(I win a gift card for a two-person meal at a local restaurant and I take my sister with me. The restaurant is in the middle of a rush and completely understaffed when we get there. There are three staff members dealing with over thirty people. The two waitresses are extremely nice to me and my sister, explaining why everything is taking so long and apologizing every couple of minutes. The problems only start when a couple sits down behind us.)

Angry Customer #1: “Well! I didn’t expect there to be such a rush!”

Angry Customer #2: “All I can say is our niece had better be working today.”

(The waitress comes over.)

Waitress: “Can I help you two with anything today?”

Angry Customer #2: “We’ll have the [meal], and have [Niece] cook it.”

Waitress: “Actually, [Niece] isn’t a chef, and she isn’t working today.”

Angry Customer #1: “What? We drove all this way here! All I can say is the food had better be good!”

Angry Customer #2: “Why isn’t [Niece] a chef? She cooks all the time at our house!”

Waitress: “I’m not sure, ma’am, but she’s—“

Angry Customer #1: *cuts off* “It doesn’t matter. Just get our food and make it quick!”

(The poor waitresses are doing their best, but while they are working, the awful couple keeps calling them over to complain about EVERYTHING, especially how they aren’t the only people in the restaurant.)

Angry Customer #1: *calls the waitress over* “You know, we are from a ‘Small Town’–”

(He says this like he is admitting to secretly being Jesus or something. You can hear the capital letters clicking into place.)

Angry Customer #1: “—and we aren’t accustomed to having this many people, or waiting this long.”

My Sister: *loudly* “I’m from an even smaller town, and I’m having a great time!”

Angry Customer #1: *ignores her* “And you shouldn’t keep apologizing for the rush; you’ll be getting tips off of it, so what do you care?”

Angry Customer #2: “If you are really having so much trouble, you should hire my husband.” *gestures at [Angry Customer #1]* “He actually knows how to cook!”

Waitress: “Well, I admit I don’t know how; my girlfriend does all the cooking for me at home.”

Angry Customer #1: *hissing intake of breath* “So that’s why! Well, I hope our food will be done soon!

(My sister is convinced that he and his wife don’t want to tip after they heard their niece wasn’t working. These awful people actually get their food around the same time as my sister and I, even though they came in half an hour later. The poor staff is really being run ragged. The dinner the man ordered comes with a dessert. Therefore, the waitress asks if he would like it, adding that some people don’t so she has to ask.)

Angry Customer #1: “Do I look like I need dessert?!”

Waitress: “I… I don’t know?”

Angry Customer #2: “Just get us our leftovers boxes.”

Waitress: *has tried to be perky the whole time, smiles* “Yes, ma’am.”

Angry Customer #2: “Well, aren’t you glad to be rid of us!”

(I am still surprised that the waitress didn’t say, “Yes!” immediately, but we were FINALLY rid of them. There is a somewhat cool ending, though: since my sister had ordered one of the dinners that came with a dessert, and I hadn’t, I was going to buy a dessert, too, but since I had been so nice to the waitress and thanked her and said, “Please,” when I ordered, she gave me the dessert for free! I tried to leave a big tip; I don’t know if I did since I don’t go to restaurants often. But the waitress seemed so shocked and surprised when I gave it to her, that I had to assume we were the first that day to give her one.)

(I’m the customer int his one. Note that I grew up in Oregon, which has no sales tax.)

Employee: “Your total is X.”

Me: *confused* “I don’t think that’s right…I’m pretty sure it should be [lower amount].”

Employee: “Yes, plus sales tax.”

Me: “Oh…sorry, forgot about that…”

(I’m sad to say that this has happened more than once while traveling. I think I’ve finally learned though, and am glad everyone has been so patient with me in the meantime.)

(I work at a truck gate at a parts warehouse. My job is to check in and out trucks that come in for deliveries and pickups. We are required to give each driver a laminated map of the yard and dock locations. A driver comes in, and we direct him to a specific dock and give him a map with the dock clearly marked.)

Driver: “I’ve been here before; I don’t need it.”

Me: “Everyone has to have one.”

Driver: “That’s dumb. I’m just going right over there!” *points to the dock visible from the gate*

Me: “I know, but you’d be surprised how many people get lost.”

Driver: “That’s just stupid; I can’t believe people get lost. It’s right over there! Stupid drivers…”

(The driver then took the map and proceeded directly to the wrong dock.)

(I’m manning the shop while my manager is out for lunch. A man comes in asking about hunting knives. We talk for a bit and I show him several of our blades. He noticeably keeps asking to see the biggest and sharpest ones we stock.)

Me: “Well, there’s this.” *takes out a 15-inch bowie-designed knife*

Customer: “Oh, yeah! Can I see that?”

(I hand the knife over, while going into the spiel about the grade of steel, techniques for sharpening it, and so on. The customer seems very pleased as he tests the weight and then smiles at me.)

Customer: “You know what’s funny? You were actually just stupid enough to hand this to a random guy, with no idea what he intends to use it for.”

(He suddenly thrusts the knife at me.)

Customer: “Now, how about you walk me over to your register and hand over every f****** cent before I see how far I can sink this into your heart, moron?!”

Me: “Sir, if I may just ask, you are aware we’re a sporting goods store?”

Customer: “Yeah, so? Cash now, a**hole!”

(He thrusts the knife at me again. I tactfully back away while glancing over to my left.)

Me: “Could you please just read what the sign there at the bottom of the stairs says, then?”

(The customer-turned-robber looks confused, then cautiously turns to the sign.)

Customer: “‘Guns located on second floor’? What the…”

(He turns back to see I’ve now drawn my sidearm — I keep it holstered in a manner that it’s not immediately visible from the front — and have it aimed at him.)

Me: “Before you comment on others’ intelligence, consider that you walked in here and somehow missing both that sign and the one outside stating we carry all manner of sporting goods, including firearms!”

(He dropped the knife and booked it out the door, leaving me to call the police and give them a full report. I can understand why he thought this would work, since the way the store is set up it’s not immediately evident we carry firearms, but at the same time, who honestly isn’t aware that guns are also classified as “sporting goods” in a state that permits open carry?)

(On a slow Tuesday morning in February, an exceptionally well-dressed and sophisticated-looking, middle-aged woman in a pants suit scurries into the deserted store and up to me standing at the counter. She’s obviously in a hurry and looks a bit frazzled.)

Woman: “I need a pair of men’s slippers, size ten, triple E!”

(Since it’s February, we have maybe half a dozen pairs of men’s slippers left in the store, and I know that only one has a chance of fitting the bill. I bring the box out of the stockroom to show her.)

Me: “This is our last size ten, and it runs very wide.”

Woman: “Is it a size ten?”

Me: “Yes.”

Woman: “Are they triple E?”

Me: “Technically, the width is D, but they fit unusually wide. You could bring them back if they don’t fit.”

(Without a word, she snatches one of the slippers from the box, spreads her legs wide, sticks the slipper between her thighs, and holds it there with her hands on her hips for several seconds. Then she reaches down, grabs the slipper, and slaps it back into the box.)

Woman: “Not wide enough!”

(She raced out of the store.)