An older gentleman comes into the store with his digital camera.

Customer: “It’s broken; it’s not powering up. Can you repair it for me?” 

Me: “Let me have a look.”

It seems like it’s out of power, so for troubleshooting, I replace the batteries, and it seems to work just fine.

Customer: “Oh! What did you do?”

Me: “It just needed new batteries.”

I play around with it a little and test a few functions.

Me: “I think you’re all set.”

Customer: “Thank you! I was worried because I thought it was broken. How much do I owe you?”

Me: “Nothing, you’re all set. There’s no repair job to pay for.”

He hands me a twenty.

Customer: “Here. Take this, then.” 

Me: “Seriously, no charge.”

Customer: “Son, let me tell you: I am paying you for your expertise. It might have been a simple fix to a young man like you, but to me, that is knowledge that I am willing to pay for. Never undervalue yourself and your knowledge in this world, ya hear me?”

Me: “I hear you, sir.”

Customer: “Good. And if you really need more justification, I’m paying for those nice new batteries you put in my camera!”

And with that, he was gone. My all-time favorite customer.

I’m working as a barista at a local café during the mask mandates. I am taking a call on the customer line.

Customer: “Can I order [complicated drink] to be picked up in twenty minutes?”

Me: “Sure thing, I’ll have that ready for you. Anything else I can get for you?”

Customer: *Creepily* “Just your beautiful smile when I get there.”

Me: “Well, we wear masks, so…”

Customer: “Uh… yeah, uh… Be there soon.” *Click*

The dude came in to get his drinks and barely said a word to me but still tipped. It was great.

I’m finishing my shift at the checkout, and my coworker is taking over so that we don’t have to close the lane. I was about to serve an older male regular before my cover arrived.

Coworker: “Have a good night! I can’t wait to see how different you’ll look tomorrow!”

Customer: “What does she mean? How will you look different tomorrow?”

Me: “I’m cutting all my hair off tonight! Going for a new look!”

Customer: “Oh. Men don’t like very short hair on girls.”

Me: “Well, I am a woman, and I’m not doing it for men.”

Customer: “Oh. Well, I don’t like very short hair on girls.”

Me: “And I don’t like very short guys, but I’ve managed to not be an a**hole to you about it for the last few years.”

Customer: *Angrily* “I’m 5’7″!”

Me: “Honey, you’re 5’5″ on a good day, and I can see that you’re wearing elevator shoes. Okay, byeeeeee!”

The customer complained, but my manager said I was off the clock the moment my cover arrived, so there was nothing he could do. My new hair came out great, by the way!

My mother passed away after a half-year-long battle with lung cancer. The memorial was being held on Easter weekend, and my aunt offered to pay to get my hair done since family was coming in and we wanted to look nice. I should note that I’d recently gotten my hair cut to shoulder length, so it was rather short.

The stylist was nice, and we talked a bit while she did my hair. I mentioned why I was getting my hair done and that I was grateful something was open at the last minute.

But my opinion of the stylist drastically changed when I got my receipt and saw that I was being charged for a conditioner I hadn’t asked for and was charged separately from the hair coloring. I mentioned this, and the cashier said it was optional, but she did it without asking since it would “hold my color longer”. I made her remove it and went home…

Only to notice that I hadn’t seen her charging me for having long hair! Sadly, I couldn’t go back and demand the money from her as it was closed, and the following day was the memorial service for my mother.

Not only did she charge me for having long hair (even though my hair was only shoulder-length) and tried to charge me for some conditioning thing that she’d never asked me about, but my hair dye bled out and stained my pillowcases and several towels as the dye ran out every time I showered for several weeks!

I would’ve reported her to her manager, but I couldn’t remember her name and was far too busy in the following weeks dealing with my mother’s death and helping my family. But still, I will never go back to that salon after that!

I didn’t want to take an advanced language arts class for my senior year of high school, so I signed up for the standard English 12. I immediately knew I wouldn’t like the class as, in the first week, the teacher started a unit on basic spelling rules.

My classmates and I all knew each other reasonably well, even if we weren’t all friends. One classmate had a slightly unusual name. For this story, I’ll call her Stella, and I’ll call the teacher Mrs. Hale (rhymes with “rail”).

On the first day, Mrs. Hale called the roll.

Mrs. Hale: “Estelle?” (Pronounced “eh-STELL”)

Stella: “Here, but my name is Stella.” (Pronounced “STEL-uh”)

Mrs. Hale: “Oh, all right. I’ll make a note.”

On the second day, Mrs. Hale called the roll.

Mrs. Hale: “Estelle?”

Stella: “It’s Stella.”

On the third day…

Mrs. Hale: “Estelle?”

Stella & Her Friends: “It’s Stella!”

On the fourth day…

Mrs. Hale: “Estelle?”

Most Of The Class: “It’s STELLA!”

This went on through the whole second week until we all kind of gave up, figuring Mrs. Hale would keep mispronouncing Stella’s name no matter what we did. All except me, that is.

At the beginning of the third week, Mrs. Hale explained something to us and wrote examples on the dry-erase board. I raised my hand to point out a minor mistake she had made. She looked at it and insisted she was correct. I showed her information in the textbook to prove otherwise. She just glared at me in an “Are you finished yet?” kind of way. Clearly, I wasn’t going to win that battle, and as a student against a teacher, I was essentially powerless, but I wanted revenge anyway.

Me: “Never mind, Mrs. Hally.” (Rhymes with “rally”)

Mrs. Hale: “My name is Mrs. Hale.”

Me: “I know that, Mrs. Hally.”

Mrs. Hale: “Why are you saying my name like that?”

Me: “Because you refuse to pronounce Stella’s name correctly, even though we have all corrected you several times. So, until you can get my friend’s name right, I will intentionally say your name wrong.”

She glared at me for about a minute and then went on with her lesson (mistakes and all) as if my interruption had never happened.

I called her Mrs. Hally the entire semester. She never got my friend’s name right.