I have been working in hospitality for twelve years and have stumbled across many hilarious and terrible customers in my time. The best ones ask the stupid questions, though.

Customer #1: “What’s the difference between the cold Guinness and regular Guinness?” 

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Customer #2: “What’s in a Bailey’s Latte?”

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Customer #3: “I’d like to order a pizza, please.”

Me: “We don’t sell pizzas here.”

Customer #3: “You do!”

The customer points to the menu where it says, “Panini.”

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Customer #4: “Are there nuts in the pecan chocolate brownies?”

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Customer #5: “I’d like a chicken tequila masala!”

I work in a tea shop. An older woman comes into the store asking about tea for a friend. I assist her in making a selection, and I explain that we sell the loose tea by weight.

Customer: “What’s the smallest amount I can buy?”

Me: “The minimum we sell is 2 ounces, which is roughly one scoop.”

I show her a scoop.

Customer: “Let me get one scoop, then.”

I put one scoop in the container and weigh it.

Me: “That’s about 2.8 ounces, which would come to [price]. Is that okay?”

Customer: “Yes, that’s fine.”

She pays and leaves. The same customer comes back twenty minutes later.

Me: “Back again so soon?”

Customer: “I was looking at my bill, and I noticed you sold me almost three ounces when I asked for two. Why did you do that?”

Me: “Ma’am, I did tell you when I weighed it out that it was over. I can easily give your money back for the excess if you li—”

Customer: “I don’t want to return it! I am perfectly happy with the tea I bought for my friend. I just want you to know that selling me more than I asked for is a very nasty way to do business. And I think it was just very nasty of you!”

The customer storms out.

Coworker: “Did she just come back in here to complain about a purchase she was happy with?”

Me: “Yep, that’s what just happened.”

I’ve spent almost my entire adult life living in rented rooms in shared houses or flats, as was the case when I started dating a great guy. Tensions arose at home due to me dating another man, resulting in me being given minimal warning to try and find another place. Then-boyfriend and I agreed to try to find a place together, and we ended up moving into a ground floor flat with the owner and his wife.

It turned out that the owner was a bit of a control freak. He set off my C-PTSD — coupled with other, unrelated life events — and I became very isolated and afraid of him. It turned out, while he wasn’t aware of everything going on, he absolutely approved of my being intimidated by him. 

However, one day he pushed me too far and my fear evaporated and I started standing up for myself. He reacted so badly to this that we argued over a blown light bulb and he ended up giving us our notice to move out after we’d been there about two years.

This story just about sums up what a pain in the behind he was.

On the day of our leaving, we had a friend — who also rents rooms — come over, ostensibly to help, but really to be there in case things went south, between his experience and his physical presence, since he was broader and beefier than the other three people combined. Our landlord protested him being present; I was ready to stick to my guns but my friend excused himself and stood by the open window to listen.

Our landlord started pulling the furniture out from where it had stood for the entire time we’d lived there and complaining about the dust behind them. He demanded to know why we hadn’t cleaned there. I pointed out that he had expressly forbidden us from moving the furniture.

“That isn’t true,” he claimed.

It absolutely was. I reminded him of the time my boyfriend went to him to ask if we could move the room around and he flatly refused.

“That never happened.”

I pointed out that there were even labels stuck to the furniture saying not to move them.

“That’s not true.”

Of course, it was true! I went over to a piece of furniture and pointed to the label, exclaiming that it was right there!

He rolled his eyes, muttered, “Typical,” and instead started pulling out the drawers to make sure they were all empty.

When he left the room, my friend poked his head through the window. He had been just about crying trying not to laugh loud enough to be heard, and he said that he thought I’d been exaggerating how much of a pain the landlord was. 

NOPE! Not at all. This story is one single perfect example of just how he was.

My boyfriend and I had decided how much of our deposit we’d be willing to say goodbye to, just to be rid of him; we said he should take the last couple of week’s rent out of it. We got a little more than our minimum back and off we went.

In the years since, we’ve gotten married, we’ve stayed close friends with the friend who was there, and my mental health has enormously improved.

I just pity his wife, who was as lovely as our landlord was petty and controlling.

In the UK, you can tell what type a phone line is by the first two digits. 01,02,03 and 08 are landline phones while 07 is always a cell phone. I work as an outgoing cold call agent in the UK where we see the phone numbers listed as we call them.

Me: “Hello, sir, I am calling from [Cell Phone Company] regarding your cell phone plan.”

Customer: “I am on pay-as-you-go; I don’t have a cell phone monthly plan.”

Me: “Yes, I noticed and you could be getting a much better deal for your cell phone.”

Customer: “I’m sorry, but I’m driving. Could you call back later?”

I take a second to look at the number I dialed before I respond.

Me: “Sir… are you telling me that you’re driving your house?”

It was an 01 house landline number. The customer paused for a couple of seconds, stuttered, and hung up.

I am flying out to Germany to visit a friend. I try a bit of shopping in the duty-free shop before heading to my terminal and see a watch I like, but there isn’t a price.

Me: “Excuse me, how much is this watch?”

Worker: “It’s duty-free, so it’s cheaper!”

Me: “Yes, but I don’t know how much it is.”

Worker: *Opening the case* “You won’t find it this cheap anywhere else.”

Me: “I know, but how much is it?”

Worker: *Walking to the register* “Come with me and I’ll let you try it on. It’s cheaper!”

I stand staring at her.

Worker: “Is there a problem?”

Me: “Yes, I don’t know how much it is.”

Worker: “It doesn’t matter. It’s cheaper!”

I give up and leave. Five months later, I am at the same airport. I check the shop again and the watch is still there. There is a price tag on it this time and I decide I want it. I speak to the same woman again.

Me: “I’d like to buy this watch?”

Worker: “No, you can’t afford that.”

She rushed to the case, yanked it open, ripped the watch out, and ran away from me.