(The restaurant chain where I work hasn’t been carrying alfalfa sprouts for around 18 months. The customer orders one of our sandwiches which used to come with sprouts by default. About 40 seconds later, she comes up to the counter with it in her hand.)

Lady: “There are no sprouts on this sandwich.”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, I’m sorry to inform you that we’re not carrying sprouts anymore.”

Lady: “Well, can you put some sprouts on it?”

Me: “No, ma’am, this restaurant isn’t carrying sprouts anymore; we haven’t been for around 18 months. Corporate had a salmonella scare and removed them from the shelves.”

Lady: “Well, can you go in the back and get me some, then?”

Me: “No, ma’am. We don’t have any. At all. We haven’t. For a year and a half.”

Lady: “Well, can you call one of the other stores and have them bring some, since you’re out of stock?”

Me: “No, ma’am. As a chain, the corporation has discontinued alfalfa sprouts. None of the stores in the United States have had sprouts in stock for a year and a half.”

Lady: “I don’t like your attitude. Let me speak to your manager.”

(I go get my manager.)

Manager: “What seems to be the problem, ma’am?”

Lady: “This one—” *indicates me* “—won’t give me sprouts for my sandwich.”

Manager: “Well, that would be because we don’t have them anymore.”

Lady: “Well, can you go get some?”

Manager: “No, ma’am. We don’t carry them. We haven’t for a year and a half.”

Lady: *cusses at us, throws her sandwich over the counter* “You just lost my business!”

Manager: “That solves both our problems.”

Me: “Thank you for calling [Cable TV Tech Support]. How can I help you today?”

Customer: *about sixty years old with a country accent* “Yes, I need a new receiver.”

Me: “Well, what seems to be the problem with the one you have now?”

Customer: “I was cleaning my gun and accidentally shot it.”

(I work in an airport shop that sells newspapers — basically, a newsstand. We also sell a lot of things, like snacks and shirts, but not scissors, since they can be classified as weapons. A frantic-looking businessman comes barreling in.)

Frantic Customer: “Give me scissors! HURRY UP.”

Me: “Sorry, sir, we don’t have scissors.”

Frantic Customer: *red-faced* “I’m gonna miss my flight! I’m very important! If you don’t give me some scissors, I will sue you!“

Me: “It’s not a question that I don’t want to give you scissors; it’s that I don’t have any!”

Frantic Customer: “Screw you! Selling these f****** locks that are so hard to f****** open!” *struggles with package*

Me: “Well… uh…”

Frantic Customer: “Now I’m late!” *comes at me with fists raised like he’ll hit me*

(Luckily, an airport security guard came along and stopped him. He flung the lock at me, yelling obscenities. They threw him out and banned him, and I haven’t seen him since!)

(It is a Sunday afternoon, and as such, even though I work for an authorized retailer for a major cell phone company, I am running the store alone. I work in a small town and this usually isn’t a problem and, therefore, there are no cameras. Two customers walk in: an older man, sporting a beard and overalls, [Customer #1], and the other, a younger guy, [Customer #2].)

Customer #1: “Hey, man, I have an issue with my cell phone bill; I keep gettin’ charges I don’t want and don’t have a clue how they get on my cell phone.”

(The man is carrying a cane, so I offer a chair for him to sit on. I have to call customer care, and I’m not sure how long it’ll take, so I offer the other customer a chair as well. Everything is going smoothly. [Customer #1] is talking to [Customer #2] about his time in ‘Nam and how Charlie killed a couple of his buddies. I ignore the remark, as [Customer #2] is being polite and nodding and smiling. It has been about fifteen minutes now.)

Me: “It should only be a couple of minutes more, and then everything should be resolved.” 

([Customer #2] simply smiles, being a patient customer.)

Customer #1: “Not a problem. You guys want to see something cool?”

(The old man then proceeds to pull out a pistol and wave it a few times, in a nonthreatening way. I tense up, as does the second guest. Unsure of what to do, I ask the customer if he has a permit for that, as customer service comes back on the line. I hurry up the call, making sure not to offend the customer, who has holstered his pistol by now. Customer care finishes the credit.)

Me: “All right, sir, you are all set. I hope you have a good day.”

(The customer shakes my hand and leaves. His account has his address on it and I catch a glimpse of his truck.)

Customer #2: “You realize he said he had no permit for that, right?”

(I hadn’t heard this, and therefore asked the guest if he minded if I called the police, assuming they would need his statement. He agreed, all the while being the best customer ever. Not sure what happened to [Customer #1], but I got a $100 credit for [Customer #2], and the DM had cameras installed the following week.)

(I work the late shift — four hours by myself until 10:00 pm.)

Customer: “I want a meatball sub on wheat.”

Me: “Sure!”

(I begin placing the meatballs on the sub two or three at a time with sauce in the crease of the bread, as per my training.)

Me: “What kind of cheese?”

Customer: “Provolone.”

Me: “Toasted?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “Veggies?”

Customer: “You did it wrong.”

Me: “Pardon?”

Customer: “Are you stupid? Make it again.”

(I throw the sandwich away and start over. Thinking there might be too much sauce, I put the meatballs on the same way but with less sauce.)

Customer: “NO! What the h*** are you doing?!”

Me: “I’m sorry. I assumed you meant the sauce.”

Customer: “Have you ever made a sandwich in your life?! NOT. LIKE. THAT!”

Me: “What would you like me to do differently, sir?”

Customer: “If you don’t know, then you’re an idiot.”

Me: “Sir?”

Customer: “Just make it again.”

(He seems to calm down a little and I finish the sandwich for the third time and wrap it up, and he pays and leaves. This happens about five minutes later:)

Customer: *runs into the store, sandwich unwrapped, and propels it across the counter, screaming incoherently*

Me: *covered in marinara sauce* “Seriously?”

Customer: *runs out of store saying something about putting meatballs on the wrong side of the bread*