(I place an order for pizza delivery, specifying the delivery time as 8:00 pm, two hours after the order is placed, so I can be sure that I have the kids in bed by the time the delivery arrives. I also leave a note making it super clear to come after 8:00 pm and to not knock on the front door but to call when the delivery was here. I’m in the middle of reading a bedtime story to my two-year-old at around 6:30 pm when there’s a loud bang at the door. I so hope it isn’t, but alas, it is the pizza guy.)

Delivery Man: “Order for [My Name].”

Me: “Yes, I did place an order… for an hour and a half from now.”

Delivery Man: “Yes, I am early for you. It is good, yes?”

Me: “No, not really. Sorry, but I ordered ahead on purpose because I’m in the middle of putting my kids to bed. I don’t really want this pizza right now; I wanted it after 8:00 pm.”

(I show him the note on the receipt asking them to please not show up early.)

Delivery Man: “I am early! Early is better! Not late!”

Me: *tired of the back and forth* “Okay, well, I’ll obviously take the pizza because I don’t want you to have to come back out again. Obviously, some wires got crossed somewhere. You have a good evening now!”

(I put the pizza in the oven to keep it warm and finish bedtime. I give the pizza place a quick call to explain what happened. I’m not trying to get anything free; I just like this particular pizza place so I would like this to not happen in the future. The owner is super apologetic, says they were busy and didn’t take the time to read a note, and he says the next time I order it’s on the house. I insist that isn’t necessary, just to check the notes when I order, please. I enjoy my pizza. Just as I finish eating, there is another loud knock at the door. It’s the same delivery guy.)

Delivery Man: “I have pizza for you; boss man said it’s on the house!”

(He has the exact same order again.)

Me: “Oh, I really don’t need another pizza! I’ve just finished eating the one you brought earlier. Thank you for coming out but I don’t want to take the pizza.”

Delivery Man: “No, no, it’s okay; boss man said it’s okay.”

Me: “Yeah, I understand, but I don’t need another pizza; I still have half a pizza. Honestly, it will just be too much pizza in the house.”

Delivery Man: “No, don’t worry! It’s okay! Boss man said it’s for you! It’s fine!”

Me: *exasperated, takes order* “Thank you. Have a good evening.”

(Why on earth would I want a duplicate order the exact same evening?)

(I’m manning the shop while my manager is out for lunch. A man comes in asking about hunting knives. We talk for a bit and I show him several of our blades. He noticeably keeps asking to see the biggest and sharpest ones we stock.)

Me: “Well, there’s this.” *takes out a 15-inch bowie-designed knife*

Customer: “Oh, yeah! Can I see that?”

(I hand the knife over, while going into the spiel about the grade of steel, techniques for sharpening it, and so on. The customer seems very pleased as he tests the weight and then smiles at me.)

Customer: “You know what’s funny? You were actually just stupid enough to hand this to a random guy, with no idea what he intends to use it for.”

(He suddenly thrusts the knife at me.)

Customer: “Now, how about you walk me over to your register and hand over every f****** cent before I see how far I can sink this into your heart, moron?!”

Me: “Sir, if I may just ask, you are aware we’re a sporting goods store?”

Customer: “Yeah, so? Cash now, a**hole!”

(He thrusts the knife at me again. I tactfully back away while glancing over to my left.)

Me: “Could you please just read what the sign there at the bottom of the stairs says, then?”

(The customer-turned-robber looks confused, then cautiously turns to the sign.)

Customer: “‘Guns located on second floor’? What the…”

(He turns back to see I’ve now drawn my sidearm — I keep it holstered in a manner that it’s not immediately visible from the front — and have it aimed at him.)

Me: “Before you comment on others’ intelligence, consider that you walked in here and somehow missing both that sign and the one outside stating we carry all manner of sporting goods, including firearms!”

(He dropped the knife and booked it out the door, leaving me to call the police and give them a full report. I can understand why he thought this would work, since the way the store is set up it’s not immediately evident we carry firearms, but at the same time, who honestly isn’t aware that guns are also classified as “sporting goods” in a state that permits open carry?)

(I work at a well-known pet store; I handle the phone calls and help customers find things they need. I receive a call from a customer who at first doesn’t know how to find us. I have to try to guide him through the phone, yet he refuses to give me details of his current location.)

Me: “Okay, sir, what street are you currently on?”

Customer: “I don’t know!”

Me: “Look for a sign indicating what street you are on, and I can give you directions from there.”

(After a couple of minutes he finally finds a street sign. I am then able to give him directions. At this point, I think our phone conversation will be over, but he then asks me a question.)

Customer: “Do you guys sell puppy food?”

Me: “Yes, we do, sir! We have tons of different brands with puppy formula.”

Customer: “Perfect. I’ve been driving around all day to find a puppy formula!”

Me: *mentally* “How hard is it to find puppy food?”

(About ten minutes later an older gentlemen approaches me, asking where the puppy food is.)

Me: “Did you just call our store?”

Customer: “Yes, I did.”

Me: “Great! I was the one who spoke with you!”

Customer: *looking annoyed* “Can you just take me to the food?”

Me: “Yes, right this way.”

(I proceed to show him the different puppy foods we carry. Suddenly, he throws his hands up in the air and starts yelling.)

Customer: “I said I needed puppy formula; this isn’t puppy formula!”

(I point at the bags and show him that they each say, “Puppy Formula.”)

Customer: “No, like puppy formula for dogs who are nursing! My dog is already dried out!”

Me: “I apologize, sir, that there has been a misunderstanding, but I’m afraid we do not sell puppy formula for nursing dogs here.”

Customer: “I specified on the phone that they were only seven weeks old!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t ever remember you specifying that they were only seven weeks old.”

Customer: “Besides that, puppies can’t have kibble until they are at least two years old!”

Me: “Sir, have you ever had dogs before or bred dogs before?”

Customer: “No!”

Me: “Then let me just say that dogs don’t have to wait until they are two years old to eat solid food; they can start eating solid food as soon as four weeks. Who told you dogs couldn’t eat solid food until they were two years old?”

Customer: “I Googled it.”

Me: “So, you’ve been giving these dogs nothing but milk for seven weeks?! Through the mother?!”

Customer: “Yes, she’s been breastfeeding them for seven weeks, and now she’s dry; I need formula! Also, do you have a cream? Her nipples are bleeding.”

(Some people shouldn’t be allowed to have pets.)

(Our store has one place to queue and a row of fifteen tills. The cashier on the till pushes a button to call for the next customer, informing them of the till number ready for them. If it is busy, sometimes the customer can’t see the actual person standing at the till waiting to serve them, and to the more dim customers, this means that maybe the till itself or a ghost has called them and they ignore the call. I have pressed the button three times, and finally, the two women ignoring me make their way to my till. I greet them and they just glare at me, as if it’s my fault they are idiots. One of them is holding two items of clothing, which she puts down on the counter. I pick up one and scan it, fold it, and reach for the second. I am about to scan it.)

Customer #1: “We’re paying separately.”

Customer #2: *just glares at me*

(I asked if [Customer #1] required a bag, and they grumpily complained about not paying 5p, so I took that as a no. I processed the sale and repeated the process with the second customer, thanked them, and said goodbye. I didn’t get much as a mumble of thanks during either transaction, let alone as they walked off. Apparently, my job also requires me to be psychic!)

(I’m working at the front desk of a hotel when a guest walks up to me, visibly annoyed.)

Guest: “The housekeepers didn’t clean our room this morning!”

Me: “I’m sorry about that; let me check the housekeeper’s log.”

(When guests put the “Do Not Disturb” sign on their doors, the housekeepers mark “DND” next to the room number. Sure enough, it is written next to theirs.)

Me: “I apologize, ma’am. It looks like you had the ‘do not disturb’ sign on your door so the housekeeper didn’t clean it.”

Guest: “We only had it up in the morning! We took it back down after we got back!”

Me: “I’m sorry, the housekeepers only work during the morning; if they saw that you had the sign on your door they would have moved on to the next room.”

Guest: “Well, wouldn’t they knock anyway?”

Me: “No, ma’am, the sign says, ‘Do not disturb,’ so they wouldn’t disturb you.”

Guest: “Why wouldn’t you guys at the front desk call down just to make sure we didn’t need service?”

Me: “Again, ma’am, I’m sorry but the sign says, ‘Do not disturb,’ so we wouldn’t try to contact you.”

(She walked away, looking confused, still muttering about us not cleaning her room.)