I took over from another coworker, who was going for her break. There were a few bits that needed sorting, most notably a clothing return. The customer had said she’d go pick out an item of clothing to the value of the couple she’d brought back, so I waited until she turned up.

She turned up with a trolley full of shopping…

Customer: Hi, these are my clothes I’m returning, can I exchange them for this shopping?
I explain that it’s against store policy to do so, as items have to be exchanged for something from the same area of the store. She goes and pays for her shopping whilst I serve some other customers.

Her daughter (who is about 7) asks me if I can give her mum store credit (which I can’t unless it’s due to a store error) and so I wait again for the customer to return. At this point, it’s been a good ten minutes since the customer first spoke to me.

About 5 minutes later, the daughter asks me if her mum can have a refund onto her debit card (which she can).

Eventually, the mother returns and we sort the money out. She then asks me if she can buy some clothing items…

(I work at the till at a charity shop in England. It is the day of Harry and Meghan’s wedding, and as I’m ringing up this lady, the news talks about the wedding. The lady shakes her hands and sighs before looking up at me.)

Customer: *giving me a horrified look* “You know, it’s the first mixed marriage in the royal family!”

(My mind stops. Mixed? What does she mean? I’m caught so off-guard that my first thought is “mixed because it’s a man and a woman?” My next thought is “mixed because they’re from different countries?” and, I know it’s wrong, but nothing else seems to make any sense, so I go with that.)

Me: “Oh, well… I guess… Back in the day, it would have been… good for the countries’ alliance?”

Customer: *shaking her head again* “No! It’s awful!”

Me: *still dumbfounded* “That’s [price]. Would you like a bag?”

(The lady paid, grabbed her stuff, and stormed out, still grumbling. It took me a full ten minutes to release exactly what she was talking about.)

(A Yorkshire pudding is a savory item made of batter and baked until it rises and looks kind of like a mini bowl. Aunt Bessie’s is a famous brand of supermarket-sold Yorkshire puddings. It is Sunday. Our pub is well known in the local area for doing really good roast dinners. I am serving a family. They all look fairly normal, apart from the young grandmother — middle-aged — wearing pearls and a cardigan. Everyone else at her table is in jeans.)

Me: “Here you go, everyone! Here’s your roast beef, your lamb, and your veggie sides. Does anyone need any more sauces?”

Woman: “Excuse me?!”

Me: “Is everything okay?”

Woman: “Take this back to the kitchen at once! This roast pudding is burnt!”

Me: “I can do that for you now. I’m so sorry! I’ll get this changed right away!”

(I rush off to the kitchen.)

Me: “One of the ladies at table eight says that her roast pudding is burnt. Could you swap it for a lighter one?”

Chef: “It’s not burnt. Bloody h***. Let’s take a look at this batch and find one she might like.”

(We find the palest one we can find and I go back out.)

Me: “I’m so sorry about that. Here’s your meal. The chef assured me that they aren’t burnt. The Yorkshire puddings just look a bit darker than you would expect because they are made from scratch and baked. If you pull it apart, it still comes apart like bread and doesn’t flake.”

Woman: “Hmmf!”

Me: “Is it still not to your liking? If not, the chef cooks them in batches, so I can get another one for you in about five minutes. If you don’t want to wait, I’m more than happy to get you some more meat or potatoes, instead.”

Woman: “What I want is an unburnt roast pudding!”

(She shoves the dish at me and spills hot gravy on my hands.)

Woman’s Daughter: “For God’s sake, Mum! Every restaurant!”

Me: “It’s no trouble.” *forced smile* “I’ll just go check on the kitchen and get you a new one.”

(I go back to the kitchen and the chef hands me a plate of roast puddings.)

Me: “What’s this for?”

Chef: “That’s the new batch. Check if she can find one she likes. Let the table have the rest if they want them.”

(I go back to the table.)

Woman: “Every single one of these is burnt! Can’t you do anything right?! A roast pudding is meant to be beige! Light brown! Not mahogany! Not the colour of my bloody coffee table!”

Me: *silently goes back to the kitchen and explains what happened*

Chef: “I’ll make her one special. The colour she wants.” *sarcastically* “As this woman clearly knows how to cook a roast pudding better than me! You know what? I think she’s thinking of those cheap crappy ones you buy at the supermarket.”

(I take out the newly-cooked Yorkshire pudding. It’s light brown, undercooked, and almost raw in the middle. Her family has finished eating.)

Woman: “That’s what I’m talking about! Finally! That’s the right colour!”

(The woman takes a bite of the gooey mess, only held together by a ring of almost-cooked batter. I see the look on her face. It’s clearly underdone, but she’s made such a fuss to get what she wanted, it’s obvious she can’t back down.)

Me: “Is it to your liking?”

Woman: “It’s perfect. Thank you!”

(As I walk away, I hear…)

Woman’s Daughter: “Next time, we’re leaving you at home with your cheap Aunt Bessie’s!”

Call Centre Guy: “How can I help you today?”

Me: “I’ve had my new mobile phone for two days and you’ve sent me a bill?” *middle of the month is always a time of bad cash flow*

Call Centre Guy: “Yes, you always pay the first month in advance.”

Me: “I cannot afford to pay it until the end of the month.”

Call Centre Guy: “You have to pay it by the 19th. If you don’t, we’ll charge you for a late payment.”

Me: *resignedly* “Okay, so, what’s the late payment fee?”

Call Centre Guy: “Well, as long as it’s no later than fourteen days, which it doesn’t sound like it will be, there’s no late fee.”

Me: “Okay, well, thanks for your help.”

Call Centre Guy: “You’re welcome.”

(It was only later when I recounted this story to a friend of mine that I realised the pointlessness of this conversation.)

I am a manager of a small bar and music venue. We mainly get local bands and DJs that are starting up and grateful for the exposure. I occasionally have to deal with rude or entitled idiots, but this one girl definitely stood out.

When she called me, she was initially nice enough, asking about schedules and costs for her DJ set; however, she started getting more difficult and clearly thinking she was more famous than she was, demanding I cancel other bands’ already booked slots and rearrange the lighting display to suit her. She also claimed that I would definitely want her as a regular and to clear a space in the weekly schedule, something we don’t do for outside performers. All of these were denied and I gave her one booking slot.

The day came and she arrived before any of the other acts, started looking around, and demanded I take down our in-house lights and buy new ones from this “eco-friendly” shop and that we move and rotate the — fixed — stage to face the outside light, as vitamins help you perform or something to that effect. She then said she needed other bands’ slots, as she’s a celebrity. She also mentioned her expected salary as a celebrity regular. I adamantly held my ground on her ridiculous demands. She hassled other people, as well, always introducing herself as “you know who I am” and trying to take performance slots. Just before the setup window ended and guests came in, she told me how all images of her were copyrighted and photos were not permitted. I just nodded and chuckled.

Her performance slot arrived and she arrived with a group to set up her (incredibly basic and cheap) DJ set, introduced herself as the most famous DJ in the area — to loads of confusion — and then started her set. It was by far the worst set I’d ever heard — random screeches, going from one genre to the next within seconds, and shouting over the top. Basically, imagine a toddler smashing random keys on a keyboard that’s randomly changing sounds, and crying over it. That would be better than her set was.

The whole time, her group of friends was approaching anyone who took out a phone and aggressively saying, “No pictures!” The hostility and terrible music drove most guests to the bar or tables, yet her friends still approached them and said, “No pictures,” even when they were clearly doing something else. After several complaints, I was forced to pull the plug on her and kick her out. Of course, she flipped out, saying the whole, “Do you know who I am?!” thing, as well as saying I didn’t appreciate her good music and that we would see her in every magazine, blah, blah, blah.

A few days later, my friend at another venue reiterated the same story to me and we concluded it was the same girl, so we checked her Twitter account. She had less than ten followers, some we recognized as her friends, and we discovered that she’d been banned from almost all music venues nearby due to her hostile attitude. 

Seriously, how can someone be so convinced of their own fame that they continue to put on such an act?