ID-on’t Know Who You Are

, , , , | Right | December 6, 2017

(I work as a hotel clerk at a large chain hotel, and am going about my business like normal when an elderly man and his wife come to check in.)

Me: “Hello! Welcome to [Hotel]. How are you today?”

Customer: “Fine. Enough with the chit-chat. My name is [Customer]; check me in.”

Me: “Absolutely, sir. I just need to see a credit card and a photo ID to check you in.”

Customer: “Excuse ME?”

Me: “Oh, just a credit card an—”

Customer: “I HEARD what you SAID. How dare you ask me for an ID?”

Me: “It’s just standard policy, sir, to protect our guests and ourselves from credit card fraud. We ask every guest, even our VIPs, for an ID at check-in.”

Customer: “In all my years of staying at [Hotel Chain] I have NEVER been asked for my ID once at check-in! Do you KNOW who I am? I know the [Chain] owners personally, and they WILL be hearing from me. You can say goodbye to your job! This is unacceptable!”

Me: “Okay, sir, that is fine, but I will still need to see an ID to check you into this room.”

Customer: “I WILL HAVE YOUR JOB!” *throws nearby magazine at me and storms off, with an embarrassed-looking wife*

(But lo and behold, I STILL HAVE MY JOB! I don’t think they were as close with their “friends” as they thought they were.)

When Toxic Personalities Become Intoxicated

, , | Nashville, TN, USA | Learning | November 30, 2017

THROWBACK THURSDAY! Check out this awesome story that you may have missed! What’s a memorable deli experience you’ve had? Let us know in the comments!


(I am bartending at a neighborhood dive that caters mostly to a set of regulars who were minimum wage or blue collar workers, but occasionally some of the kids from an expensive nearby university would wander in. I am talking to a female regular at the bar who happens to be seated next to a young guy from the college.)

Me: “Hey, did you check out that show I told you about?”

Regular: “Yeah, thanks, it was really funny!”

(We are discussing episodes, when a college kid joins in.)

College Guy: “Hey, I love that show! What season are you up to?”

(For a few minutes, we all engage in friendly conversation until, suddenly, a spoiled and VERY intoxicated college girl in a miniskirt and six-inch heels proceeds to shove my female regular in the back.)

College Girl: “Hey, b****!”

Regular: *calmly turns on her barstool to look at the girl*

College Girl: “Quit talking to my boyfriend, you stupid w****!”

Regular: “Miss, we were just having a polite conversation.”

College Girl: “You think you can steal my boyfriend, you ugly b****?” *she shoves the regular’s shoulder for emphasis* “Stupid f***ing s***! You wanna try and steal my boyfriend?”

Regular: “Miss, I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood. I have a boyfriend of my own.” *untucks a set of dog-tags from her shirt as proof* “I wasn’t hitting on your boyfriend; we were just having a nice chat. Please calm down.”

College Girl: “You think you can just hit on my boyfriend, you f***ing s***? F*** you, you fat ugly b****!”

(She shoves the regular again, and by now I am furiously trying to flag down the bouncer. The bar has gone quiet, and the girls’ friends have nervously gathered behind her to watch the spectacle.)

Regular: “Miss, please do not touch me again.”

College Girl: “You wanna start something, b****? You wanna start something with me? Come on, you stupid w****!”

(Another shove, and this time the regular stands from her stool.)

Regular: “Miss, I’ve asked you nicely, but now I’m telling you. Do. Not. Touch. Me. Again.”

College Girl: “Let’s go, w****! I’ll f*** you up!”

(Mid-sentence, she tries to shove my regular again, but this time the regular catches the college girl’s arm and delivers a powerful right cross to her face, knocking her out cold. The regular watches the drunk college girl drop to the floor like a sack of potatoes, then sits back down on her barstool and turns back to the bar. The college girl’s friends proceed to pick the woozy girl up off the ground in time for bouncer to escort them all to the parking lot.)

Regular: *to the bouncer* “Me, too?”

Bouncer: “H***, no! I saw the whole thing, girl! You sit your a** back on that stool and order a beer on me.”

(The regular and I exchange smiles as I pull her usual up from the cooler. It’s at this point that we both notice that the college guy who was the cause of the whole mess looking at the regular with his jaw on the floor.)

Regular: “Hey, man, sorry about your girlfriend, but I did warn her.”

College Guy: “Okay, let me stop you right there. That was not my girlfriend. I had never even met that girl before tonight. I have no idea what the h*** she was talking about. And that was one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. So the bouncer can get the next round, but that one’s on me.”

(One of the girl’s friends ended up coming back in and apologizing for her pal’s erratic behavior, and offered to buy a round for my regular, too. After that night, every regular in the place usually bought one for ‘One-Punch’ whenever she came in, until she moved away to marry her soldier boyfriend!)

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A “Regular” Pain In The A**

, , , , , , | Right | November 27, 2017

(There is a regular customer who always goes through my line if I’m working, and always finds some reason to scream at me. Our registers are odd in that they are longer than most, so you have to give items a good shove to get them down to the bagging area.)

Me: “Hello. How are you tonight?”

Regular: “I’d be better without your nasty attitude.”

(I force a smile and nod. I don’t have a bagger, so I do what I normally do when I don’t have one: bag groceries and keep them close to me so I can hand them to the customer, rather than shove them down with no one to catch them in case they topple over and something breaks, gets crushed, etc.)

Me: “Your total tonight is [amount].”

Regular: “That f****** attitude again. God!”

(She pays and I hand her her receipt. I turn to pick up her groceries, but when I turn back she’s gone and there’s another customer waiting. I look and she’s standing by the bagging area, hands on her hips.)

Me: “Oh, I’m so sorry about that! Here.”

(I give her bags a little push to get them closer to her; she’s probably 4’10”, so getting the bags in the first place isn’t easy.)

Regular: “You got some f****** nerve rushing me, you stupid c***!”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Regular: “Yeah, you f****** will be!”

(She storms off, leaving her bags behind. I shrug and deal with the next customer, who is considerably nicer than the regular. As I’m serving more customers, I catch a shout of, “that little b**** c*** on register three,” so I turn and see the regular shouting at the manager on duty. I raise my eyebrows because she’s never gone as far as to report me, and she notices.)

Regular: “And now she’s giving me filthy f***** looks, that little s***!”

(My current customer raises his own eyebrows and looks from the regular to me.)

Other Customer: “Wow. What did you do?”

Me: “I don’t know. Gave her her groceries? Looked at her?”

Other Customer: *shakes his head* “What some people will do for kicks. Hang in there, kiddo.”

Me: “Thanks.”

(He’s my last customer, so once he’s gone the Manager On Duty comes over. I see the regular storming out, without her groceries, screaming to anyone who will listen about me.)

Me: “So, [Manager On Duty], am I in trouble?”

Manager On Duty: *laughs* “First, tell me your side.”

Me: “She was waiting in the bagging area and she’s short, so I gave her groceries a little push to get them to her. Then when I heard her screaming about me I looked over at you two.”

Manager On Duty: *laughs again* “Yeah, I kind of figured it was something like that. I couldn’t tell her to go s*** in a hat, which is what I wanted to do, so I told her I’d report you to [Owner].”

Me: “Are you going to?”

Manager On Duty: “Of course not! You’re one of the most courteous cashiers here. Hopefully she falls in a ditch on her way home and rots there, because she screamed, ‘stop rushing me,’ at people trying to help her out.”

Found The Karma Chord

, , , , , | Right | November 21, 2017

(I am working in the guitar department of a large music store. Amongst other things like sale, maintenance, and repair of instruments, we specifically offer customers the opportunity to try out the guitars. This almost always goes without a problem. This afternoon, I am alone, serving a line of about five customers.)

Customer #1: “Can I try out this guitar? I saw the signs by the racks.”

Me: “Certainly, I’ll show you the try-out amps and you can pick your favourite to try it.”

(I lead him to the amplifiers and hook up his guitar. I turn the amp up to about 25%, so that I can still hear the other customers. At this, the customer begins to rage.)


Me: “Sir, if I did that, these other customers couldn’t understand their own words. It’s also company policy. I assure you that this level is perfectly acceptable to hear the qualities of your guitar.”


(This goes back and forth for five minutes, until the customer finally and reluctantly accepts that I won’t turn the amp up any higher. While he starts playing what I can only guess should be classic rock riffs, I return to my till where [Customer #2], a gentleman in his late 60s with long, white hair, hands me an old, worn-down bass guitar.)

Customer #2: “My grandson has started to become really interested in music and wants to learn to play his own. I would like to have my old bass restored as a gift for his upcoming birthday. You do repairs, right?”

Me: “Of course! It will be as good as new in no time. If you will fill out this form, we can address any special issues and desires you may–”

(At this point we are interrupted by incredibly loud shrieking, as [Customer #1] has decided to turn his amp up himself. Everyone is holding their ears as I run over to him.)


([Customer #1] is just standing provocatively in front of his amp, letting his guitar feed back and gesturing that he doesn’t hear me. After a moment, [Customer #2] comes over, takes a guitar from the racks, and plugs it into the amp next to [Customer #1], who is surprised and mutes his guitar.)

Customer #2: “Excuse me, young man. It is obvious you know what you’re doing. Would you honor me by letting me play along with you for a bit?”

Customer #1: “Errr… Sure, Grandpa, but try to keep up with me.”

(At this, [Customer #1] returns to play what I can only describe as the worst version of “Smoke on the Water” I have ever heard – and I have heard many – until [Customer #2] turns his amp just about a third of the way up and starts playing incredibly fast solos on his guitar. [Customer #1] stares in amazement, as does the rest of the shop, and stops playing.)

Customer #2: *stopping for just a moment* “This is only going to work if you play your part, as well, instead of looking at me. I can’t do all the work at my age.”

([Customer #1] stares a bit longer as the old man continues playing. Then, without a word, he drops his guitar on the floor and storms out, red-faced. [Customer #2] turns off the other amp and turns to the rest of the store:)

Customer #2: “The only way to silence bad musicians is by showing them how it is really done.”

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Save Your Money Or Save Yourselves

, , , , | Right | November 21, 2017

(I work a front counter position at a fast food restaurant. It’s breakfast time, and an older man walks up and orders a number nine combo with a senior coffee, which is half price, and a small orange juice.)

Me: “Okay, sir, that’s going to be [price].”

Customer: “Did you give me my senior discount?”

Me: “Yes, sir, and the only way I could do that was to put the orange juice with the meal.”

Customer: “But the coffee is supposed to be with the meal.”

Me: “Normally, yes, sir, it is but you have the orange juice, too, which means we can put that with the meal, give you the discount on the coffee, and it will be cheaper.”


(I go and get my manager, who has heard the whole thing, and she rings him up like he wanted.)

Manager: “Okay, sir, your total is [more expensive price].”

Customer: “Hey! That’s more expensive than before.”

Manager: “But that’s how you wanted it rung up, sir. My employee was trying to save you money.”

(He becomes violent again.)


Manager: “Have a nice day, sir.”

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