I work at a radiology centre as a receptionist. On a busy day among many patients a father a daughter come up to me after having an X-Ray done. I have a call on hold and was still finishing up paperwork on another patient.

ME: ‘All done are we? Great! Now you’re just waiting for the hard copy films. The pictures.’ I make a rectangle shape with my hands as I talk. This is automatic for me to say and do.

They sit down and I patter off finishing the paperwork and take the call. Ten minutes later I notice they’re still waiting, which is odd because hard copy’s only take a minute or get them before they even reach me. The father comes back up to me looking slightly irate.

FATHER: ‘What are we waiting for again?’

I see in his hands the envelope containing the hard copy pictures and don’t hesitate with my response.

ME: ‘Oh you have your pictures now? Great! You’re free to go!’

He tsks then hurries his daughter out. My suspicion, he had the hard copy before he saw me and didn’t realize. Genius wasted his own time, don’t tsk at me!

I used to work as a doorman for a large, well-known rock venue in the city centre. We had a good team, and there was usually very little trouble, but we took pride in providing a safe place for people to have fun in without being obnoxious.

On the evening in question, a band I didn’t know were playing. I was checking passes at a door that led backstage, and as you might imagine, fans always want to go backstage to meet their idols, so the rules are pretty strict; if you don’t have a pass, you’re not going backstage. No ifs, no buts, no coconuts.

About an hour before the show starts, a guy approaches the door I’m at.

Me: Pass, please.

Customer: I don’t have it. I must have left it backstage. Lemme through!

Me: I’m sorry, if you don’t have your pass on you, I can’t let you past.

Customer: F*** off! I left it backstage. Get out of my way!

At this point, the customer tries to push past me. I’m not a tall guy, but I’m broad, strong and used to dealing with drunken idiots. I put my hand on the guy’s chest and gently push him back.

Me: I’m sorry. No pass, no entry.

The customer now starts on a rant, shouting and swearing, telling me he’ll have my job, and how much he makes compared to me, how I’m fat and too stupid to do anything but guard a door. I’m trained to be calm in situations like these, but the attitude of this guy is getting on my nerves. After a couple of minutes of this, he seems to run out of ideas.

Me: Are you done? Look. If you can go and find someone with an Access All Areas pass, they can vouch for you and I can let you through. Until then, you’re not going backstage.

At this, he flounces off to find someone with a pass. He returns a few minutes later with a person I recognise from the security briefing, the band’s manager.

Manager: What is going on? *Customer* is saying that you threatened him, and you won’t let him backstage?

I explain the situation, noting that I don’t know who the band is or what they look like, and that for security reasons you can’t get backstage without a pass. Whilst this is happening, *Customer* is sneering at me over the manager’s shoulder.

Me: …so, as you’ve got an Access All Areas pass, you can vouch for him and I can let him past.

Manager: Oh. Well, that’s OK then.

The Customer smarms past me.

Me: *To Customer* Remember to wear your pass, and we can avoid this in future.

Customer: F*** YOU!

Once he’s gone, I explain what the customer was like, and I can see the look the manager’s eyes.

Manager: I’m so sorry about him. He’s been showing off like this since we started the tour. He’s not normally like this.

Me: No worries. He is an idiot though. How long have you got left of the tour?

Manager: We’ve only just started! We’ve got 16 weeks to go!

Me: I’d suggest taking him aside and explaining that not every place is as nice as us. If he tries that in the wrong place he’s not always going to get such a calm response.

Manager: Will do. Thanks for not knocking him on his ass.

*I saw that the band played Glastonbury festival this year, so I guess the guy either mellowed out, or the manager drilled some sense into him!*

I am a brunette, with green/blue eyes, and I am 5 ft 9. I am with a customer when another customer comes up behind me and starts screaming at me, how I sold her the wrong product. I look at it and pick it up.

Me: We don’t sell this here. This is from (Competitor Store).

Customer: You F*****g -mean slur-. Don’t you dare lie to me!

Me: Um… hold on (Customer I was with)

-The customer with the product and glares at me, before continuing yelling at me once again-

Customer: I want to get a refund!!

Me: I can’t refund something not from our store.

Me: I-

Customer: You know what!? I don’t have time dealing with prostitutes like you, get me your manager!

-I call my manager, who is an aisle away from me, and I explain the situation, in the mean time she starts throwing things off the shelves-

Manager: Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to leave the store, before I call security!

Customer: They should come! To get rid of you, for not giving me a refund!

-Customer proceeds to start throwing packages of nails at me and my manager-

Me: Ow!!

-At this point security comes, and grabs her and drags her out, but not without her yelling and calling us slurs-

(Part of my job as a cashier at a popular clothing store was to offer the store branded credit card to every customer who didn’t already have one. It was tough to get people to bite, especially at the time this happened – during the recession – but one day I’m lucky enough to get a woman who is actually quite enthusiastic about the prospect of having a store card. We begin filling out the electronic application, and she inputs all the necessary information for a credit check – name, annual income, social security number, etc. But then we get to contact information – address, phone number, e-mail – and she stops.)

Customer: What do you need my phone number for?

Me: Oh, it’s not for us at the store to use. It’s just so they have a contact number on file for you at corporate in case there’s ever a need to contact you about your card.

Customer: I really don’t want to give my phone number out.

Me: Well, it is required as part of the application. If you’re uncomfortable, I promise you, we don’t call you with offers or anything like that. It’s really only in case any issue should arise with your account.

Customer: *very hesitant* I just really don’t want telemarketers calling all the time.

Me: They won’t. [Store name] doesn’t solicit any of your information. That’s even in the terms for the application. It’s purely to have a point of contact with you if they need to reach you in case there’s a billing issue or suspected fraud, or something like that.

Customer: *takes a long pause* I’m sorry. I’m just really not comfortable giving out my phone number. Can you cancel the application?

(I did so. I understood her concerns, to a point, but did she really believe I was lying, several times, about not giving her information out? It’s also ironic she’s comfortable typing her full social security number in but not her phone number.)

When I was a kid, I was hanging out at my grandparents’ house with some other members of my family. My dad has my young cousin (1-2 years old) seated on his lap. We are of Scottish descent, and have the red hair/blue eyes/freckles combo, but my branch of the family displays it more than the others. So my little cousin, much more used to his parents’ mostly un-freckled skin, is staring intently at my dad’s heavily-freckled arms. Eventually, he very carefully reaches down, pinches my dad’s arm, and shoves his fingers into his mouth, as the entire room burst out laughing.

We still occasionally tease him about the time he tried to eat my dad’s freckles.