CONTENT WARNING: Animal Cruelty

Customer: “Do you think this is big enough for a dog?”

Me: “I don’t know. How big is it?”

(She looks me up and down.)

Customer: “About as big as your thighs.”

(I’m not sure if that is a read about my size, so I decide to ignore it.)

Me: “And what will it be using the box for, a bed?”

Customer: “Decomposing.”

Me: “I’m sorry, what?”

Customer: “It’s dead. I’m going to turn it into compost for my lilies.”

Me: “Oh, how… environmental?”

Customer: “Well, it was f****** useless in life. It may as well be useful in death. Actually, do you think it’s legal to compost your dead pets? I saw something on the TV about doing it with relatives, but pets are a bit different.”

Me: “I honestly couldn’t tell you. You’re the first person who has ever asked me.”

Customer: “Well, that’s f****** rude of you to say. I think I’ll take my dead dog and my business where I don’t have to look at your elephant thighs!”

(It’s then I noticed she had a large bag hanging from her other hand, and I saw a dog’s tail. She left, and thankfully she hasn’t been back during any of my shifts since.)

(I work in a deli.)

Customer: *pointing at something that absolutely does not look like chocolate* “Is this chocolate?”

Me: “No, it’s spicy mustard.”

(She squirts some of it on her finger and tastes it. You can see her realisation, but she doubles down.)

Customer: “Oh, my goodness. That sure is chocolatey!”

Me: *smirking* “Yes, will you be having some?”

Customer: *eyes watering* “No, I’m good, thank you.”

(She left. I’m not sure if she was crying because it was spicy, or because her hopes had been destroyed.)

Customer: “I’d like [meal] with two portions of fries, please.”

Me: “And portion size?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: “Small, medium, or large?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: “Well, which is it?”

Customer: “Yes.”

(I decide she isn’t actually a customer and just someone playing a joke, so I call for the next customer.)

Customer: “EXCUSE ME! I’m ordering.”

Me: “Madam, I asked you three times and you didn’t answer me. What else am I supposed to do?”

Woman: “What did you even ask me?”

Me: “Portion size. Small, medium or large?”

Woman: “Large.”

Me: “For both?”

Woman: “Yes.”

Me: “And which drink would you like?”

Woman: “Yes.”

(I’ve now decided that she really is playing a joke, and is just trying to drag it out for as long as possible. I call on the next customer again.)

Woman: “AGAIN! WHY ARE YOU SO F****** RUDE?!”

Me: “Madam, again, I asked you a question and you didn’t answer it. I have now decided you are just doing this for entertainment and I am refusing you service.”

Woman: “HOW ELSE AM I SUPPOSED TO ANSWER IF I WANT A DRINK?! IT’S PART OF THE D*** MEAL DEAL!”

Me: “I asked you what drink would you like. Not whether you want one. Asking that would be redundant.”

Woman: *seeing a manager just off the side* “Are you hearing this? This b**** is being disrespectful and raising her voice at me. I demand a free meal immediately, or I’ll phone everyone I know and tell them you employ w****s to work for you.”

Manager: “I might have been sympathetic, but the second you start swearing and calling my staff b****es and w****s is the second you get thrown out.”

(She screamed just about every swear word you could think of before running out. The victory was bittersweet, though, as I was also written up for bad-mouthing a customer, and that manager had zero tolerance with me after. I was stuck in traffic a month later, and he told me not to bother turning up again. Then, when I got my dismissal letter through, it said the reason was failing to turn for multiple shifts. Suffice it to say, I don’t list them as a reference.)

(I’m at the park with my young son and my best friend. As we are sitting down having lunch, a couple of attractive girls walk past. It’s summer, so they’re in skirts. Just as they are nearly out of earshot, my friend mutters to me.)

Friend: “Where’s a gust of wind when you want one?”

Son: *quite loudly* Daddy, why does Uncle Jay want the wind to blow those ladies dresses up?

(The ladies turned to look at us and then walked away with a look of both amusement and disgust whilst my friend and I laughed and I tried to hush my son.)

(I work for a company that supplies and fits massive tyres on mining equipment, earthmovers, dumpers, backhoes, etc. Some of these things can be nearly six feet across.)

Customer: “I need a new tyre for [big earthmover].”

Me: “Okay, can you tell me what size you need?”

Customer: “It’s big. But not as big as the other ones.”

Me: “…”