order. Often when people come into the shop, they start their order without acknowledgement, making the workers rush to remember everything they’re saying in their order. After about two minutes of him staring at me, I decide to speak up.)

Me: “Welcome to [Sandwich Shop]. What bread would you like to start with today?”

Customer: “I come here every single day; you don’t know what my sandwich is by now?”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, I’m a new employee. If you tell me how you like your sandwich, I’ll be sure to remember for when you come in next time.” *forced grin*

Customer: “Ugh! Can’t you just get one of the other workers from the back, then? How about the [race] girl? She knows me.”

Me: “Sure.”

(I go to the back and find the worker he is asking for, and she laughs saying something along the lines of, “Oh, I know him. Yeah, he’s here every day.” She then goes out to make his sandwich, chatting with him the whole time and laughing it up while I stand at the register. When is finished, he comes to the register and stares at me again.)

Me: “What sandwich did you order, sir?”

Customer: “What?”

Me: “The sandwich that she made? What sandwich was it, so I can ring it up?”

Customer: *glares at me* “Are you f****** kidding me?”

(Without missing a beat, the other worker came in and rang him up, saving me from getting yelled at, and shook her head at me while saying, “You really need to work on your customer service.”)

I’m 17 years old, at my first job, working the closing shift on my own for the first time. The store closes at 9:00. At 8:50, two cop cars pull up outside and four officers come in, order sandwiches, and sit down to eat. My manager has previously said we’re not allowed to tell people to leave at closing because it’s bad customer service, and just to let them finish, so I just go about my closing tasks while they eat and chat. I can’t mop the lobby or lock the door while there are customers still in the store, but I finish up all the tasks I can — putting away food, nightly inventory, cleaning the bathrooms, etc. — being not at all quiet or subtle about what I’m doing, even down to turning off the lights behind the counter. Still the officers are deep in conversation and don’t seem to notice.

By 9:30, I’m well out of tasks to do, and they’re still chatting over half-eaten sandwiches. I try to call my manager, but she doesn’t pick up. At 9:50, another car pulls up outside, and then my mother bursts in the door. She runs up to me at the counter practically yelling, “Oh, my God! What happened? Are you okay?”

I quickly explain what’s going on, and she immediately turns on the officers, who are all staring at this point, and goes off. “Do you know what time it is? My daughter has school in the morning; she was supposed to be home half an hour ago! And then I come up here thinking something horrible must have happened and see nothing but cop cars in front of the building. I almost had a heart attack! You should all be ashamed of yourselves!”

She goes on like this for several minutes while the cops sit there looking mortified. When they can finally get a word in edgewise, they have the decency to apologize, and one of them mentions he thought we were open until ten.

They quickly wrap up the rest of their sandwiches and shuffle out, looking thoroughly chastised, and the last one out gives me a $20 tip as he goes. To this day, we still laugh about the time my mom chewed out half of that small-town police department.

(I work in a sandwich shop with an open kitchen. The customers can see every step of their food being made, from being cooked on the grill to being passed through the oven to being wrapped up and handed to them. Most customers choose to trust that we’re capable of doing our jobs, but others like to hang over the counter and pick at every detail.  One night I am working on the grill and a woman comes in to order her sandwich. After having it explained that the sandwich she wants only comes with steak and provolone cheese on it, but she can add any other toppings she’d like, she says that just the steak and cheese will be fine. Immediately after I throw it on the grill, I hear her behind me.)

Customer: “Hey! Can you add some onions to that?”

Me: “Sure.” *adds the onions*

Customer: “How about some peppers and mushrooms, too?”

Me: “Yeah, that’s fine.”

Customer: “Put some mayo on the bread. No, more mayo than that! And put a few more onions in there, I like onions!”

(She continues this until I take her sandwich off the grill — including all of her added toppings — and start to put it through the oven to finish cooking. As I’m placing the cheese on her sandwich…)

Customer: “What kind of cheese is that?”

Me: “Provolone.”

Customer: “What other kinds do you have?”

Me: “We have Swiss or American if you don’t –”

Customer: “Put some cheddar on there.”

Me: “We don’t have cheddar.”

Customer: “Oh. Well then how about pepper jack?”

Me: “Sorry, we only have provolone, Swiss, or American.”

Customer: “Fine, then I guess the provolone will do.”

(I send her sandwich into the oven, and as it’s halfway through, she flags me down again as I start working on the other sandwiches on the grill.)

Customer: “Hey, I changed my mind; I want the American instead.”

Me: “Sorry, your sandwich is already in the oven. I can remake the whole thing if you want.”

Customer: “No, that’s okay. Just take the provolone off after it comes out and put some American on it.”

Me: “We can’t do that. The cheese melts onto the sandwich when it goes through the oven. I’ll have to remake the whole thing.”

Customer: *rolls eyes* “Fine, I guess I’ll just deal with the provolone, then. I wish you’d told me it would be melted.”

(Finally, her sandwich comes out of the oven and is wrapped up by the person on the other end — after a few more last-minute additions to her “meat and cheese only” sandwich, including another request to remove the provolone and add the non-existent cheddar — and we hand her food to her. Before she heads to the door, she asks the manager one more thing:)

Customer: “Are you guys hiring?”

(I’m working at a sandwich shop when a customer comes through our drive-thru. The coworker at the window calls out the order, and another coworker and I make the sandwich. Our sandwiches are ordered by number. We make a fourteen. As it’s handed out the window, I say:)

Me: “Enjoy your fourteen!”

(The customer pulls away and the window coworker says:)

Coworker: “Oh, no! That was supposed to be a thirteen [vegetarian sandwich]!”

(I try to flag the customer down, but he is gone. A minute later, the customer pulls up to the window honking his horn repeatedly. I lean out the window.)

Me: “Sorry about that, sir; we just realized our mistake. We’ll replace that for you and give you a free bag of chips.”

Customer: “I don’t eat meat, man. I don’t want any f****** chips. I want a refund and two free sandwiches.”

Me: “Let me get my manager, please.”

(The manager comes up and the customer starts yelling:)

Customer: “If I had taken a f****** bite of this, I’d have spit it back in your face. I’m disgusted and offended that you’d even serve this to me!”

Manager: “Sorry about that, sir. It was a simple mistake. I’ve refunded you for your sandwich, and here are those two vegetarian sandwiches. I’ve also thrown in a free bag of chips and a cookie.”

(We took the other sandwich and it hadn’t even had a bite taken out of it. Later, we received a call that we’d gotten a corporate customer complaint over a simple misheard number and two free sandwiches. Just because you’re offended doesn’t mean you have the right to ruin other people’s days.)