I have worked in customer service for years, and as you can imagine, have suffered much abuse.

I was in a gas station I did not work at and grabbed something I needed off the bottom shelf. I habitually pulled the next couple of items forward to make it easier for the next person to get to.

Seeing this, a man assumed I worked there. He proceeds to start yelling (yes, actually yelling) at me about the price of the quarts of oil. Sarcasm is my second language, so I brightly say to him:

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, when I’m in charge of the prices, I’ll be sure to get that changed for you.”

And then I prepared for the backlash.

To his credit and my utter amazement, he stops himself and says:

Customer: “You’re right. You have nothing to do with the prices, and I apologize.”

I tell him no worries and let him know there’s a box store down the street that would have lower prices. He said that’s okay, he was in a hurry, went to the cashier, made his purchase and thanked them, and then went on his way.

I stood in shock for a moment, my faith in humanity temporarily restored. Still makes me smile when I think of him.

I walk into the office a little late. A group of coworkers spots me.

Coworker: “Where have you been?”

Me: “I donated some blood. I do it every three months or so. [Manager] knows about it and it’s always on the calendar.”

Coworker: “Every three months?! But… what if you run out?”

Me: “Uh… no. The body can replenish itself over time. That’s why they recommend every three months at the maximum.”

Coworker: “But you can’t make new blood! That’s why whenever someone loses blood, they need to transfuse new blood into them!”

Me: “And where do you think that new blood comes from, [Coworker]?”

Other Coworker #1: *In a teasing tone.* “It’s true… everyone who donates blood eventually dies.”

Other Coworker #2: *Unable to suppress a smile.* “And people that don’t, live for the rest of their life.”

Coworker: *Pointing at the other coworkers, but looking at me.* “See?!”

Me: *To the other coworkers.* “Why are you enabling him?”

Other Coworker #1: “Because it’s just… so… easy!”

This is back in the 2010s when I worked tech support for a mid-sized office.

Coworker: “My computer is getting real slow.”

I walk over to her desk. She’s using the oldest computer model I’ve seen in the business.

Me: “Why haven’t you upgraded your computer to [standard model]?”

Coworker: “But I like this one. I don’t want that other one.”

Me: “What you like doesn’t matter when you have open twelve programs at once and…” *Counts.* “…almost thirty tabs open in Internet Explorer.”

Coworker: “So, you gonna fix it or not?”

Me: “There is nothing I can do. This computer is too old to even try to fix. You need to upgrade.”

Coworker: “It’s not the computer! Look!”

She shows me the network cable at the back of the computer.

Coworker: “My computer is connected with a blue network cable, and everyone else’s is all yellow. Mine must connect somewhere else! That’s why it’s so slow!”

Me: “Oh gosh darn. You found out about the secret yellow network that we use to intentionally slow down our coworkers’ computers.”

Coworker: “…really?”

Me: “No, not really. Your computer is a fossil. We’re banning you from sending any more tickets to IT unless it’s specifically to request an upgrade.”

I’m working near the customer service desk and overhear my manager take over a phone call from a coworker.

Manager: “This is [First Name] and I’m the manager here. I understand that—”

Pause.

Manager: “No, sir, my customer service agent was correct. It isn’t in stock and can only be ordered online. If you’d like, I can—”

Pause.

Manager: “No, sir. Shouting isn’t going to make it magically appear in our stockroom. I can order it for you to—”

Pause.

Manager: “Well, sir, guess what! Calling me that specific racial slur was the magic word and has allowed me to open the super special high security vault at the back of the back of the store where we actually do have one of those left in stock.”

Pause.

Manager: “No… not really you bigoted pr**k.” *Hangs up.*

It’s quiet until a guest storms up to the desk, clearly irritated.

Guest: “I want to speak to the manager! Right now!”

Me: “I’m the night manager. How can I—”

Guest: “—No! The real manager! The one from lunchtime!”

Me: “I’m afraid the day manager won’t be in until the morning, ma’am.”

Guest: “Then what room are they in? I’ll go wake them!”

Me: “…Ma’am, the manager isn’t here. She’s at home, not sleeping on the premises.” 

Guest: *Shocked.* “What do you mean she’s not here? Don’t you all stay at the hotel?”

She’s actually being serious! Well, I guess I could have some fun with this:

Me: “No, ma’am. All of us actually live together at the local insane asylum. We get bussed in together in batches for day and night shifts.” 

Guest: “…Oh.”

Me: *Leans in with a wide, unnerving grin.* “[Manager] is busy right now; she’s hosting her ward’s bingo game.”

Guest: *Quieter, sheepish even!* “Well… when her bus gets in, get her to call me…”

Me: *Tilts head, still smiling.* “Oh, don’t worry… we’ll send her riiiiight on over.”

The guest backs away toward the elevators, suddenly very quiet. I go back to my paperwork, chuckling to myself.

Oh, and the issue that she needed the “day manager” for? The weather page on her in-room TV service was set to Celsius. (It wasn’t, it rotates between Celsius and Fahrenheit but it always seemed to be Celsius whenever she looked).