*I was in the lobby of a [Chain Auto Glass Store] waiting to get my windshield replaced when this customer walked in. I had my headphones in and was far enough away that I couldn’t hear everything but I got the gist of it. So I’m sitting in my chair and get to watch this unfold.

The woman opens the door and comes shuffling into the lobby, beelines for the front desk and I’m honestly surprised she didn’t hip-check the customer that was already there out of the way. She seems to stop herself right before doing so and shuffles back a step. The employee behind the counter moves the first customer to the side and another employee starts working with this Karen.*

Employee: Hi, how can I help you today?

Customer: This used to be [some random glass place].

Employee: Yes, they went out of business, so now it’s [Chain Glass Store]

Customer: Well why isn’t it [random other place]?

Employee: Because they went out of business.

Customer: Ugh, fine. So I need to get my windshield replaced on *starts mumbling so all I get is that it’s like a 25 year old car at least*

Employee: Okay, let me look that up and see if we can get the parts.

Customer: It’s just we went to [Other Chain location] down in [city] and they said they had to order the glass and it’s been 6 weeks.

Employee: Unfortunately, we do sometimes have to order parts and we don’t always have an exact ETA.

Customer: Well it’s been six weeks and–*she cuts off as her phone starts ringing. She then proceeds to answer it and stands there in the lobby making an appointment for something else. She finally finishes the call and goes back to complain about timing.* It’s been six weeks and they haven’t called us back. *More mumbling as she gets a little louder but less intelligible to me*

*At this point she’s half way to lunging over the counter and the first employee, who was actually the manager, jumps in.*

Manager: Ma’am, unfortunately there are delays sometimes if they have to order parts.

*Customer mumbles some more; based on what I hear from the manager it’s something about phones*

Manager: Unfortunately, we have a few locations that are short staffed and we’ve been busy the last little bit. They may not have been able to get to the phones.

Customer: You have a phone tree that hangs up on people! This is bad customer service! You need to tell them to fix my windshield. I never had this horrible service when you were [random other shop]

Manager: Ma’am, you’re free to find somewhere else to get your windshield replaced. I’m not going to have you yelling at employees.

Customer: You need to do something about my windshield! Fix your phones. You should answer when I call.

Manager: Please feel free to find somewhere else to have your windshield replaced. I’m not going to argue with you about this.

Customer *sneering*: What are you, are you a manager?

Manager: Yes I am. That’s why I’m not going to argue and I’d like you to leave.

Customer: Oh, so you’re the manager. That’s why you just jumped in like that. Well fine! *She pivoted and shuffled towards the door. She then opened it and turned back to yell:* This is horrible customer service! I *will* be calling the BBB!

*I have no idea if the Karen is actually going to go through with it. She seemed like the type who complains just because she can, so I could see it but something tells me she’s got no leg to stand on with this complaint. Part of me wonders if the other shop actually had a parts issue or if she managed to gloss over the part where it actually needed to be requested/ordered and now she’s pissed because she screwed up and wants to blame someone else.*

(I’m attending a summer camp for high school students at a university. We’re staying in an empty dorm that has an old piano in the first floor common area. One day at an assembly, a counselor asks if there are any issues to address, and a girl raises her hand.)

Counselor: “Yes, [Girl]?”

Girl: “I think we need to talk about the early morning pianist.”

(This girl is a foreign exchange student who speaks English very well but has a strong accent. She pronounces the ia in “pianist” as a single vowel sound closest to e and leaves off the t entirely, making it sound like a very different word.)

*stunned silence from everyone*

Counselor: “The early morning WHAT?”

Girl: “Pianist. You know, like this-”

(She moves her hands toward her lap to, as she later explained, mime playing a piano. The counselor assumes otherwise.)

Counselor: “Okay, okay, stop! We don’t need a demonstration! So, this is a very serious issue, and I’d like you to discuss exactly what you witnessed with me and the camp director before we go any further.”

Girl: “Uh… I don’t think it’s that serious. I just don’t want to wake up hearing it every day at six in the morning. My room is right over the piano, you know.”

Counselor: “Over the p- Oh my god, are you saying ‘pianist’?!”

Girl: “Yes, of course. What did you think I was saying?”

(The entire camp lost it laughing at that point, and we had to explain what was so funny to the poor girl. Once she understood, she blushed as red as a tomato and started repeating the word “pianist” over and over with very precise enunciation. In case anyone is wondering, the early morning pianist promised not to play so early anymore, once she stopped laughing.)

About fifteen years ago, I used to work in a supermarket bakery. The evening shift was a one person job because all the products were baked… you were just cleaning, helping customers, and prepping for morning shift.

One evening in winter, we have a particularly terrible snow storm, so the manager decides to close the store several hours early so everyone can get home safe. There have been hardly any customers all day because of the terrible weather. The employees in the other two departments adjacent to mine have already gone home, and I am by myself finishing up for the evening. The store music has been turned off, and I can’t hear anyone else, just the wind outside. I turn around from doing something and almost jump out of my skin to see a man standing at the counter.

He is very tall, probably close to seven feet, and very old. He’s dressed head to toe in black, what looks like a suit under a heavy black woolen coat, and is extremely gaunt and pale. He is also holding a rotisserie chicken from the deli case.

“Pardon me, miss,” he says, “but might you have a spare box for this fine bird?”

Flustered and embarrassed by my reaction, I root around beneath the counter for a sturdy box for him to put the flimsy plastic case in. When I hand it over, he smiles.

“Thank you, miss. I have come very far, and I have farther still yet to go.”

He bows his head, turns, and walks off, leaving me alone and unaccountably spooked. The next day, I brought it up jokingly to the cashier who had closed us out that evening, but she didn’t remember him. Nobody else saw him either (allegedly), and I got relentlessly teased about my “ghost” for months.

Compared to the truly crazy and awful customers I and others have encountered over the years, one strange old man in a snowstorm doesn’t rank very high I’m sure. Still, it was a wonderfully weird and surreal moment, and I’ll always fondly remember the time I sold a ghost a rotisserie chicken for his road trip. Definitely one of my most memorable customers.

I hope he got where he was going.

Due to recent quarantines, my husband and I have to postpone our travel plans. I try to change our flights online, but the system has an error, so I have to call the customer service number. I make my way through their automatic system to get to a live person. Just before they put me through to the call center, I hear this automated message:

“Due to the current pandemic, [Airline] is experiencing a higher than average number of callers, resulting in significant wait times. We recommend that you use our online system to change your flights. If you cannot do this, or if your flight is scheduled to depart in less than 72 hours, please stay on the line to hear your estimated wait time.”

I stay on the line, and it clicks over to the call center line, where their system greets me and gives me a time:
“Your estimated wait time is… less than 2 minutes.”

Either I happened to call at the right time of day, or I waited long enough to change my flights that the rush of people panicking to change their flights was over, because it didn’t even go to the hold music. After all of the buildup about “you may have a significant wait time,” someone picked up the phone as soon as it came through.

(I’m having a video chat with two friends and somehow we got to the topic of our ancestry. It’s important to note that one of my friends is black while our other friend and I are both white.)

Me: So where did your ancestors come from, [Friend]?

Friend: Well…

Friend’s Sister: (butting in from the background) No!

Friend: What?

Friend’s Sister: We are American just like you! Our parents were born in America! Just because we aren’t white doesn’t mean that we came from somewhere else!

Me: I know that but…

Friend: [Sister], we’re talking about our ancestries. [My Name] just told me that her ancestors emigrated here from Germany, [Other Friend] is Norwegian and Spanish, and they were wondering where our ancestors came from. They aren’t questioning whether or not we’re American.

Friend’s Sister: America! We came from America!

(Friend finally gets her sister to leave and shuts her bedroom door completely this time.)

Other Friend: Oh, you’re native?

Friend: No. My grandparents were born in Haiti. We even still have family living there. I have no idea why my sister was even so upset about you asking me that since she was standing outside the door listening to the conversation before she butted in and should have known what we were talking about.

(On another video chat, she told me that her sister now hates my guts and told their parents what a racist I was. Great…)