There is a realtor who has service with our pest control company and occasionally orders inspections through us for her clients. She is rude, entitled, and snooty, and none of us can stand her. Oftentimes she will call in and demand things that we can’t provide, often legally speaking, like information about other people’s accounts. For a while, we would just tell her no and hang up, but now we’ve all made a point to waste her time as much as she wastes ours.

Realtor: “Hi. I’m calling about a mutual client of ours, [Client].”

Me: “Yes, ma’am?”

Realtor: “When was the last time you serviced his lawn?”

Me: “Do you pay for his lawn service?”

Realtor: *Indignant* “No!”

Me: “Then, I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you that.”

Realtor: *Huffing* “Look, he’s got lots of little purple flowers in his yard and I just want to know what you’re going to do about it!”

What she’s describing is a common weed in this part of Florida, colloquially called “Florida snow.” I’ve been almost manically pleasant with her up to this point, but now I really dial up the innocent sweetness in my voice.

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m not familiar with your client’s landscaping situation or preferences. I would hate to send someone out and have them ruin his yard.”

Realtor: *Screeching* “Well, you’re no help at all!”

Then, she hung up. She’s right, though; we definitely can’t help her at all. Stop calling.

I’m working at a card shop. One morning, two ladies come in. After browsing for a minute, they come up to the register. They put their cards down on the counter. I reach for them to ring them up.

Me: “Did you find everything—”

Customer: “EXCUSE ME, I’M NOT READY YET!”

Me: “Oh. Uh, okay. Sorry.”

They stand up there going through the cards. I’ve never seen anyone do this before. You wouldn’t take a bunch of groceries up to the belt and start going through them there, so I don’t know why she thinks it’s okay here, but there are no other customers in the store, so I let it be. I’m not allowed to leave the register when customers are there, so I just stand there awkwardly, watching. Eventually, she chooses three cards out of the big stack she brought up.

Customer: “These.”

Me: “Okay, that’ll be [amount]. Receipt with you or in the bag?”

She literally throws her money at me. When the receipt prints, she snatches it out of my hand. I hand her her change.

Me: “Have a great day!”

Her friend glares at me as they walk out.

Customer: *Over her shoulder* “Could you be any ruder?!”

I work in a bakery as the only woman. The guys are still surprised whenever I carry really heavy stuff or fix things. 

Some of our ovens are built like a closet, with the “shelves” being metal and heated to the appropriate temperature. The breads are baked in sets of metal molds set on rolling wagons that fit into these shelves, putting each batch of molds above a shelf. The oven is about two meters deep, fitting two wagons. 

For some weeks, we’ve had issues with these wagons getting stuck, especially the one in the back. They go in fine, but getting them out sometimes takes a lot of swearing and several big, strong guys pulling — a lot of fun in front of metal heated to 250° Celsius.

I’ve heard a lot of grumbling about it, but the first time I see it happen is also one of the worst times; the wagon is stuck almost all the way back, meaning they can’t even reach it with their hands. Three guys are trying to pull it out with some L-shaped metal pieces. 

Ten minutes pass, and someone’s bleeding after slipping. I get a bandaid.

Me: “Can I take a look? I mean, if it goes in easily, it should come out easily, too, right? Obviously, brute force can’t be the answer.”

Coworker: “No, we’ve got it, don’t worry. We’ve gotten all the others out, too!”

Twenty minutes pass, someone’s gotten himself burnt, and the third one nearly cracks his head open after falling backward when the hook slips off. I’ve offered to look several times, basically begging at the end. 

Finally, they give up and retreat to discuss how to distribute the remaking breads on our other oven types. Obviously, this is unfixable! 

Sensing my chance, I grab a long wooden hook and my phone, turn on the flashlight and drop down onto the floor to look at the wheels. I’m assuming I’m guessing wrong, because surely, the issue cannot be that the wheels have only turned halfway and thus being dragged sideways instead of rolling.

This has gone on for weeks, after all. One of them would have checked! 

Lo and behold, the back wheels have gotten stuck sideways. I maneuver the hook into place on the wheel and give it a sharp pull, and the wheel turns into a proper-ish position. After repeating that for the other wheel, I grab the metal hooks, position them, plant my butt on the floor and my feet against the doorframe, and push and pull backward with all I have… and the wagon comes forward, screeching and reluctantly, but forward it comes. 

And that’s how a problem that had progressed to the point where the replacement of a whole, expensive oven was being discussed was solved by simply replacing a few wheels, and how my big strong coworkers learned that asking someone who can’t solve things with brute force to have a look is a good idea.

My store opens at 9:00 am, but the staff is there early to do opening tasks. We have staggered shifts so not everyone comes and goes at once; the front door is not locked so that the staff can come in when they arrive, but the automatic sensor is turned off. Most of our customers know that if the automatic sliding door doesn’t open, we aren’t open.

We are in our morning meeting when there is a loud knock at the door. We all look to see a man standing outside. The store manager goes to the door but does not open it.

Store Manager: “Hi, can I help you?”

Customer: “What are you doing?”

Store Manager: “Just having our morning meeting. The store doesn’t—”

Customer: “Why is this locked?”

Store Manager: “We don’t actually open for another hour.”

Customer: “I hate this store anyway.” *Stomps off*

Store Manager: *To the team* “Okay, so… back to business.”

Half an hour later, we are doing our opening tasks when the same man walks up behind me.

Customer: “Hey!”

He pokes me twice in the lower back as he speaks. Startled, I drop a glass jar.

Me: “Oh f—” *realizing he’s a customer* “—fffffudge.”

Customer: “Where is everyone?”

Me: *Looking at my watch* “Sir, we don’t open for another half-hour.”

Customer: “Meet me at the checkout.” *Walks away*

I walk off to find my manager in the office.

Me: “Hey, that guy you turned away is back.”

Store Manager: “Tell him we don’t open until nine.”

Me: “Yeah, he’s in the store. He came up behind me and I dropped a glass bottle, which I have to clean up, too.”

Store Manager: *Frustrated sigh* “Why did you let him in?”

Me: “I didn’t.”

Store Manager: “Well… fine. I’ll open a register early, but you can take care of him.”

Me: *Knowing how this will go* “Thanks.”

I clean up the broken glass and meet the man at the register. He has a single small jar of mayonnaise in his hand.

Customer: “Took you long enough.”

Me: “I had to clean up the glass I dropped when you poked me.”

Customer: *Shrugs* “You were no help anyway.”

Me: “Well, sir, as I said, we open at nine.”

Customer: “Then why were the doors open?”

Me: “To allow our staff to come in.”

Customer: “Stupid.”

Me: “Okay. Your total is $2.12.”

He hands me a $100 bill.

Me: “I can’t break that, I’m sorry.”

Customer: “You can and you will. It’s your job.”

Me: *Frustrated* “We aren’t even open yet and you’re trying to give me a $100 bill for a $2 sale? No, I’m not dealing with this.”

We stare at each other for a moment before he puts the bill away.

Customer: “F*** you.”

He left without the mayonnaise.

He called the store later that day to make a complaint, claiming I opened the door for him and harassed him. The store manager checked the video and saw that he’d pried the doors open himself and walked up to me. I didn’t get in trouble for talking to him that way, but we did change the policy to locking the front door before opening. Now one of us has to stop what we’re doing when team members knock, but at least customers can’t let themselves in.

About thirty years ago, when I was a preschooler, my mom and I went to visit my great-grandparents who lived in a neighborhood in Seattle. It was customary at their house to enter through the back door, so we parked and headed through the backyard.

To my surprise, there was a dog sitting in the yard. I was very excited; my great-grandparents hadn’t had a dog last time we visited.

Me: “Mom, can I pet the dog?!”

But she was already pulling me back around to the front of the house. I was so upset that she wouldn’t even entertain the question of whether we could go see the dog; she was too busy knocking on the front door.

My great-grandfather answered.

Great-Grandfather: *Confused* “Why did you come to the front door?”

My mom ushered me inside and closed the door behind us.

Mom: “There’s a coyote in the backyard!”

No wonder she didn’t let me pet it!