(My store is closing. For the first few weeks after this is announced, all merchandise is reduced by 25%. After a period, the remaining product is reduced to 50% off. A customer comes in.)

Customer: “When did everything go 50% off? I was here last week and bought things 25% off.”

Me: “Just the other day, ma’am.”

Customer: “My stuff is still in the car. Can you do a price adjustment?”

Me: “No, ma’am.”

Customer: “What if I return it and then buy it at the new price?”

Me: “Sorry, ma’am, we aren’t accepting returns.”

Customer: “You can’t do anything for me?”

Me: “I’m afraid not.”

Customer: “Well, what good are you?” *leaves*

(I’m working the register when a young woman comes up with a starter bow, a handful of basic target arrows, an archery glove, and a hip quiver.)

Me: *while swiping her purchases* “Learning how to shoot?”

Customer: “Yeah, I did some archery when I was younger and I thought I’d try to get back into it.”

Me: “You might want an armguard, then, just in case. If a bowstring hits your arm by accident, it can really hurt.”

Customer: “Oh, I thought about that, but I never had a problem when I was a kid. And anyway, the only arm guards you guys have are camo–” *wrinkles her nose* “–and it just seems silly to wear that for target shooting.”

(She pays and leaves. The next day, the same customer comes up to my register. She places an armguard on the conveyor belt. As she does so, I can see a number of angry purple and red streaks around the crook of her arm.)

Customer: *cheerfully* “Yeah, so, I’m an idiot!”

(We have plain cones, sundaes, and milkshakes. The milkshakes are automatically made with whipped cream and a cherry unless the customer specifically asks to not have them. It is pretty clear that they come with these, as there are big pictures of the shakes on the menu board.)

Customer: *orders meal* “…and I want a chocolate milkshake.”

Me: “All right. Your total is [price].”

(After placing the order I immediately begin to make the man’s shake.)

Me: “Here you go, sir.”

Customer: “I ordered a milkshake.”

Me: “I know. This is yours.”

Customer: “I ordered a milkshake.”

Me: “Sir, this is a milkshake.”

Customer: “No, I want a milkshake.”

Me: “This is a milkshake.”

Customer: “I want a milkshake!”

(This back-and-forth continues, with me trying to convince him that the shake he has watched me make the entire time without stopping me is, in fact, a milkshake until he gestures at it.)

Customer: “I just want a milkshake! Not all that!”

(Finally, it dawns on me what his issue with the milkshake is.)

Me: “You want it without whipped cream and the cherry?”

Customer: “Yes.”

(I made him a new shake without the toppings, and he was content. I understand not wanting them, but apparently, the milkshake ceased to be a milkshake as soon as they were added.)

(My dad is turning left onto a road with three lanes going each way. As he makes it into the middle, he suddenly gets T-boned. The police are called and question the other driver.)

Cop: “Why did you keep driving into the intersection even though the light was red?”

Driver: “Well, I couldn’t figure out why everyone was stopped, so I went into the turning lane to go around them, and all of a sudden this guy was in the road and I hit him.”

(I’m in a local pizza parlor. I have just stopped at the grocery store next door for some things, so rather than get delivery, I am just going to bring the pizza home. While waiting for it to be finished, another customer comes storming in.)

Customer: “Where’s my d*** pizzas?!”

(The girl at the register looks startled, but I half-hear the guys in the back say something like, “Not again.”)

Worker: “I’m sorry, what name was it ordered under?”

Customer: “The same name I always order it under, and you always take too d*** long!”

Worker: “I really am sorry that it took too long, but we’re very busy, and we’ve been telling everyone orders will be at least forty-five minutes to an hour.”

Customer: “Yeah, I know, and that’s too long! I’ve been waiting at least that much! Where’s my order for [several pizzas]?!”

(One of the guys making the pizzas pipes up.)

Cook: “Probably at your front door; the driver left with it about three minutes ago.”

Customer: “Bull! I know you lazy b*****ds are just standing around and—”

(Right on cue, his cell phone goes off. He answers angrily and stomps around the eating area while yelling back and forth. While he is doing so, the owner of the business comes out of the back.)

Customer: “I demand to be compensated for this!”

Owner: “No. Every two weeks you pull this nonsense, and every two weeks we tell you the same thing; you’re not getting free pizza because you think you’re special and we’ll magically make five pizzas in half the time it takes to make one! Especially in the middle of the football playoffs!”

Customer: “That’s what these are for; we’re trying to watch it at my house!”

Me: “These guys make some of the best pizza I’ve ever had; are you actually surprised that they get busy, especially at a time like this?! If you know it’s going to take an hour to get to you, then order an hour sooner! Stop making those of us that want to order look bad, and use your d*** head!”

(The customer didn’t get his free pizza, had to wait for the driver to get back, and took it home himself. I got a fist-bump from one of the cooks, and the owner handed me a bottle of soda; apparently being a regular that helps out is a better way to get stuff than being a jacka**!)