(I’m waiting in line at a pizza place that is known for having certain pizzas ready. If you want anything other than these certain pizzas, the wait can get quite long. I ordered about fifteen minutes ago and I’m just waiting on my food when I hear this exchange.)

Customer: “Why the f*** is my pizza taking so long?!”

Cashier: “Sir, you ordered about five minutes ago, and that pizza takes about ten minutes to cook.”

Customer: “No, you guys advertise the pizzas being ready! I expect my pizza to be ready.”

Cashier: “I’m sorry. If you’d like, I can refund you.”

Customer: “No, I don’t want a refund! I just want my f****** pizza, you f****** moron.”

(I get my pizza. I grab a $10 bill out of my purse and drop it in the tip jar and loudly say:)

Me: “Thanks for the pizza. It was definitely worth the wait, because you are always so polite, and it is so tasty. I’d rather get it made fresh, anyway.”

(The customer stood flabbergasted. The next time I went in, about two weeks later, they gave me a free drink to go with my pizza and the cashier thanked me.)

(I’m at a family holiday gathering, playing cards in a circle with my sisters and some cousins. One of my cousins has a young toddler who is sitting with us and watching, until she suddenly looks to her mom across the room, and bellows with amazing articulation:)

Toddler: “Mommy, I’m pooping!” *points her finger* “And I want you to change it!”

(The group of us collapsed into hysterics, and my cousin admitted that if her daughter was old enough to demand her personally for diaper duty, it might be time for potty training.)

(I can’t eat gluten, which makes eating at restaurants a pain. I normally just make my own meals, but my mother-in-law wants to take me out to lunch, so I find a nearby restaurant with gluten-free options. We sit down, I ask for the gluten-free menu, and we both order. Our meals arrive, including dishes of baked apples. The service hasn’t been great, and my mother-in-law is already looking for a fight when I start to eat my baked apples and see something pale and mushy floating in the cinnamon sauce.)

Me: “Um… What is this?”

Mother-In-Law: “Let me see.” *fishes around in the bowl with a fork and grimaces* “That’s hash brown casserole. They must have reused the spoon. Does the casserole have gluten? Are you going to be okay?”

Me: “I’m not sure; I only checked things I was going to order—”

(My mother-in-law has already run off to get a manager. She returns with the manager and they’re arguing.)

Manager: *holds up the gluten-free menu and points* “It clearly states right here that we can’t take responsibility for allergies. It’s a shared kitchen, and we can’t guarantee anything. Your health is not our responsibility ,and if you can’t accept that, then you shouldn’t be eating out at all!”

(He is nearly shouting and my mother-in-law looks ready to explode. Finally, I manage to interrupt.)

Me: “What if I didn’t have an allergy?”

Manager: “What?”

Me: “What if I we’re just a regular customer who thought it was sort of disgusting that you’re using dirty spoons in the kitchen and leaving old potato in my dessert?”

Manager: “Oh… I… I’ll go talk to the kitchen.”

(He came out a few minutes later and said that he couldn’t comp my meal, but would remake my food free of charge. I politely declined. I have no interest in eating anything that comes out of that kitchen, ever again.)

(I work in antique shop. A customer approaches and gestures to an Art Deco lamp.)

Customer: “Excuse me, but does this come in any other color?”

Me: “Do you mean when it was originally manufactured?”

Customer: “I mean in stock.”

Me: “That’s a rare manufacturer; it’s actually the first I’ve ever seen one.”

Customer: “So, you don’t have one in blue?”

Me: “Would you like me to research if it was ever created in blue?”

Customer: “No, I want you to go in the back and get me a blue lamp!”

Me: “Sir… that lamp was made almost a hundred years ago, and the manufacturer has been out of business since World War Two. These are antiques.”

Customer: “So what? I don’t get customer service?”

Me: “Not the way you seem to think, no.”

(My husband and I go to a Chinese buffet restaurant for lunch. It’s the weekend and my husband, who is Japanese, is wearing cargo shorts and a nerdy t-shirt, while the staff is dressed in black slacks and white shirts. We are the only people at the buffet at the time and we are chatting as we fill our plates. A customer comes up on the other side of the buffet line. After a moment she comes over to our side and stops in front of my husband.)

Customer: “What’s that?” *she points to a dish on the buffet*

(My husband isn’t paying any attention to her.)

Customer: *louder* “Hey! I said, ‘What’s that?'”

(My husband looks up at the labels for the food on the buffet, but there isn’t one for that dish.)

Husband: “I don’t know.”

Customer: *condescending* “What do you mean, you don’t know?!”

Husband: “I don’t work here, obviously.” *he gestures to his clothes*

Customer: *stymied for a moment, then charges on* “Well, you should still know because you’re Chinese!”

Husband: “I’m not Chinese, and even if I was, I wouldn’t know every dish on a buffet.”

Customer: *glares at him as he stares back at her*

Me: *gesturing toward an employee not ten feet away* “Ask someone who works here!”

Customer: *hmphs at us then starts to walk away*

Husband: *murmurs under his breath* “I don’t know kung-fu, either.”