I have just dealt with a customer who caused a scene and called us all communists for not honoring his out-of-date coupon. Wouldn’t that make us capitalist? But anyway… After he has been loudly escorted out by security, one of our regulars who likes to crack jokes starts speaking to my coworker who is serving him.

Regular: “I once dated a girl who was a communist. Didn’t work out. I should’ve seen the red flags.”

Coworker: *Without skipping a beat* “A communism joke isn’t funny unless everyone gets it.”

That almost made it worth dealing with the bad customer… Almost.

This is back in the days when to get Internet at home, you had to get a landline installed. This meant I had a phone that only rang when my parents called or it was a telemarketer, most of whom left me alone when I told them I was renting. Except for this one guy. He was persistent. I could get up to three calls a day from him on my days off.

I was also going through a terrible time. I was divorcing my ex thanks to an affair, I’d been made redundant from the job I adored, and the replacement position they’d found me because “we don’t want to lose you” was doing none of the work I enjoyed while being surrounded by the nastiest clique of overgrown Mean Girls I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.

But the straw that broke the camel’s back was when I got home from a day of work, which I’d done on very little sleep because my sister, brother-in-law, and six-week-old nephew had been T-boned by a drunk driver the night before. (They were all fine — the worst injuries were whiplash to my sister and horrific bruising to my brother-in-law — but I didn’t know that at the time.)

I heard the phone ringing as I was heading up to my door, so I raced inside, thinking it might be my parents with an update.

Telemarketer: “Hello! This is [Telemarketer] from [Company]. Is this [My Name]?”

I just broke and burst into tears.

Telemarketer: “Hello?”

Me: *Still sobbing* “I’m sorry, did you not hear? She was hit by a drunk driver last night.”

Telemarketer: *Click*

I never heard from him or his company again. And my sister thought it was hilarious when I told her.

My husband is getting his hair cut while I wait for him. The salon is in a mall, so it’s generally pretty busy, but this is a rainy Saturday, so it is VERY busy. A woman in her fifties walks in with her mother around 11:45.

Customer: “[Customer] for an appointment at 11:30.”

Stylist: “We have you down for a 12:30.”

Customer: “Well, I need 11:30.”

Stylist: “I see. Unfortunately, we are fully booked today, so—”

Customer: “So, figure it out. I drove fifteen minutes to get to you, and I have an appointment. My mother can barely walk, and you’re going to make us come back again? I might as well cancel and take my business elsewhere if that’s how it’s going to be.”

Stylist: “Okay, ma’am, I will remove you from our system. Have a nice day.”

The stylist smiles politely and walks away. The customer is left standing there, open-mouthed.

Customer: “Hello? Hello, I’m not done talking to you. Hello! Excuse you!”

Customer’s Mother: “That’s enough, [Customer]. You opened your mouth; now you deal with the consequences. Let’s go.”

Customer: “I need my hair cut, Mom!”

The mother walked away — not remotely limited in movement as her daughter had implied — and the daughter soon followed. The stylist returned and apologized for the commotion.

Related:
Oh, No! If It Isn’t The Consequences Of My Own Actions!, Part 2
Oh, No! If It Isn’t The Consequences Of My Own Actions!

When I was a kid, my dad could really be a d**k sometimes. He broke rules all his life but would swiftly and gleefully punish me if I didn’t do exactly what he wanted without question.

One Christmas season, we went out shopping for my mom and spent the whole day crawling the mall. When we got back home, Dad told me that I would be wrapping all the presents myself.

Me: “You’re not going to help me?”

Dad: “No. I paid for them; you can wrap them.”

I was twelve years old. Was I expected to buy presents? I knew better than to fight with him, though, so I did exactly what he asked.

And when it came time to write the “From” line on each present’s tag, I wrote my name and my name alone. After all, if he’d been there, he could’ve signed them. Heck, if he checked the presents before Christmas, he could sign them.

But of course, he didn’t.

When we unwrapped presents, my mom wondered out loud:

Mom: “Why are all of my gifts from [My Name]?”

Dad got so mad and tried to make me feel bad about it, but when I explained it in front of both of them, he got quiet and stopped.

From that point on, I had help wrapping each year. And I do enjoy wrapping presents nowadays!

I work in a fine-dining restaurant. Our clientele can get a little eccentric.

Customer: “I want the chicken pasta but with no chicken.”

Me: “So, just the pasta by itself?”

Customer: “No, I want chicken pasta with no chicken.”

Me: “Our pasta dishes are all made fresh. We just add chicken, beef, and so on, on top based on the dish being ordered. What would you like on your pasta?”

The customer is not really paying attention, just waving me away.

Customer: “I want chicken pasta with no chicken.”

I simply shrug and tell the chef, who presents everything we normally put on a chicken pasta plate, minus the actual chicken. When I bring it out:

Customer: “That was too fast! This can’t possibly be my dish.”

Me: “Like I was saying, ma’am, our pasta dishes are all made fresh. We simply made the pasta and added the ingredients normally found on the chicken pasta, just minus the chicken.”

Customer: *Listening for the first time* “Oh… so you didn’t have to go about picking out the chicken?”

Me: “No, ma’am. That would have taken forever!”

Customer: “Oh, I thought I’d be setting you all to work. That’s disappointing.”

She reluctantly eats her meal, but she seems to be genuinely upset that she didn’t set us an impossible task. She tries to stump us at dessert.

Customer: “Your pistachio cheesecake… Are the pistachios—”

Me: “They’re sprinkled on top along with a compote. If you order it without the pistachios, we wouldn’t need to go through the cake picking out particulates of nut.”

Customer: *Disappointed* “I… see.”

She ordered it anyway. She still paid the full chicken pasta price for her plain pasta.