I am taking orders in the drive-thru. The next car pulls up.

Me: “How can I help you?”

Customer: “I want a coffee with a little bit of milk.”

Me: “Yes, is that hot or iced?”

Customer: “Hot, with a little bit of milk.”

Me: “Okay, a medium normally gets three milk; would you like one or two?”

Customer: “I don’t want cream!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. You would like a little bit of milk. A medium normally gets three milk. So, would you like one or two, instead?”

Customer: “I don’t want cream!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. I am sorry. You would like a little bit of milk. A medium normally gets three milk. So, would you like one or two, instead?”

Customer: “I DON’T WANT CREAM! I SAID MILK!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, you would like a little bit of milk in your medium hot coffee. I am sorry, but I do not believe I am saying cream. A medium hot coffee normally gets three portions of milk. Since you want a little bit of milk, would you like one portion of milk or two portions of milk instead?”

Customer: “Oh, three.”

Me: “Thanks. So that is a medium hot coffee with the normal amount of milk! Anything else?” 

She ended up getting donuts, too. Luckily, she didn’t pick them out. I’ve done this job for a LONG time. That was the hardest medium hot coffee I’ve ever sold.

Related:
Not The Cream Of The Crop, Part 4
Not The Cream Of The Crop, Part 3
Not The Cream Of The Crop, Part 2
Not The Cream Of The Crop

My husband’s mother doesn’t trust men. When my husband was eight he “broke up” with a classmate. His mother yelled at him, saying he was just like all men.

He had a girlfriend in high school for two years but they mutually broke up their junior year. When my husband and I got engaged, some friends, including his ex-girlfriend, threw me a bridal shower. At one point, I was in a small circle of women: me, my husband’s ex-girlfriend, his mom, his sister, and two friends. His mother turned to the ex.

Husband’s Mom: “[Ex-Girlfriend], this should be your bridal shower.”

I told my husband that night that when we got married, his mother could visit but her suitcases would never come through the front door. She also told us we couldn’t invite his dad to the wedding. I told her we already had and would let her know if he was coming so she could decide if she wanted to attend. If looks could kill…

I’m a service technician and I’ve got a new trainee riding with me. I’m male and the trainee is female. We finish our work, and the trainee asks if she can get the key so she can warm up the van while I’m finishing up with the customer. It’s cold and snowing out, so it sounds good to me. I reach into my pocket but accidentally pull out the wrong key ring.

Me: “No, I’m not giving you my house key.”

Trainee: “Oh, come on! I thought we were friends.”

Customer: “Or more than friends?”

Me & Trainee: “…?”

Me: “Let me just get a signature on the ticket and we’re good to go.”

Normally, I’d ask if the customer had any questions about the service, but I was a bit too creeped out, so I gathered my tools, politely said goodbye, and got out of there.

My primary care physician finds some dangerous anomalies in some routine blood work and refers me to a specialist. I call the specialist’s office to make an appointment and I run into an obstacle.

Receptionist: “Before the doctor can see you, you will need to get your records from your former visit.”

I suddenly remember that I saw this same doctor five years ago for something similar.

Me: “You don’t have the records?”

Receptionist: “We moved buildings and changed our name, so no.”

Me: “Why can’t you use the records on file from my primary physician?”

Receptionist: “We need our former records.”

Me: “And you don’t have them.”

Receptionist: “No. We moved buildings.”

Me: “…”

Receptionist: “Call this number and get your records or the doctor can’t move on with treatment.”

I am frustrated by this, as my health issue is potentially life-threatening and I just want to get started in treatment, but I hang up and call the number. The call leads me to a badly recorded message that’s just some guy saying that if I want records I have to mail twenty-five dollars and a signed note to a PO box. I hang up on that mess, call the specialist’s office back, and speak to the same receptionist.

Me: “That was a weird message asking for money. I won’t be doing that. I can get you the records of my treatment from my doctor. It was only a one-year course of [medication] five years ago. Nothing else.”

Receptionist: “Nothing else?”

Me: “One medication. That was all.”

Receptionist: “Well, you have a week before your appointment. Just get those records or the doctor can’t treat you.”

She hung up on me. Maybe this is common practice for a medical office that has changed buildings, but it seems way too shady to me. I called my PCP and got a referral to a different specialist.

I overhear two women trying on outfits in a clothing store.

Customer: “Is this too sexy? I can’t be too sexy, or I end up with more kids.”