(I work at the largest university in Alaska, and we frequently have earthquake drills and, of course, the required fire drills. I am designated as one of our building safety personnel in charge of evacuating the building and getting people to the designated “safe” area away from the building, a large portion of which is floor-to-ceiling plate glass windows. The meeting area is located safely behind the cement parking garage, a good distance from our building. However, people get weirdly stubborn about moving to the correct area, even as I wave and point and usher them. I start becoming very creative in handling these recalcitrant evacuees.)

Me: *in official vest and over bullhorn* “Please step this way behind the parking garage, towards the designated meeting area!”

(A few people move.)

Me: “Folks, please be sure to thank those people over there—” *indicates the people still stubbornly standing right next to the giant glass building* “—who have bravely volunteered to be a human shield for you in the event of a fire or other disaster in which our building, made entirely of glass, could potentially explode outward.” *pause for effect* “Their sacrifice in protecting you from the explosive shrapnel will be much appreciated!”

(The human shields eschew the honor and glory, and move to relative safety behind the parking garage, glaring at me all the while.)

Me: *mentally shrugging; it’s part of my job and I can’t get fired over this* “Thank you for playing the ‘How to stay alive during a natural disaster’ game! Herb, tell them what they’ve won!”

(Most people were laughing pretty hard at this point. The few holdouts glowered at me the entire time.)

(I work in a hotel. People often come in off the street to get directions if they’re lost. Some people are obviously upset about having to ask, so they hardly pay attention. A guy comes in for directions.)

Man: “How do you get to [Store]?”

(He’s a little older, so I offer to print out directions so he’ll have something to look at on paper. He grumbles about that wasting his time and says to just tell him.)

Me: “Take a left out of our parking lot. It’s about a mile down the road, and it’ll be on the right-hand side. It’s just past [Fast Food Place]. If you hit [Entertainment Center], you’ve gone too far.”

Man: “So, go north, and it’ll be to the left? Okay.”

Me: “No, it’ll be on the right-hand side, between the street and the freeway.”

Man: “But you just said left.”

Me: “Go left to take you north out of our parking lot. Then, it’ll be to the right.”

Man: “So, go right.”

Me: “It’ll be to the right, after you’ve started going north towards the mall.”

Man: “God! All women are terrible at directions!”

Me: *tired, but talking with a smile* “Actually, I’m quite fantastic at directions. Most people know me for it. But if you would learn how to listen and stop getting yourself lost, then you wouldn’t be in this predicament, would you?”

(The guy looked at me like I had physically smacked him. Then, he mumbled something and stormed out.)

(Some customers approach my counter who are obviously tourists from another part of the country; the name of their area is written on pretty much every article of clothing they are wearing.)

Me: “Hi, how are you all doing today?”

Customer: “Excuse me? What did you just say to me?!”

Me: “How are you doing today?”

(She gives me a disgusted look as though I’ve just done the most offensive thing imaginable, then rolls her eyes and speaks to me like I’m a toddler.)

Customer: “Okay, like, first of all, you need to understand something very important here. We’re the good people, who come from the good part of the country, where they have the good stores, that sell the good products, which—” *condescending chuckle* “—YOUR KIND wouldn’t know a thing about. So, don’t act like you can engage us on our level.”

Me: *cheerfully* “Ma’am, I’m afraid my workplace does not possess the industrial drilling equipment necessary to reach your level.”

(She doesn’t even flinch, but turns to the gentleman with her.)

Customer: “This is why we should have gone to [Big City in the state they apparently came from], instead.”

(They walk away.)

Supervisor: “You all hear that? Today, our buffalo wings are only the second zingiest thing here!”

(I work at customer service for a gaming console, and we get a fairly large number of prank calls every day. This is how we respond:)

Me: “Thank you for calling customer service; what can I help you with?”

Kid: “Hi, I got my penis stuck in the disk tray.”

(The kid sounds about 13. His friends are giggling in the background.)

Me: “I’m sorry to hear that; we definitely don’t recommend inserting small objects into the drive.”

(I can hear his friends cracking up.)

Kid: *dumbfounded* “It’s not small!” *click*

(I work as a barista for a coffee chain, and like many others, we always ask customers for their names so that we can call out their orders. On this day, there are three of us working, and we all both make coffee AND man the registers. A guy in his mid-thirties wearing a suit walks in, yapping away on his phone. He cuts straight to the front of the line, ignoring the ten or so customers waiting patiently.)

Customer: *on phone* “Yeah, hold on.” *to me* “I’ll have—”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but there is a line. Please wait your turn.”

(He shoots me a dirty look, but goes to the back of the line, still on his phone. I continue taking orders as normal, and soon, [Customer] is back at the front of the line. Lo and behold, he’s still on his phone, and is looking down on me like I’m a piece of dirt. He can’t be more than 5’5”, though, and I’m almost 5’7”.)

Customer: *snootily* “Yeah, I want an iced latte. Make it quick. I have somewhere I need to be.”

(I have a reputation for being extremely sassy and sarcastic, so I manage to keep my calm and speak increasingly politely throughout the whole conversation.)

Me: “All right, sir. What size would you like that?”

Customer: *sighs, as if I should know this already* “TALL! And hurry up!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but is that for here or to go?”

Customer: *is silent*

Me: *waits* “Sir?”

Customer: *irate for no reason* “TO GO! GOD!”

Me: “A tall iced latte to go. That’ll be $2.95, sir. May I have a name for the order?”

Customer: *rifles through wallet, continues talking on phone*

Me: *assuming he didn’t hear me* “Sir? I need a name for your order.”

Customer: *sighs EXTREMELY loudly, rolls eyes and ignores me*

Me: *losing patience, because the line is growing, but still keeping a calm face* “Sir! I need a name for this order.”

Customer: *suddenly exploding* “NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS, A**HOLE!”

(I plaster on a fake smile as he slaps a five-dollar bill down on the counter.)

Me: *handing him his change, in an overly sugary voice* “Here’s your change, sir. If you’ll just wait, your coffee should be ready in a couple of minutes.”

Customer: *huffs, goes and stands in a corner*

(I whip up his drink myself, since I don’t want my coworkers to have to deal with this guy. I notice he’s FINALLY finished his phone call, so I yell out his drink:)

Me: *shouting* “ONE TALL ICED LATTE, TO GO, FOR THE GUY WHOSE NAME IS NONE OF MY BUSINESS!”

(The whole store went quiet. The people in line burst out laughing and the customer went red. He stormed up to the counter, grabbed his drink, and flounced out of the store. I’ve never seen him since.)