(I work behind the deli and bakery counter inside a larger grocery store. On the day of this incident, it is Sunday, when the department manager and the official cake decorator are not working, leaving me watching the cake counter and writing messages on the premade cakes for anyone who asks. A woman comes up and begins browsing huffily through the cookie cakes.)

Me: “Can I help you?”

Customer: “Maybe. None of these cakes are really what I want. Do you have any more in the back?”

Me: “Not that are decorated. If you have a more specific design in mind, I can see if we have any blank ones.”

Customer: “DO THAT.”

(I proceed to the freezer, slightly mystified, as we really do cover a large number of generic designs in the cookie display. Still, I manage to locate a blank one and bring it out. I have already elected not to tell this woman that I am NOT, in fact, the primary cake decorator, as I am quite confident with my abilities with the writing, icing, and all that goes on a cookie cake.)

Me: “Here we go. Now, what design did you want?”

Customer: “I want this one.”

(She slaps a smartphone down on the counter, showing a clear image of a Confederate flag, which has been recently outlawed. Fortunately, red flags go off. I have seen this on Facebook. I am also stricken with visions of store managers storming over to the deli and demanding to know who would be so stupid as to put an illegal flag on a cake.)

Me: “Ma’am, I’m fairly certain that’s an illegal design.”

Customer: “Yeah, I know. It’s stupid. [Grocery Store down the road] wouldn’t do it, either.”

Me: “Maybe I should check with a manager to be absolutely sure.”

Customer: “DO THAT.”

(I was correct; the design is forbidden by corporate. I come back with my assistant manager.)

Assistant Manager: “Ma’am, I’m not asking my employee to get fired to make one sale. She will be happy to add stars or stripes as a border.”

Customer: “FINE. Here, write, ‘Austin,’ on this.”

(She shoves a generic “Happy Birthday” cookie back over the counter.)

Me: *to myself* “Well, with that attitude…”

(I wrote the name on the cake and excused myself for a break. Not five minutes later, according to my coworkers, the woman returned and demanded that someone else write the name, instead, requiring that the first be scraped off. It looked terrible, but she took it and left, anyway.)

(I’m working in tech support for an insurance broker. We frequently get sales calls from vendors wanting to know what kind of software we use, so they can offer us their software to use, instead.)

Me: *answers phone* “Tech Support, this is [My Name].”

Vendor: “Hi, this is [Vendor] calling from [Company]. We have it written down here that you are still using [Program]; is that correct?”

(We’ve used several of the same programs for so long, some of the names have changed, including the companies that make the software, in some cases.)

Me: “That sounds familiar, but let me check; it’s not a program I normally get into unless there’s a problem with it.”

Vendor: “That’s fine.”

(I mute the phone so I can ask a coworker, and I search our system to see if we have any documentation for the program in question.)

Vendor: *thinking I can’t hear him, because he can’t hear me* “Come on, Mr. IT Guy. You need to reboot the whole system just to know what you’re using?”

(Stunned, and not sure how to proceed, I decided to keep him muted a little while longer just to waste his time, and then I hung up on him without another word. Not sure if he ever called back again.)

(A coworker has just finished ringing up a customer’s items and begins asking the usual required questions.)

Coworker: “Would you like to apply for the store credit card today, and save 30% when you’re approved?”

Customer: *condescendingly* “Credit card? My husband and I don’t believe in them!”

Coworker: *very seriously* “Oh, I assure you ma’am: they’re real.”

Customer: *confused stare*

Related:
This Is Why We’re In A Recession, Part 73
This Is Why We’re In A Recession, Part 72
This Is Why We’re In A Recession, Part 71

(I work at a very popular water park in the heart of Florida. I’m a ride operator for kid rides, and I take safety very seriously, as well as fairness. When we close the park, we have to close the chains to the entrance right at closing time to get the rides closed on time. We have to turn people away all the time to clear the park out. A woman comes up to the gate as I am fastening lap bars.)

Guest: “Party of two.”

Me: “Terribly sorry, folks, but we closed the rides at eight. It is now ten minutes past, and these were the last riders in line.”

(The guest gets red in the face and points to her two children.)

Guest: “Party of two.”

Me: “I heard you, but they won’t be getting on. We are closed. I’m sorry.”

(The lady points to my only empty vehicle at the end.)

Guest: “There! They can sit there! It’s empty!”

(At this point, other guests hear her wanting to ride and gather around to try and line up.)

Me: “No. I cannot let them on! If I let your children on, I have to let everyone’s kids on.”

Guest: “I don’t give a f*** about them! Put my children on, now! You’re being rude!”

(I lock all the exit gates and start the ride. She storms over to my booth. There’s a fence between us, but she’s trying to lean into it.)

Guest: “How dare you?! Call your manager over here, now! Oh, I’m going to get you fired, you b****! You just ruined our whole vacation! You can’t let two small children ride?! How do you sleep at night?!”

Me: *smile at her and shrug* “I sleep just fine, thank you.”

Guest: “Get me your manager, now!”

Me: “I’m running my ride now, so once I finish it and do my closing duties I can call a manager. But we are closed, so they will be hard to reach. You can go to guest services and issue a complaint. But I can tell you that right now I have a camera watching me, and I am 100% safe in my job.”

(The guest’s kids don’t even care, and they ask their mom if they can go see the whales before they leave. The lady screams at her kids to shut up because she’s dealing with “this terribly rude woman,” as she calls me. My last ride ends, I let everyone leave, and I start my closing duties. Meanwhile, the lady’s kids are begging to see the whale exhibit before it’s covered for the night. She refuses to go, and they wait 15 minutes while I try and call a manager. Then, the announcer announces that the park is closed and the exhibits are covered. The kids get mad and begin crying and throwing a fit, and the mother says it’s all my fault. Finally, I get a hold of a manager and they’re on the way! But when I tell the guest my manager is coming to talk to her, she comes up to my face and writes down my name.)

Guest: *with a smug smile* “Okay, [My Name], I’m going to management with this information! You ruined our vacation! You made my children cry, and you were extremely rude! You won’t have a job by tomorrow!”

(She took her kids and stormed off before my manager got there. I told my manager what happened and he sided with me. The next day, I had a negative review at guest services, but they told me the woman was bat-s*** crazy, so they threw her review out once she left.)

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(There’s a random difference between American public restrooms and restrooms in a lot of other countries. In America, 90% of the time there’s a large gap of space under the walls and doors of toilet stalls. Sometimes there are even gaps in the door jams that you can see through. I am around 13 years old. I am shopping with my mom, and I decide to stop in the restroom before we leave the store. We’ve also just gotten pedicures, and my brightly colored toenails are visible through my sandal straps. I sit down in one of the stalls, minding my own business. A lady bustles into the stall next to me. I hear lots of rustling from shopping bags behind hung on the hook behind the door.)

Random Lady: “Oh, dear! That’s not good!”

(I am a shy kid, so I don’t say anything, hoping she is talking to herself.)

Random Lady: *knocks on the wall between us* “Excuse me? Excuse me? Could you please pass me some toilet paper? I don’t have any in here!”

(I quickly gather what I hope is enough, and pass it under the wall.)

Me: “Here you go.”

Random Lady: “Oh, thank you, dear!” *chuckles* “Us girls have to stick together!”

(I mumble something noncommittal and quickly get myself ready to exit the stall.)

Random Lady: “Wow!” *her hand appears again under the wall* “I love your toes!”

Me: *trying to get my own bag off the stall door and keep an eye on her hand at the same time* “Um… Thanks.”

Random Lady: “They’re just so pretty! Let me see!”

(She LUNGES against the stall wall — the plastic actually groans from the impact — and tries to TOUCH my big toe.)

Me: *practically shouting the first thing I can think of* “BYE!”

(I throw the stall door open and hightail it out of the bathroom, without even remembering to wash my hands. I reach my mom and grab the bottle of hand sanitizer she keeps in her purse.)

Mom: *watching me vigorously sanitize my hands* “Are you okay, [My Name]?”

Me: “Yep. Let’s go.”

(Later, I tell her about the odd encounter I had in the bathroom. She is kind of upset that I didn’t tell her sooner, but we reason that the lady was probably just overly friendly, as opposed to dangerous. After that, though, I am nervous to use public restrooms for months. It isn’t until I have the opportunity to travel outside the country that I realize there are bathrooms that don’t have huge gaps people can see or reach through.)

Me: *calling my mom while on a trip for work, I tell her about my discovery* “Not even a sliver of a gap! I guarantee you no one will be able to touch my foot in one of these bathrooms.”

Mom: “[My Name], that was over ten years ago.”

Me: “But still…”

Mom: *sigh* “Tell me about something besides the glory of public bathrooms without gaps!”