(I work at the local swimming and sports center, manning the bar section where we do kids’ parties. Once a year, we hand out free ice cream to children that have earned their swimming diplomas. We school in three levels of swimming. This customer has three kids, one in each level of schooling. It is a few minutes after his second kid has gotten an ice cream. I recognize the father the minute he calls out to me.)

Me: *serving another customer* “Here’s your change, sir, and here’s your free ice cream, little lady.”

(I head out to the swimming section to serve a kid’s party and then return to be stopped by the customer.)

Customer: “Hey, you son of a b****! I have been waiting here for twelve minutes and I demand you give me my ice cream now!”

(Staying calm, I explain how it is usually busy with the free handouts and three kids’ parties.)

Me: “My apologies for the long wait. Could you please be a bit more patient? I will help you as soon as I can.”

Customer: “That won’t do. I demand my ice cream now! My son will be out here with his C-level diploma and I won’t have him waiting in line this long when my girls already had to!”

Me: “Well, I’m terribly sorry, sir, but it is policy that the children show their diplomas to us; otherwise, anyone could say their child got it and ask for free ice cream, even if they failed the exam.”

(The customer bursts into a raging fit about me not trusting him and how he is a pillar of the community. He is cursing and calling me names, ranting about how I should respect him, at which point I lose all my respectful demeanor.)

Customer: “Get me my d*** ice cream now, you annoying little brat!”

Me: “Well, sir, seeing as your two daughters have had to wait in line, you should be well aware of how things go around.”

Customer: “I said if you don’t get me my ice cream right now, I will take my business elsewhere.”

Me: “So, you will stop waiting in line here when it was your turn after two or three other customers, though you would not have gotten your ice cream seeing as your son is not here to show his diploma, which would mean you would have to wait all over again, and will go somewhere else to get him his ice cream, where you will have to pay for it. My dear sir, I do not care who you are or where you’re from, but from what I can tell, you have just wasted ten minutes of everyone’s time by stopping me from doing my job, you have embarrassed your daughters by acting in such a foul manner in front of them, and worst of all you just gave me the option to ignore you from now until forever. So, go to this other store where you will have to pay, and take your son and your daughters with you, or wait in line like every other respectable parent in this place. I don’t care either way.”

Customer: “How dare you talk to me like that?! Don’t you know who I am?”

Me: “Like I said, I do not care who you are, especially if you disrespect me or my colleagues.”

Customer: “Even so, I am a paying customer so you should treat me with the utmost respect.”

Me: “Sir, you have not paid for a single thing yet; you got your ice cream for free. If you are referring to the swimming lessons, that has nothing to do with me. Now, if you will excuse me, I have paying, respectful customers to serve, and children to tend to. I’ll know when you have made your choice.”

(I walk off taking orders, once again ignoring the customer completely.) 

Other Customer In Line: “How could you not jump over the bar and punch that guy?”

Me: *jokingly* “Because I can’t jump high enough.” 

(The other customer and I chuckle at that. When the customer’s son’s exams are done, I see the customer standing in line at the bar with his son in hand, ready to show the diploma, when it is their turn to be served.)

Me: “Well, then, young man, which ice cream do you want?”

Customer’s Son: “I want a [Brand] ice cream, please.”

Me: *handing over the ice cream* “There you go. Sorry for the long wait; I had a very obnoxious man earlier who was holding up the line.”

(All the customers who had witnessed the event laughed out loud when they heard me, as the man stormed out with his kids, cursing all the way to the car, and probably on the way home, as well.)

Me: *opening spiel*

Irate Woman: “I did not get any replies to my numerous emails! What kind of company are you running there?!”

Me: “I am so sorry to hear that, ma’am. Please let me look into your file.”

Irate Woman: “Don’t you dare say you never received my emails; I know you guys got them!”

(I see a long list of emails and, when opening one of them, I notice a piece of text in red and bold, typed by the customer.)

Me: “I found the emails, ma’am.”

Irate Woman: “Oh, so, you guys are ignoring me on purpose?! Is that it?! I will file a complaint at the [Government Complaint Organisation we fall under] and you guys will be going down!”

Me: “No, ma’am, I see that your complaint has been taken up and dealt with.”

Irate Woman: “Oh?! And why doesn’t anyone let me know that?”

Me: “Because you stated in several emails that you did not wish to receive a reply.”

Irate Woman: “I did not!”

Me: “In red. And bold. In your email of [date] you typed, ‘If you dare contacting me in any way or form again, I will sue you for harassment.’ My managers did what you asked and did not inform you, per your own request.”

Irate Woman: *short silence* “Well, why didn’t anyone tell me that?!”

(Dutch has a couple of vowel sounds which may sound similar to a foreigner, but to us are distinctly different, like [ship] and [sheep], for example. I’m volunteering for a dance festival which draws an international crowd, and I get talking — in English — with a Polish volunteer. She tells me she knows some Dutch words like [good morning], [bread], [cheese], and [goodbye]. Oh, and also [word #1].)

Me: “Why did you learn that word?”

Volunteer: “Well, I used to work for [Electronics], which is a Dutch company.”

Me: “You must have had interesting coworkers.”

Volunteer: “No, it’s because of all the medical equipment.”

Me: “Um… I’m not sure I understand?”

Volunteer: “Well, I worked in the finance department.”

Me: *blank look*

Volunteer: “A lot of that stuff is big and expensive, like CAT-Scans”

Me: “I really don’t see the connection.”

Volunteer: “Well, we would rent them out and I would see the bills which were sometimes in Dutch.”

Me: *very long pause* “Oh, hang on! Did you mean [word #2]?! Which means ‘rent’?”

Volunteer: “Yes! [Word#1]!”

(I’m starting to crack up.)

Volunteer: “Wait, what did you think I said?”

Me: “[Word #2] means ‘rent’. You pronounced it like [word #1] which means–” *cough* “–’person who provides adult services’!”

(She turned a bit red but could laugh about it. The next day I was with some friends of hers and we ended up giving each other short lessons in language to prevent further confusion.)

Since we work with confidential material, our office is only accessible with a security pass. Which is fine… until one morning when I arrive at work and see several people waiting in front of the building. Our team leader, who always arrives first, tells us the system is apparently down, so the passes don’t work. In order to make them work again, the server has to be rebooted, but the server is inside the building. 

Of course, the company has a physical key to the building, as well. In fact, the director had passed it to the team leader for this reason. He also advised her to make copies, just in case, but she never got round to it. Now, where was this key? Well, before the team leader went on holiday, a few weeks ago, she passed it to the department manager, who would be opening those weeks. He then gave it to his manager, who asked for it in order to have copies of the key made… which he did not do. This senior manager also happens to live in a city that is about a one-hour drive from our office. To make his blunder complete, he didn’t even take the key home, but instead decided to lock it in the small safe where we have to put all the keys of our office cupboards. In other words, there is no normal way to open the door.

Finally, the department manager and his brother-in-law, who is also a coworker, arrive with a tool box and try to open several doors into the building with them. After some time, they realise this isn’t working, either. Seeing only one solution, the department manager takes his hammer and smashes the man-high window next to the front door, after which he carefully enters, shuts off the alarm, and opens the front door manually. In order to get to our department, the two men have to force another door open, this time without breaking anything, but still…

When I see the senior manager a few hours later, he is trying to laugh it off as “a little mistake.” I have always seen him as a typical “David Brent” style manager, who prefers being funny over being professional, while not being really funny, either. By now, I feel sure about this more than ever.

(My coworker’s contract will not be renewed due to certain circumstances. She is the one who always fills the team’s candy jar, out of her own pocket, just because she wants to.)

Manager: *jokingly* “[Coworker], we’ve run out of candy.”

Coworker: *deadly serious* “Yeah, well, I’ve run out of contract, so what are you gonna do about it?”

(I needed about two minutes to catch my breath again from laughing. The manager was awfully silent for the rest of the day.)