I’m a veterinarian. A worried woman comes in with her dog.

Woman: “My dog hasn’t eaten for two days.”

I begin with the basics.

Me: “Any vomiting? Diarrhea? Is he acting sluggish?”

Woman: *Shakes her head.* “No. He’s acting totally normal. He just won’t eat.”

Me: “Did you switch his food or anything?”

Woman: *Hesitates.* “Well… I did open a new bag of food.”

I ask to take a look. She’s smart: she thought it might be the food, so she brought the bag in, just in case I knew to look for a subtle change in ingredients or something.

Me: “This is his usual brand?”

Woman: “Yes. He likes the beef.”

On closer inspection, I notice she’s picked up chicken flavor instead of beef. The bags are nearly identical, just one word changed.

Meanwhile, the dog is sitting there, tail wagging, looking perfectly happy. No signs of dehydration.  

The diagnosis was clear: hunger strike.

CONTENT WARNING: Vomit

I currently manage a wine-focused, just-under-fine-dining restaurant. It’s a busy-a** night, our town is doing an annual ‘Restaurant Week’. I’m running the door. There’s a table of four middle-aged women celebrating a birthday, and I assume we were not their first stop on the night. They all get the three-course ‘Restaurant Week’ option and share some wine bottles.

Somewhere between the second and third course/bottle, one of the women is overcome with nausea and proceeds to dip her head below the table and unload. Her server, a woman of similar age, brings her a champagne bucket and many napkins, trying to keep the situation as discreet as possible. The server quickly gets all the desserts boxed up, the checks dropped, and all seems well, as can be assumed.

The ladies stay at the table. Laughing, reminiscing, and enjoying their night for thirty more minutes! As though there are not two trash bags of vomitous rags surrounding them, and a pint of baby-bird food on the ground, under them.

I finally had to go and ask them to leave. The scent was in the air, and their table was en route to the bathroom.

As these debutantes made their way out the door, they found the need to complain to my seventeen-year-old hostess that “We’ve never been treated this poorly at a restaurant.” Which begs the question, where do you go on a normal Friday?

Right after college, I moved from the East Coast to the West Coast, but I kept my East Coast phone number. A few months later, I discovered a new Sam’s Club had opened in my old hometown. Apparently, their phone number was a single digit different than my cell phone.

I found out by being woken up by my phone ringing.

Me: *Not fully awake.* “…Hello?”

Caller: “What time do you open?”

Me: “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Caller: “What time do you open?”

Me: “I don’t?”

Caller: “What. Time. Does. The. Store. Open?”

Me: “…I think you have the wrong number. You’ve called my cell phone.”

Caller: “I would like to speak to your manager.”

Me: “I don’t have one.”

I hung up. I immediately get a call back from the same number.

Me: “You have called my phone. It’s 3 am. F*** off.”

I hung up again. I went back to sleep and regrettably forgot to block the number. When I woke up, I had put it out of mind… until late afternoon.

Me: “Hi, this is [My Name].”

Caller: “Hello. I called this morning and spoke with a very unpleasant employee.”

Me: “Oh! That was me. I’m very sorry, you have the wrong number. You’ve dialed a personal cell phone number. I do apologize for my language this morning, but—”

Caller: “I called the right number. Being on your cell phone at work is extremely unprofessional!”

Me: “…Again, as I was saying. You called my cell phone.”

Caller: “This is Sam’s Club.”

Me: “It’s not.”

Caller: “I want to speak to a manager.”

Me: “I don’t have one. This is a personal number.”

Caller: “You shouldn’t be on your cell phone at work!”

Me: “…do you not understand how phones work?”

Caller: “I just want to f****** know what time you open!”

Me: “Then call Sam’s Club!”

I hung up and blocked the number. Looking at my recent calls, the man had apparently called back four times in the early morning, and I had apparently slept through it. He used another phone to call back a few days later in order to complain to me. About me. Sadly, I am still not a Sam’s Club and am not paid to care.

Customer: “Hey! That book was supposed to be $3!”

I look at the sticker on the book.

Me: “This sticker says $3 off, ma’am, not that the book is $3.”

Customer: “That’s misleading! The sticker just says $3, so that’s confusing to customers!”

Me: “Ma’am, the sticker clearly says ‘$3 off’. If you no longer want the book, I can—”

Customer: “I want the book, but I want it for $3!”

Me: “Ma’am, you’re still getting the book for $6, which is quite cheap for a newly released hardback.”

Customer: “I don’t care! I want it for $3!”

Me: “Ma’am, the book is already discounted. I can’t knock off another $3.”

Customer: “This is unacceptable! What if this were your money, eh? You’d care then!”

Me: “Ma’am, I wouldn’t care enough to argue over $3.”

Customer: “What would you do then, eh? Eh?!”

Me: “I’d go ‘whoopsie‘ at my mistake and not take it out on the nice checkout clerk.”

Customer: “I don’t believe you! I think you’d care if it was your $3.”

I fish out three dollar bills from my wallet and hand them out to her.

Customer: “What are you doing?”

Me: “This is my $3. I am offering them to you to make you take the book and go away. I am literally paying $3 to end this conversation.”

Customer: “Well… now you’re making me sound ridiculous!”

Not so ridiculous that she snatched the $3 from my hand and still left with the book.

I told my boss what happened, and he gave me $3 from his own wallet and warned me that next time offering a customer money to go away was a big no-no, but still found it hilarious.

Our flower place used to send coupons and other stuff with the gift boxes and bouquets.

Caller: “I just got this floral set delivered from you for my wife.”

Me: “I’m happy to hear that they arrived on time, sir, would you—”

Caller: “—This is terrible service! There were all these coupons inside!”

Me: “We include some partner deals with our gift sets, but they’re kept outside the main gift so that they don’t get in the way of the presentation.”

Caller: “I don’t care about that! One of the coupons is for a box of wine!”

Me: “Yes, sir.”

Caller: “My wife is an alcoholic! She’s going to think I’m trying to tempt her!”

Me: “Sir, you can throw the coupons away. You don’t have to give them to her as part of the gift.”

Caller: “That’s not the point! Don’t send them out ever!”

The caller hangs up, and I bring the point up with my boss. She concedes and removes the wine coupon from our rotation. A week later:

New Caller: “I just got a floral set from you.”

Me: “Yes, sir.”

New Caller: “I’m very upset that you stopped doing the wine coupons! I only ordered your crappy flowers to get the cheap wine!”

Me: *Sigh…*