I am at a sandwich shop that lets you pick your own ingredients and have the sandwich made in front of you. As I’m picking my vegetables, the customer ahead of me at the register suddenly shouts.

Customer: “What do you mean, no?!”

I look over, as does the employee helping me.

Cashier: “I mean that I know that that woman is not paying for your sandwich.”

She gestures her head toward me, which baffles me, as I’ve never seen this man before in my life.

Customer: “Well, that’s… I mean…”

He blusters a bit, glancing over at me a bit awkwardly.

Cashier: “This is the third time you’ve come in and tried to convince us that someone else is paying. Yeah, we remember. Now, that will be [price], and if you think about coming back to do it again, just don’t.”

The customer stands there, looking like he is flipping between being angry and being intimidated. Finally, he does pay, takes his sandwich, and shuffles out. I get up to pay and glance back over my shoulder.

Me: “Wow. Did he really try that before?”

Cashier: “Yeah. The first time, we didn’t catch it until after the other person had paid, so that was a whole mess, because of course, he’d run off.”

Me: “Ouch. Well, glad you could call him out now.”

Cashier: *Nods and leans in* “Yeah. Just, don’t tell my boss. He’ll just get mad about me ‘upsetting a customer.’”

Me: *Raising an eyebrow* “As if I wouldn’t be upset about being charged for someone else’s sandwich?”

The cashier just gave an eye-roll and a shrug, while his coworker nodded and laughed. Here’s hoping that guy learned his lesson and didn’t try that again.

A large black man stumbles in, clearly under the influence, and goes straight to the counter where I am.

Customer: “I want a footlong on white bread with everything on it.”

Me: “Uh… like all veggies?”

Customer: “Yes, that, too! Now gimme all the meat and all the cheese!”

Me: “Is this a joke? Y’know it would be very expensive to order every meat and cheese, right?”

The man then slams his fist on the counter, making me jump along with the other customers behind him.

Customer: “I know very well what I want! You calling me stupid?! You racist whore!”

Me: “Sir, calm down. I never said I wouldn’t serve you because of your skin, nor was I rude. I’m just surprised; that’s all.”

I make this man his very large sandwich. It takes a long time to make because I have to cook all the meat and try to make it look as nice as possible. The man is cussing and complaining at me the whole time and whining about his wait.

Me: “All right, sir, this sandwich is extremely messy because I couldn’t close the bun due to how many items are on it.”

I ring him up and his total is over a hundred dollars.

Customer: “Are you kidding me?! I am not paying that much for one sandwich! I got this sandwich before and it was never that much! You racist a**hole!”

He stormed out of the store, screaming and cussing.

When I am in high school, I work at a sandwich chain during a promotion to get a foot-long sub for $5. I am working the register when a woman comes up who has seven foot-long subs. I ring her up.

Me: “Hello, your total is [total].” 

Customer: “Why is it so expensive?! I thought these were all $5!”

Me: “Unfortunately, our specialty subs are not a part of the $5 deal.”

I then explain that only three of her sandwiches are $5.

Customer: “I don’t want to pay that! You should have signs posted so customers know which sandwiches are $5!”

Me: “Ma’am, there is a sign on the door, there is a sign where you order, the subs are listed on the menu board behind me, and if you would have asked any of my coworkers, we would have been happy to inform you of our $5 sandwiches.”

She huffs and puffs for a minute.

Customer: “Fine! I’ll pay for it this time, but next time, I expect to get the $5 price for all my sandwiches!”

She pays and behind to walk out.

Me: “I hope you have a wonderful day!”

She stops dead in her tracks and turns to give me the dirtiest look.

Customer: “No! No, I will not have a good day!”

I work at a sandwich shop. It’s usually quiet in the mornings, but this morning, I have a few, shall we say… interesting customers.

The first few customers come in. We have a policy that no more than two people are allowed in the store at one time, but we make exceptions for people from the same household, families, etc. These customers are nice but clearly unaware of how the shop works.

Group: “Can we please have extra meat and bacon in our wraps?”

And then they are baffled by the price.

Group: “Do you serve pizza?”

We very obviously do not.

Group: “Can we eat in the store?”

This is during England’s Lockdown, Part Two (Electric Boogaloo).

It’s somewhat annoying, but excusable, and otherwise not really something to write home about.

But then… Oh, boy, but then.

Two guys come in, neither of them wearing masks. [Guy #1] says they’re exempt, with no proof of that statement, but I let him off. It’s the law to wear masks in shops and takeaways in my country, exemptions aside; however, store policy is that we are not allowed to enforce that law because we’re often alone in the store and there’s the risk of people getting aggressive. It’s very annoying, but oh, well. [Guy #2] is apologetic and puts his sweater in front of his face, at least making an effort.

They order weird sandwiches, but I figure hey, you like what you like.

They go toward the till to pay. There is a plastic screen in front of the till creating a barrier between me and the customers. [Guy #2] goes to pay. [Guy #1] comes round the barrier to open his sandwich on the surface, now less than two metres from me. First of all, the store is takeaway only, and people cannot under any circumstances eat in store. Second, obviously, he is not socially distancing himself from me.

Me: *Politely* Please step behind the screen, sir.”

Guy #1: “You really believe in that?”

I think to myself, “OH, BOY, this is about to go way downhill.”

Me: “Yes, I know someone who died from it.”

Guy #1: “Oh, yeah? Were they tested?”

Me: “They tested positive and died in the hospital.”

I realise that this isn’t really his business, but I am getting angry.

The guy spouts some more bulls*** that I can’t remember, and I tell him that I believe in the many, many deaths from it.

He gives the classic line:

Guy #1: “People die from things every day.”

Me: “At least the flu has a vaccine.”

He kind of repeats his crap, but to be honest, it’s a bit of a blur because I am shaking with anger, and I tend to block out confrontation.

After his friend pays, I turn to him as he’s still talking.

Me: “Buy a mask. Goodbye.”

And I turned and walked to the back room. He continued to rant as he left.

I then made a “Back open in ten minutes” sign, locked the door, and went out back to have a cigarette and a cry. I don’t remember the last time I was this furious.

Related:
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 7
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 6
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 5
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 4
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 3

I’m working at a chain sandwich shop which is popular in the US but does not exist in Britain. The past week or so, we have had a large group of British tourists come in several days during breakfast. Normally, cashiers are required to ask if the customer has a membership card with us before finishing every transaction, but this group of tourists has told me multiple times that they don’t have cards and don’t want to get them, since they’re going back home in a week and won’t be able to use them.

One morning later in the week, an older couple who I do not recognize comes in to order breakfast. I notice two things about them; first, they both have British accents, and second, the wife’s phone has a case covered in pink rhinestones. Because of their accents, I stupidly assume that they are with the group of tourists who have been coming in lately and I just forgot their faces — plausible since it is a large group — so I don’t ask for their membership card. They both order the same breakfast sandwich, and I finish the transaction. After they are all paid out, the husband speaks up.

Husband: “Why didn’t you ask for our membership card?”

Me: “Oh, do you have one?”

Husband: “Of course, we do.”

At this point, I realize I have made a mistake, but I don’t want to admit that I assumed they were tourists because of their accents, both because I am afraid they will be insulted and because I’m embarrassed at having made such an assumption.

Me: “I’m so sorry, sir. It must have slipped my mind; that is entirely my fault.”

Husband: “So we won’t get credit for this transaction?”

Me: “Unfortunately, there’s no way for me to add a transaction to your account once it has been paid out, but if you log into your account on our website and enter the code at the bottom of the receipt, it will add the transaction for you.”

Husband: “So because you made a mistake, we have to do work? That doesn’t seem fair.”

Me: “I know, and again, I’m sorry, but once the transaction has been paid out, there really is nothing I can do.”

The husband sighs, disgruntled, and he and his wife head to our patio and sit down. A few minutes later, one of our runners brings them their food, and a few minutes after that, the husband comes storming back inside. 

Husband: “There are tomatoes on those sandwiches! I hate tomatoes, and so does my wife! Why didn’t you tell me there were tomatoes?”

Me: “I’m sorry, I didn’t know that you didn’t want tomatoes.”

Husband: “It should say on the menu that there are tomatoes! Nowhere on there does it say there are tomatoes!”

He’s right, and I privately agree that it’s a huge mistake not to list all the ingredients, but I have no more control over this than he does.

Me: “I’m very sorry about that. I can see if it’s possible to get the sandwiches remade.”

Husband: “This is just pathetic.”

Me: “Um, let me get you my manager.”

We are trained to get a manager whenever customer satisfaction is at stake. I get my manager who, like me, is a rather petite young woman. The husband berates her, calling her, me, and the rest of the staff “useless” as she apologizes profusely, refunds his order, and has the sandwiches remade. He and his wife receive their remade sandwiches, eat them, and leave. I think that is the end of it until my coworker in charge of table cleanup comes over.

Coworker: “I found this on the patio. A customer must have forgotten it.”

She hands me — you guessed it — a phone in a pink rhinestone case.

Me: “I know exactly who this belongs to. This should be interesting.”

Sure enough, a few hours later, the man and his wife are back. I can see them from the register frantically searching the patio before giving up and heading back to their car. I leave the register and chase them down with the phone.

Me: “Ma’am! Ma’am!”

The wife turns around as I catch up with them.

Me: “Is this yours? Our staff found it left behind on the patio.”

Wife: “Yes! Oh, my God, thank you so much!”

Me: “Of course, happy I could help.”

The husband stood a few feet back, scowling at a spot to my right, but refusing to make eye contact with me. They left after that and I never saw them again, but being the bigger person has never felt more satisfying.