(I work as an event specialist handing out samples in a big box store. Our work outfits consist of a black hat and apron with the store logo on them, but they look nothing like the regular store employee vests. One day, my coworker and I are setting up our carts when we’re approached by a customer.)

Customer: “Excuse me? Can you help me find something?”

Me: “I can try! What are you looking for?”

(Technically, our job isn’t to find random items in the store, just to showcase our demo products, but we can tell a customer where something is. We are not obligated to find a store employee, nor do we have walkie-talkies to contact store employees.)

Customer: “I need [product I’ve never heard of]!”

Me: “[Coworker], have you heard of [item]?”

Coworker: “No, I don’t know where it is.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m not sure where it’s located.”

Customer: “Well, why not?”

Me: “We’re considered vendors in the store. Our job is to hand out samples to customers. While I shop here often, I don’t know where everything is located…”

(The woman’s demeanor suddenly changes; she goes from polite to irate, and she cuts me off before I offer to find a store employee to help her.)

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

(The customer slams her cart into our work carts — basically tables on wheels — and takes off down the aisle.)

Coworker: “Some people… Even the people that work here don’t know where everything is!”

(I’m working opening night of “Deadpool,” taking tickets. After the first twenty minutes of taking tickets, I give up warning people with kids that this movie is NOT for children. A family of four — a mom, a dad, and two boys about six and eight years old — come in with tickets for — you guessed it — “Deadpool.” While tearing their tickets I tell the dad:)

Me: “Sir, just so you know, this movie has a hard R-rating.”

(As expected, he just sneers at me, holding out his hand.)

Father: “Just do your job and shut your mouth'”

(I give him his stubs and direct him to his auditorium. After about twenty minutes, my manager asks me to make theater rounds, where we walk into each auditorium during the show to make sure there are no problems with the film, and to check for recording devices, feet on seats, etc. He specifically mentions the “Deadpool” auditoriums because he’s getting complaints that someone’s kids are being loud and the parents are ignoring other patrons’ requests to be quiet. Dreading dealing with this guy because I’ve got a pretty good idea who it is, I go into the nearest showing. Sure enough, it’s the dad from earlier, who’s now arguing with the people behind him, who have just asked him to quiet his kids. As he’s telling them to mind their own business, the woman in front of him stands up, turns around, and yells:)

Woman: “Listen up, you sorry piece of s***! I’ve waited twenty-five years and one day for this movie, and I’m not going to let it be ruined because you’re a piece-of-s*** parent, so either shut them the f*** up or get your f***-trophies the f*** out of here!”

(Before the dad could pick his jaw up off the floor to respond, the entire packed auditorium started cheering and clapping. The family got up and left without saying a word. The kids looked dazed, and the dad wouldn’t look anyone in the face all the way out. Red-Haired Lady in the Deadpool shirt and leather jacket, I don’t know who you are, but you are my new hero!)

(My brothers and I work together. This customer has spoken to all three of us within a few minutes of each other.)

Customer: *as one of my brothers walks away after greeting him* “Okay, so you and—” *gestures to both my brothers that are now busy* “—are…?”

Me: “They’re my brothers, yes, sir.”

Customer: “Okay, that’s what I thought! As soon as [Brother that just walked away] smiled, I knew you all had to be related. You all have the same shaped teeth.”

Me: “Our teeth are the same? Two of us have had braces, so we might have similar smiles?”

Customer: “No, no! Not how straight your teeth are, the actual shape of your teeth is the same! I can tell!” *continues mini-rant about teeth*

(This customer was not a dentist or anything. I’ve had plenty of people who’ve seen a resemblance between us siblings, but this is the first time our teeth have given us away!)

(My job has a strict dress code, including dress shoes that must be all black. I’ve recently been working 40+ hours a week on my feet, although my position is part-time. This has caused me to develop a painful foot problem, and my doctor writes me a note stating I must wear athletic shoes to work, even stating that they should accommodate for color, as the shoes I need do not come in all black. This happens the first day I wear my shoes to work after delivering my doctor’s note to the store manager.)

Assistant Manager: “Hey, your shoes are against dress code. You need a doctor’s note to wear athletic shoes!”

Me: “Actually, I have a doctor’s note. It’s on file with the store manager.”

Assistant Manager: “Well, they aren’t all black, so you need to change.”

Me: “My doctor’s note specifically says to accommodate for color, since these shoes are the exact ones I need for my condition. There’s a number on the note you can call if you have questions on it.”

Assistant Manager: “Well, until I see it, you can’t wear them.”

Me: “It’s filed with [Store Manager], or I can grab my other copy from my car if you’d prefer.”

Assistant Manager: “I didn’t expect you to be one to break the rules!”

(After this, he left. I’ve always been a strict rule follower, and it’s beyond me why he thought I’d break policy. I let my store manager know that the assistant manager was concerned about my shoes, and she let me know that she talked to him immediately after receiving my note. Some people.)

(I am working on the patio at large restaurant. It doesn’t close early like most places, and I get a woman by herself later in the evening. She looks like she may be homeless, but when I greet her she is very nice, so I don’t judge.)

Customer: “I’ll have a glass of red wine, a New York strip cooked medium with a loaded baked potato, and a cup of French onion soup. I’ll also take the salad, with bleu cheese dressing.”

Me: “Absolutely, ma’am. I’ll be right out with your wine. Would you like water, as well?”

Customer: “Yes, thank you. Such a pleasant young man!”

(Everything goes smoothly, her drinks and food come out in a timely fashion, and there is no issue. She orders another glass of wine after the meal, and midway through I ask her if I can bring her anything else. She says no, and I tell her I’ll be right back with the bill. She immediately sets her glass down and walks into the restaurant from the patio with me. I stop at the POS to print her check and notice that she is heading for the door.)

Me: “Ma’am? I’ve got your check right here.”

Customer: “Oh, I’m not going to pay. I have no money, and since you are so nice you can buy me dinner. Have a good night!”

Me: *to the hostess* “Lock the doors and call the police, now.” *to customer* “Lady, I’m not paying for your fifty-dollar meal. If you said you were hungry and had no money, I would have bought you a burger or something. I’m not paying for your steak and wine. The police are on their way.”

Customer: “How dare you?! You will give me what I want! I’m not poor; I just don’t have my purse! I will pay for this tomorrow; I am in a hurry!”

(She then suddenly sprinted towards the doors. They normally swing out, and she would have gotten away, but I told the hostess to lock them. The lady ran full speed into the door and smashed her face against it, bloodying her nose. When the police came, we found out that she was a homeless lady who did this somewhere in town every couple of months. She even tried to press charges against me for kidnapping, claiming I locked her in the restaurant so that I could take her home with me at the end of the night. That was my last serving job.)