I have a small mixed-breed dog whom I love to take on long walks in our rural area. Note that in my state in Germany, you are required by law to keep your dog on a leash at all times between April 15 and July 15. This is the nesting season for many bird species and the season for many other wildlife species to be born. There are signs posted at nearly every (dirt) road/path that leads into less populated ‘wilderness’ areas. 

On one of our walks along the back roads, we encounter a small family – mother, father, daughter. They are clearly tourists (there is a campground nearby) and have a dog about the same size as mine.

As we get closer, I hear the daughter (who is about six or seven) talk about how my dog looks so much like the one her friend has. She asks me if she can pet my dog, and I agree. Their own dog is right next to us but does not seem interested, sniffing along the side of the dirt road in the tall grass instead. Their dog seems to be very interested in that particular stretch of grass.

While I am keeping an eye on my dog and the daughter to make sure the interaction stays calm, the mom apparently notices their dog’s interest in whatever is in that tall grass and reaches down to unclip the dog from his leash.

Me: “Hey, don’t do that!”

I am too late, though; the dog is unclipped and dashes into the grass. Moments later, we can hear the quick flapping of wings and the alarmed cries of a pheasant hen, among excited yips from the dog. My dog, alerted by the sudden commotion, joins in with some barking.

The hen takes off, and the dad of the family chases after their dog, finds him, and brings him back.

I explain to the family that they are required to keep their dog on a leash at the moment and why.

Mom: “Oh. I didn’t know.”

I know for a fact that there are signs about this at either end of this road, and that there are several around the campgrounds and on all other roads in the area.

Me: “There are signs everywhere.”

Mom: “Sorry, I didn’t see any.”

Daughter: “Yes, we did! We read the sign on the campground and then counted all the ones that we passed along the way. There were four!”

While the parents are obviously embarrassed, I turn to the little girl.

Me: “Good job! Keep counting the signs and remember to keep a good hold of your dog’s leash so he doesn’t disturb the other animals!”

My dad thought of himself as a funny guy and would sometimes try to prank cashiers to brighten their day. It was always very embarrassing for me, and probably infuriating for any cashiers having to deal with him. Besides the obvious “there’s no price tag so it must be free hahaha!” he also regularly pulled these two “pranks”:

1. When it was time to hand over the cash, he’d hold out the bills for the cashier to take, but at the last second he’d tighten his hold on so that the cashier wouldn’t be able to grab them from his hands without excessive effort (most people’s hands would slide right off because they’re obviously not expecting him to try and hold on to the bills). He always laughed and handed over the bills properly afterwards, but despite him thinking this was the height of humour, I feel like most cashiers probably didn’t feel the same. 

2. When counting out money, he’d do it like this:

Dad: *Pulls out a ten.* “One hundred.” *Pulls out a twenty, exaggerating the movement a little.* “Two hundred.” *Pulls out a fifty, with a flourish.* “FIVE HUNDRED!”

During my entire childhood, there was only one cashier who ever actually found it funny and played along, giving him his change of “eleven million (and twenty-nine cents)”.

I work for a housebuilding company producing and assembling windows, doors, and similar parts for houses. Usually, we are contracted by property developers who order our parts plus assembly on the houses. Every communication must go through the property developer; if a client has a complaint about our parts, they must contact the property developers first and only them.

Due to warranty regulations (and because the property developers want it so), we’re not allowed to process any complaints by clients as long as the house isn’t finished and five years afterwards. So, if clients complain directly to us, we explain to them that we can’t process their complaints (simply telling them that we don’t have direct contracts with them, only with property developers) and refer them to their property developers.

Most understand it, but some don’t. And there’s one very special client:

To keep the story short, I’m paraphrasing the messages (it was communicated via email) in the style of conversation. It happened when his house was finished last year.

Client: “Your windows are crap! Those aren’t the ones we paid for! We paid for glasses of SSK V [safety glass class]; I think you assembled windows of SSK IV! I want them replaced right now!”

Me: “I’m sorry that you aren’t happy with our windows, but due to the warranty policy, as your house is still inside of five-year-timeframe, please contact your property developer. Your property developer will then get to us with your complaint.”

Client: “No! These are your windows, replace them! I paid you to assemble the SSK V windows! Not the fake s*** you actually assembled!”

Me: “If these windows of the wrong SSK were assembled by mistake, we’ll gladly replace them for free. But first, you need to contact your property developer, as we don’t have any contracts with you and therefore aren’t obliged to do anything for you.”

Client: “Your customer service is terrible! I will complain about everything to my property developer, that’s for sure!”

Uhm… yeah? That’s what the clients should do in the first place?

Some days later, one of our property developers contacts us. He’s one of the most experienced and certified experts for house building in general. He’s strict but fair to any party. He’s one who prefers results over schmancy-fancy building processes.

Property Developer: “Hello, I have a client here who says the windows he has assembled for his house are fake and don’t have the SSK class he paid for. I checked these windows by myself, and they indeed have the correct seal of quality saying SSK V. I pointed this out to him, but he still doesn’t believe it and keeps demanding that we replace the windows with “the real ones”. Do you have some sort of official documentation for the SSK V windows? By the way, he complained about horrible customer service and says that you insulted him and laughed at him. When I asked him about those emails, he said he deleted them by accident and can’t show them to me. I have a feeling here, and I have known your company for years, but I have to ask.”

Me: “Sure. Here’s the attachment of official documentation and our e-mail communication with this client.”

Sometimes property developers CC us into the emails with clients, so we stay in the loop and react fast if necessary. Same here. [Property Developer] is now talking to his client:

Property Developer: “Hello, I’ve communicated with the housebuilding company about your windows. Though I want to say first, we worked with this company for many years, and this company has an excellent rate of trustworthiness. I have never seen them intentionally assembling parts of lesser quality. They were happy to send me the official documentation of your windows. Oh, and they sent me the communication between you and them. I want to remind you that I did instruct you right from the beginning of building the house that you have to contact me first and only me.”

Client: “They are lying! Those e-mails and this documentation are fabricated! I complained to them because it’s my right to do so! Now, replace those fake s*** with the windows I paid for!”

Property Developer: “I’m sorry you’re unhappy with the windows, but I can tell you they are the right ones. And yes, you might have the right to complain. But the housebuilding company has absolutely zero obligation to even answer to your complaint because it doesn’t simply have a contract with you. We’re responsible to you, not them. And no, we won’t let them replace the windows unless there is proof. If you want, you can have your windows evaluated by a third-party expert. If our windows indeed aren’t those you paid for, we will pay for the evaluation, and the housebuilding company will replace them for free. But I have to warn you, the evaluation is very expensive, and you have to pay for it if the windows are correctly assembled.”

Client: “Oh, you can count on it to pay for everything! I will get those fake windows evaluated, and you better pay for everything!”

Some weeks later, the third-party expert has evaluated the windows. You can guess the result. And you can guess who has to pay for the evaluation (over €3,000). I can’t exactly say I was unhappy to hear about it…

When I was a teenager (over twenty years ago), I worked at the local gas station in the evenings and on the weekends for some extra cash. Since we’re in a rural area in a small village, the ‘store’ attached to the gas station was relatively small. We had a half-wall of cooled drinks, a wall of snacks, some free-standing shelves of some basics, and a half-wall of automotive stuff.

I was working the quiet Sunday morning shift (8 AM – 1 PM) alone when a man came in at about 10 AM. He parked his car at one of the pumps, pumped some gas, and then came inside. 

Instead of coming directly to the register to pay, he stopped at the automotive stuff and stared at the motor oils. After I cashed out the only other customer, I walked over to him and asked if he needed any help. He waved me off and said he was fine; he was just deciding which one he wanted.

Four customers and about half an hour later, he was still ‘deciding’, so I walked back over.

Me: “What type of motor oil are you looking for? Maybe I can help you decide on a brand.”

We had one high-end, expensive brand and one generic, cheaper brand, so the customer’s wallet usually made that decision.

Customer: “Oh, no, thank you, I’m fine. I’m sure you couldn’t help.”

Me: “Okay. Let me know if you need help. If you’re not sure what type of oil you need, we can go out to your car and see if we can figure it out.”

In Germany, if you get your oil changed at a professional garage, they will put a little service tag under the hood with the type of oil and when it was last changed. Alternatively, you could look it up in the car’s manual, although that wouldn’t guarantee an exact match since there is sometimes a range of oils that can be used for that type of car.

Customer: “No, no, I’m fine. Just fine.”

I went back to the register and handled a few more customers while keeping an eye on the guy. He didn’t seem like he was going to shoplift (he hadn’t actually touched any of the oil bottles yet, or anything else in the shop area), but he’d been there for an hour by then, and I had tried a few more times to help him out, unsuccessfully.

At this point, my boss (who would sometimes come in on a Sunday to take advantage of the relative quiet to do some paperwork) walked in through the front doors. He was wearing the chain’s signature red polo with the name/logo stitched on it, so he was easily identified as someone who worked at the gas station.

The undecided customer very nearly pounced on my boss before he was even completely inside, asking several questions about motor oil and which one would do best in his car, and whether it was worth getting the expensive one, because the oil lamp in his car had been on since that morning and he really needed some oil.

My boss, who hadn’t even had the chance to say good morning yet, stared at the guy for a second and then looked at me.

I shrugged.

My boss looked back at the guy and said:

Boss: “I’m sure my employee can help you with that. I really have no idea what kind of oil you need.”

Customer: “B-but you’re a MAN!”

Boss: “But I’m not a mechanic. And while I do work at a gas station, I do the books. [My Name], can you please help this gentleman?”

Customer: “But she’s a GIRL!”

Boss: “Yes, and she knows more about motor oil than I do, since she regularly helps people with that.”

Without giving the guy another chance to speak, my boss rushed into the back, and I smiled at the customer.

Me: “Now, do you know what kind of oil they put in at your last oil change?”

Sadly, that guy wasn’t the first customer who specifically asked for ‘the boss’ to help him because what would a girl know about cars? Joke’s on them because, besides my boss (who doesn’t know anything about this stuff), there was only one other guy working there; the rest of us were all women.

Somehow, despite the ovary situation, all of us female employees still managed to help everyone who came in. I just don’t get why anyone would waste over an hour of their Sunday on this kind of thing instead of asking the person who works there for help.

I was out shopping with my mother, my cousin, and a good friend. We had spent the whole day looking for a wedding dress for me and had already had several appointments in different boutiques. We’d been on our feet for hours and desperately needed a caffeine boost, so we popped into a small bakery café for a quick break. 

My father works for a coffee company and sometimes brings home a very mild, low-acid blend that’s supposed to be easier to drink. Even then, I still need it drowned in milk and sugar to make it tolerable — I’m not exactly fond of coffee. Normally I avoid it altogether, but today was an exception. We still had a lot left to do, and I was running on fumes.

The cashier was unfriendly from the moment we walked up. My mother, cousin, and friend placed their orders without issue. When it was my turn, I politely explained:

Me: “Hi, I don’t really like coffee. Could you recommend something with a lot of milk and as sweet as possible? I’m not familiar with the menu.”

She didn’t answer. She just started making a drink in silence. A few seconds later she slammed a to-go cup full of straight black coffee in front of me and said curtly:

Cashier: “Milk and sugar are over there. Do it yourself.”

I was stunned. I tried to explain that this wasn’t what I’d asked for, but she didn’t seem to understand what I wanted. My mother, cousin, and friend jumped in to back me up, all of us repeating that I had requested something milky and sweet because I don’t drink black coffee.

After we finally got through to her, her response was:

Cashier: “Not my fault if you can’t order properly.”

We asked for a refund, but she refused, insisting I had received exactly what I ordered.

At that point I was too exhausted to argue anymore. I walked over to the milk and sugar station and poured in as much of both as the cup could physically hold.

I choked the whole thing down. It was, without exaggeration, the most disgusting thing I have ever tasted. The bitterness still came through strongly, and the milk and sugar I’d added didn’t really do anything against the burnt taste. It also gave me painful stomach cramps that lasted for hours.

Despite everything, we actually managed to find a beautiful wedding dress later that day, but because of the stomach cramps, we almost had to cancel the rest of the tour.