(It’s the opening weekend of “Frozen II,” and we are being absolutely slammed. Management and corporate have forced us to cancel about half of our other movies in order to add more showtimes for the film, and they are all selling out. Our usher is so swamped cleaning so many disgustingly messy “Frozen II” theaters that he literally had a panic attack. Box office lines are going out the front door and spilling into the parking lot the entire day. And so many people are coming through concession so quickly that even with extra staff called in and an extra popcorn popper running, the concession staff can’t make popcorn fast enough to keep up with the demand, so there’s a wait on popcorn. It’s absolute chaos. I’m coming in for my mid-shift. I’ve literally just walked in the front door and haven’t even had a chance to clock on yet when someone runs up to me screaming…)

Customer: “YOU G**D*** PIECE OF S***! YOU’D BETTER F****** FIX THIS NOW!”

(I’m absolutely shocked, as this came out of nowhere and I don’t even know what’s happening.)

Me: “Um… I, um… I don’t know…”

Customer: “PIECE OF S*** C***SUCKER MOTHERF*****, DO YOUR F****** JOB, A**HOLE!”

Me: *honestly frightened* “Sir, I… I literally just got here, and I’m not even clocked in. I don’t even know what the problem is.”

Customer: “YOU F****** LIAR, SACK OF S***!”

(He literally stands there for a full minute while I wait for my shift to start so I can clock on, screaming every obscenity I’ve ever heard at me. I clock in and literally run into the back, with him trailing behind me screaming the entire time. I manage to go into the employee break-room and slam the door behind me. My manager is inside, shaking her head.)

Me: *frustrated* “I don’t know what the h*** happened, but some guy is out there losing his mind.”

Manager: “Oh, I know. That’s why I came back here. I couldn’t deal with it after five minutes.”

Me: “What’s going on?”

Manager: “He bought tickets for Frozen II for the wrong theater, and got mad we wouldn’t let him in for free here — which we can’t even do, because all the showtimes are sold out, anyway.”

(I went out only to be screamed at some more before he finally left around ten minutes later. And that set the mood for the entire day. I’ve never been yelled at or berated as many times as I was that day.)

(I do some acting lessons and groups at a company as a teen. The backstage area is pretty dirty and has a lot of spider webs as a result.)

Me: “There are two spiders right there and they are kind of big!”

Friend #1: “Ahh, really?”

Me: “What should we do? I don’t want to go near them, because I have a little arachnophobia.”

Friend #1 & Friend #2: “Me, too!”

Friend #2: “But tarantulas are pretty cute.”

Friend #1: “Yeah, they are, so furry!”

Friend #2: “Aww, and their adorable eyes!”

(They continued to talk about their love of tarantulas as I stared up at the spiders, wondering how they could say they were afraid of spiders when they found tarantulas to be cute.)

(I’m stocking refrigerated items in the deli. Our company has a very strict policy of items not being out of refrigeration for more than 20 minutes. A customer comes to the counter; I’m the only one available for the counter at the moment.)

Me: “Ma’am, let me put this cart in the fridge real quick and I’ll be right with you.”

Customer: “Oh, I’ll only be a second!”

Me: *leaves cart and heads to counter* “Okay, what can I get for you?”

Customer: “Uh…. hmm… What’s this?” *points*

(Our deli hot case is glass, with labels clearly describing what the item is and the price.)

Me: “Boneless hot wings.”

Customer: “Hmm… and how much are they?”

Me: “[Price] per pound. I’ll give you a second to decide, but I really need to get this cart in the fridge real quick.”

Customer: “But I’ll only be a second!”

Me: *as I’m pushing the cart* “Yes, ma’am, so will I.”

(To the surprise of nobody, I’m sure, she was in fact not “only a second” after that. I learned my lesson that day.)

(It is a late shift, we are closing in an hour, and I am making drinks while one of my coworkers is on register. One of our regulars comes up; most of our regulars are nice but this one always has a sour look on her face and is known for being difficult.) 

Coworker: “Hello! Wha–“

Customer: *cuts right to it* “Ultra-caramel frappe with extra milk, half ice, light ice, light whipped cream, and extra caramel drizzle.”

(I hear the order and start making the drink right away. Before she even finishes paying, she screams.)

Customer: “THAT’S TOO MUCH MILK!”

Coworker: “Would you like her to pour some out or start over?”

Customer: *gives blank angry state and says nothing*

(Before she can ask again…)

Me: *in a polite sweet voice* “I’m sorry, I will start over.”

(The regular finishes paying and waits at the pickup area. I show her the milk amount before I make the rest of the drink; I pour just over the standard amount and ask her if that is all right. She continues to stare angrily but refuses to say if it isn’t, so I continue with the drink. I make it with her specifications and put it on the counter for her.)

Me: “Here you go!”

Customer: *twists the drink* “This isn’t right.”

Me: “I am sorry, I will be happy to fix it. What is wrong?”

Customer: *hissing* “This isn’t how I usually get it.”

Me: “I’m sorry. I can fix it if I know what’s wrong.”

Customer: *snaps* “Just give me a refund.”

(I am fed up. There is a line of customers and I have to make a ton of drinks because this conversation is taking way too long.)

Me: “Okay, then, you can wait in line and [Coworker] will give you a refund.”

(She huffed off and straight-up cut in line. The people behind were shocked. My coworker asked if she should give her the refund and I told her to just do it and get her out of here. The next week, she came in and I found out the only difference between what I made and how she usually drinks her frappuccino is that I put the extra caramel drizzle she ordered on top and she likes it in the cup!)

I work at a popular coffee chain known for serving ungodly sugary iced blender drinks. 

I am making drinks while a coworker rings. I get an order for two venti cotton candy frappes with whipped cream made with heavy cream. Just to be clear, this has four pumps of frappe syrup, three scoops of vanilla bean sugar powder, and six pumps of raspberry syrup. The recipe calls for pink sprinkles if the customer asks for whipped cream, so I put some on. This customer is the definition of a basic white girl, wearing North Face, a scrunchy in a messy bun, and Uggs. 

She leans over and says, “OH, MY GOD! Can you please take off the sprinkles if possible? That’s WAAAY too much sugar!” 

It takes all of my soul to not straight up say that the sprinkles are probably the healthiest thing in there.