(We’re organizing a fundraiser for our local radio station and have settled on doing pub trivia. I’ve secured a location for the event, but our program manager wants to do it at a burrito house instead. I’m trying to explain why that won’t work.)

Program Manager: “Well, if you don’t like it, you don’t like it.”

Me: “It’s not about liking it or not liking it; it’s about whether it will work or not.”

Program Manager: “It’s about not arguing about it anymore, because if you don’t like it, it won’t happen, so let’s be productive, m’kay?”

Me: *head-desk*

(My first job is at a tourist-trap antique store selling overpriced nostalgic items. I am manning the register. Today, I woke up late, so my hair is a mess and I am wearing the first thing I could find to wear: a band t-shirt with a button-up flannel. An elderly woman from out of town comes up to the counter with her small items.)

Me: “Hi, how are you today?”

Customer: “Oh, just dandy. Enjoying the weather.”

(I write down her items, ring her up, and give her her total, when I realize she’s looking me over pretty good.)

Customer: “Do you know where I could get some pot?”

(I can’t help but give her a blank stare and question whether I heard her right the first time.)

Me: “I’m sorry… What?”

Customer: “Pot? Marijuana? That kind of pot? You seem like you would know.”

(Dumbfounded, I remember how I might appear to someone who doesn’t know me or see me regularly. I always dress better for work, and I most certainly do not smoke pot. But I know I must look like it from a first impression. Our town even set up a ban on dispensaries a while back; the nearest one is the next town over. I still can not believe that this sweet old woman buying little trinkets needs some dope.)

Me: “Um… No, we don’t have any dispensaries nearby, miss.”

Customer: “Do you have a dealer that you could maybe call?”

Me: “No, miss. This is not my everyday look; I don’t smoke pot.”

Customer: “Oh, darn. Well, you have a nice day, dear!”

(I had to take my lunch break after that.)

(I am a barista. A customer has come from the food ordering counter to the coffee counter and shown his receipt.)

Customer: “I just wanted to check that the coffee you called out is mine and not somebody else’s.”

Me: “Extra shot small cappuccino? That’s yours, sir.”

Customer: “But you need to make sure.”

Me: “What’s your order number?”

Customer: “[Order number].”

Me: “Yep, that’s yours. It’s just down at the pickup counter.”

Customer: “But is it really mine? It could be somebody else’s.”

Me: “It’s definitely yours; we only had one extra shot small cappuccino order.”

(The manager goes past and grabs it, and hands it to him.)

Manager: “This is your coffee, sir. Thank you!”

Customer: “Could I also get a cookie?”

Manager: “Sure, that’ll just be [price].”

Customer: “No, it should be [lower price]; there’s a deal.”

Manager: “Your coffee is already in a meal, so you already have a discount. The deal is only for coffees that aren’t in a meal.”

Customer: “But I paid more for this coffee!”

Manager: “Sorry?”

Customer: “I paid extra for this coffee! I should get a discount.”

Manager: “No, it’s in a meal, so you actually got a discount. The drink has a price, but in a meal it’s a lower price. So, you still have a discount.”

Customer: “No, I literally paid extra for this coffee. Are you telling me I can’t have the discount after I paid extra?”

Manager: “You didn’t pay extra; you got a discount.”

Customer: “Seriously? I paid extra!”

Manager: “All right, I’ll give you the deal, anyway.”

Customer: “I paid extra! I already paid extra for this coffee!”

Manager: “No, you didn’t, but that doesn’t matter. Give me [lower price], and I’ll get your cookie.”

(He gets his cookie and goes. I step up to take the next order.)

Next Customer: “Wow. Some people just like to argue, don’t they?”

(I work at a hole-in-the-wall tourist trap antique store that also sells ice cream. I am still a newbie so I am only trained to serve the ice cream. There are only two people working today. My coworker is on her lunch break and ice cream lines are out the door. Everyone has been very easy-going until my next customer and her two young boys.)

Me: “Hi, what can I get for you?”

Customer: “They will have two small scoops of rainbow sherbet in bowls, and I will have one medium scoop of chocolate, in a bowl, as well.”

(With the bowls being one size, we judge the scoop size off of the size of the cone that the scoop would have gone into and charge accordingly. Watching me like a hawk, the woman repeatedly asks me if they are the correct size every time I hand her the bowls with the scooped ice cream, and also repeatedly tells me she expects to pay a certain amount based on the prices on the menu board.)

Me: “Yes, ma’am, your total is [amount larger than she expected].”

Customer: “No, no, that’s not right. I expect to pay [amount].”

(She appears to be getting more angry by the second.)

Me: “All right, let me go back and do it again.”

(It turns out I have gotten so worked up with how many people there are that I accidentally charged her for three medium scoops. I apologize and run the transaction again, and it turns out to be less than what she was expecting to pay. This still doesn’t please her.)

Customer: “Um, no. I am expecting to pay [amount]! You will charge me for the right amount, now!”

(At this point, the line is way out the door and my coworker comes back and asks me to move on to the next customer, who is being very polite and waiting very quietly with the other customers in line. While I help the next group, I overhear my coworker and the other woman.)

Coworker: “Ma’am, the register does not make mistakes, and it turns out it is less than what you were expecting to pay, even with tax. Now, with all due respect, we do have more customers that need to be taken care of, so will you please take your change?”

(Meanwhile, her two boys have been eating their ice cream during this entire ordeal, and before they leave, their mother looks at their half-eaten ice cream and looks back at us.)

Customer: *very loudly* “Excuse me! My sons’ ice cream has melted; they need a new scoop.”

Coworker: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but your boys have been eating their ice cream; it has not melted. We need to move on to customers who have not been helped yet.”

Customer: *yelling* “Are you serious?! You guys are f****** pathetic!” *pointing at me* “F*** you, b****!”

(I could feel the shocked expression on my face, and could see that her two boys had the same looks on their faces as they walked out with their mother. Thankfully, we got a lot of sympathy tips that day.)

(I’m sitting on my bed when my dad sits next to me.)

Dad: “When your mother gave birth to you, do you want to know the first thing she said to me?”

Me: “No?”

Dad: *continuing anyway* “She said, ‘CHANGE THE SHEETS, YOU B******; I’M BIRTHING YOUR CHILD!’”

Mom: *from the next room* “And what did we come home to? Dirty sheets! That’s what!”