(I am British, but I have a really odd combination accent because growing up, I lived in places with vastly different dialects — Essex, Hampshire, Norfolk, and I even spent several years living in America, so on top of all those, I have a slight American twang, too. I am very used to people asking where my accent is from. Most are polite and just mildly curious. I am working in a call centre, though, when the following exchange happens.)

Me: “Hi. You’re through to [My Name] at [Company]; how may I help you?”

Customer: “Oh, your accent. Where is this call centre?”

Me: “It’s in Hampshire. I have a mixed accent because I moved around a lot growing up.”

Customer: “Are you South African?”

(This is a common guess; many people I speak to ask this.)

Me: “No, sorry. I’m British; my accent is just a mixture.”

Customer: “You’re lying. Why would you lie about being South African?”

Me: “I’m sorry, madam, I am not South African, but even if I was, it is irrelevant. Now, how can I help you?”

Customer: “I bet you’re foreign. Probably claiming benefits, stealing from taxpayers, and you’ve stolen that job from an honest British worker. You’re f****** scum, you know that? No wonder you won’t admit to being South African!”

Me: “Madam, this is your first warning and only warning. If you continue to use language like that, I will disconnect the call. However, if you will tell me what it is you are calling about, I will be happy to help you.”

Customer: “Oh, f*** off, you b****. I want to speak to a British agent, not some foreigner w***e like you!”

Me: “As previously advised, I am going to terminate the call. Have a nice day, madam.”

(I hang up the call and go and speak to my manager to inform her of the call, just in case. The customer did not even give me a name, so I cannot pull up an account to make a note on. However, as I am talking to my manager, one of my colleagues comes up and says she has a customer on the line demanding a manager, saying that some “foreign worker” called her names, was rude, and swore at her before calling her a b**** and hanging up. Evidently, the same customer called back as soon as I hung up. My manager looks at me and sighs.)

Manager: “Get back on the phones. Don’t worry; I’ll deal with this.”

(A few hours later, my manager asked me to come to her office. She informed me that she had listened to the call and found no issues with my conduct, and applauded me for my patience and tact with this particular customer. She then told me that she had informed the customer that she had listened to the call and found no indication that I had done any of what she’d claimed, but that, in fact, she had been the abusive one, and if she continued to do so, she would be barred from calling us. Then, the customer shouted abuse at her and she was forced to end the call. A few weeks later, we got a big complaint letter from this customer claiming that my manager and I had insulted her, called her several racial slurs, and called her a w***e. She demanded £100k as compensation. She never got it, but for months we kept getting letters. Each time she ramped up the story until eventually she was claiming that we’d made threats of violence against her, her family  — including claims that I, the “South African,” threatened to shoot them all — and that we threatened to add — in her exact words — a “£1000 b**** charge,” which I personally thought was hilarious. She also threatened to report us to the police, to tell the energy watchdogs about our “conduct’,” and to tell the papers about how our company hired and protected “South African terrorists.”)

(I work in a chain restaurant. A new steak night deal has started and I have just finished explaining the criteria of the deal to this couple.)

Me: “So, it’s a bottle of wine and two steaks for £20 —  quite a good deal as it’s nearly half price.”

Customer: “Right, yes, that is a good deal. So, is there any vegetarian option?”

Me: “No, I’m afraid not, only steaks.”

Customer: “What?! So, not even a gammon or anything?”

(Because apparently, pigs are vegetables. Who knew?!)

(Between work, college, and an apprenticeship, I have currently worked 10 days out of 11 straight without a day off. Needless to say, I’m a bit testy, and I don’t like arguing with stupid at the best of times.)

Customer: “I want to cancel my order.”

Me: “Sure, no problem. May I ask why?”

Customer: “Your service is terrible.”

Me: “My apologies. What seems to have happened?”

Customer: “I rang this morning, and I spoke with a concierge, who transferred me to another department to deal with my query, and they fixed that. Then, I had another query, so I was transferred again, and they sorted that. And then, I thought, you know what? I’ve been transferred too much. I want to cancel! And then, lo and behold, I had to be transferred to you.”

Me: “Okay. First off, I’m sorry you feel you have had poor service, but let me get this right. You’d like to cancel because you were transferred to the departments you needed to speak to regarding your queries?”

Customer: “Well, yes, but when I ring the bank they never transfer me.”

Me: “Okay, well, we are not the bank; we are [Telecoms Company], with many more departments specifically trained to handle your queries. Everything you have described could easily be resolved online yourself to save you calling in, too. I’ll be honest with you, sir; it’s nine am on Sunday morning, the sun is out, neither of us wants to be on the phone and that is understandable, but just to confirm, I do have to ask you this and I apologise that it’s blunt, but do you want to cancel because we fixed your issues?”

Customer: “I said I want to cancel.”

Me: “You are cancelled. Have a good day.”

(This customer has bought £55 worth of items. She has a voucher for 10% off which is applied to the entire purchase. She pays and leaves, but comes back not ten minutes later.)

Customer: “Excuse me. You didn’t take 10% off.”

Me: *checks receipt and points* “No, here it is. You only paid £49.50.”

Customer: “How is that 10%?!”

Me: “It… just is.”

Customer: “No, can I get someone else to fix this? Preferably a man who can actually do maths?”

Me: “I don’t know if there are any men in store at the moment, but regardless, I didn’t actually take 10% off myself. The register did when I scanned your voucher.”

(The woman refuses to listen and goes to reception, where the receptionist and manager — both women — try to convince her that the discount is correct. She again refuses to listen. The manager tells her the next man will be coming in around an hour, and the woman literally waits for him at reception.)

Male Colleague: “I have been told you have an issue with your purchase?”

Customer: “Yes, my voucher wasn’t counted — 10% off.”

Male Colleague: *looks at voucher* “No, it has. The original price was £55, and you paid £49.50. That’s 10% off.”

Customer: “That’s good to know. But really, I can’t stand here all day waiting for you! You need a man in store at all times. I’m much too busy! None of your women had the maths to help!” *storms out*

Male Colleague: “Did she actually wait an hour just for me to tell her what her receipt said?”

Me: “Yup!”

Male Colleague: “And you didn’t bother to tell her you had a maths A-level?”

Me: “I figured after she asked for a ‘man’ that she wouldn’t have listened to me, regardless. I probably could’ve invented calculus and she would still be in doubt as to whether 10% of 55 is 5.5.”

Male Colleague: *laughing* “Well, I didn’t even pass maths!”

(I am a regular at a cosmetics store which prides itself on being environmentally friendly and safe to animals. It has a devoted consumer base, but occasionally one would read something online which challenged these ideals, and being totally naive, completely believe it. I am in the store being served when another regular comes in.)

Employee: “Hello, [Customer]! Nice to see you again. What can we do for you?”

Customer: “I want something a little tougher on my skin, as it has been more oily lately.”

(The employee offers for her to try a product and motions for her to stand next to a basin they use to demonstrate products. The woman does as instructed, but when the employee turns to actually get the product she submerges her entire head into the basin and lifts it out immediately after, screaming.)

Customer: “MY FACE, MY BEAUTIFUL FACE! YOU’VE BURNED ME WITH YOUR CHEMICALS! I CAN’T SEE! OH, MY FACE!”

(She staggers around the shop, swinging her arms around wildly. She collides with just about everyone and probably destroys about half the displays. She finally crumples in a heap, gasping, saying she’ll never see again between breaths. The shop manager comes out.)

Manager: “What’s happened?”

Employee: “I… I don’t know! She said she was burning!”

Manager: “What did she do?”

Me: “She stuck her head in one of the basins. Maybe there was something in it?”

Manager: “But I just filled them up before we opened.”

Employee: “And you’re the first two in. It should just be water!”

(The regular heard all of this, and at the word “water” she stopped screaming, looked around in a daze, stood up, and walked out as if nothing happened. They had to close early to tidy everything up. I went back in a month later and was told the had woman called customer services demanding a refund for a towel she had to buy after she left, to dry herself off.)