(I have a chemistry teacher who is a bit of a mad scientist.)

Teacher: “Today we’re going to learn something about diamonds. So, what do you know about diamonds?”

Student: “They’re really hard?”

Teacher: “Yes, that’s exactly right. But where people get confused is that they think because diamonds are hard they’re strong. Come up to the front and take a look at this diamond.”

(Students go up and he scratches some glass with the diamond and we all have a look at it.)

Teacher: *gets out hammer* “So, diamonds are hard, but they’re actually very brittle.”

(He then brings down the hammer and smashes the diamond to smithereens. The class is briefly stunned into silence.)

Student: “Umm, wasn’t that expensive?”

Teacher: “I don’t think so; the teacher before me left some industrial diamonds in a cupboard so I’ve just been smashing one every year.”

(I am on holiday in the Lake District. Near where we stay are a series of underground rivers, with tours in boats. It’s a good tour, and the tour guide explains to us that even though they’ve discovered a lot of the caves, there are still probably caves that have not yet been discovered.)

Guide: “And before anyone asks, I don’t know how many undiscovered caves there are. No one does… because they’re undiscovered.”

(No one asked it on my tour, but I have to wonder how many people asked that stupid question for him to answer it without us asking.)

(I’m eighteen, working my first job at a pub. I’ve been dealing with a “Serial Puker” who likes to decorate our disabled toilet with vomit — walls, floors, the lot! As I’ve got a strong stomach — and the disabled toilet is used by genuine users frequently — I have had to clean up this mess eight times in the last three weeks. We know who it is, but have yet to prove that he is doing it. It’s 10:30 pm on a busy Saturday, a regular has just asked me to refill the toilet roll, and as I walk out, a well-dressed — somewhat intoxicated — man pushes past me into the toilet. Cue vomiting sounds. I go get the mop bucket, paper towels, and gloves ready, check the toilet, and then follow the man to his table.)

Me: “Sir, do you need me to call you an ambulance?”

Vomiter: “What? No, Why?!”

Me: “Well, you’ve been so unwell in the bathroom that you’ve managed to vomit over every surface except the toilet itself. I assume you’re feeling extremely unwell.”

Vomiter: “There’s nothing f****** wrong with me. It doesn’t matter where I f****** puke, b****. I’m paying your wages so clean it up.”

Me: “In that case, sir, I am giving you two options: clean up your mess and don’t do it again, or you’re banned.”

Vomiter: “F*** you. Who do you think you are, telling me what to do?! Do you know who I am?”

Me: “Actually, sir, I do. And I dare say your sergeant would love to hear about your behaviour tonight. I have his mobile number and am more than happy to let him know the issue we’re having and show him the CCTV footage from the last three weeks.”

Vomiter: *suddenly very pale* “Uh, no, no. I, uh, don’t do that. I’ll pay for cleanup. I’m sorry.”

Me: “No, sir, the disabled toilet is needed tonight. You are welcome to clean it up yourself, though, if you’d like?”

Vomiter: “Uh, yeah. Okay. Uh, have you got any gloves?”

(We never had another problem whilst I worked there!)

In my last job, working for an online retailer, if a customer complained enough, we were authorised to send them a gesture of goodwill — typically a £5 or £10 gift card — and we, as agents, advised that they would receive these within three to five working days.

I got a call one afternoon from the girlfriend of our customer, fuming that her boyfriend hadn’t received his gift card yet — this was on the fifth working day exactly — and she demanded a gesture of goodwill because the gesture of goodwill was late.  

She didn’t get it.

(My mother has worked in retail for years. When I get my first job in retail we are talking about how stupid customers can be. I doubt her until she recalls this story. She works in a shop that sells disposable barbeques throughout the summer. One day, an angry-looking woman storms up to the till that my mother is working on and slams a carrier bag on the table.)

Customer: “I want to return it!”

(My mother opens the carrier bag and pulls out an opened disposable barbeque. Immediately, she knows something is very off about this, as it is damp and freezing cold.)

Mother: “I’m sorry to hear that. What was the problem with it?”

Customer: “Well, it was awful! It completely ruined our afternoon!”

Mother: “How so?”

Customer: “Well, I bought it in here yesterday so that we could use it this afternoon! I took it straight home and put it in my freezer!”

Mother: “Uh… you did what?”

Customer: “I put it in my freezer so it would be ready for today! Anyway, I opened it today after inviting my entire family round and there was nothing in it!”

Mother: *holding the barbeque and extremely puzzled* “The barbeque wasn’t in it?”

Customer: “Oh, the barbeque was in there, but the burgers were missing!”

Mother: “Erm, disposable barbeques only contain the barbeque itself. You have to buy the food separately.”