I work in a fancy coffee place in the middle of a rich suburban neighborhood with multi-million-dollar homes and celebrity customers. 

Most of the rich clientele are fine, but I’ve noticed that when some of them are bad, they’re the worst. 

A new barista is working the register, and they came across as quiet and timid during training, so I’m keeping an eye on them in case I need to step in.

Customer: “I’ll get the mango cooler, no ice.”

Since this is a pre-mixed drink, the new barista can pour it right there for the customer. I see her perfectly measure it out and give her half a cup of drink. Without the ice, the drink only goes halfway up the cup, so this is correct.

Customer: “Uh? Helloooo? I wanted it filled all the way up.”

Barista: “Without ice, that is filled all the way up. Unless… you wanted two drinks for the price of one? I’m new here; I don’t know of such a sale.”

Customer: *Turning beet red, but not backing down.* “It’s not a sale, it’s common courtesy! Your drinks are already a rip-off, so—”

Barista: “I’m sorry, who made you come here? I’d hate to think you’re being forced to come here when the prices are out of your reach! Would you like me to call someone? Are you in trouble?”

Customer: “F*** you b****!” *Turns heel and storms out.*

Barista: *Calling out to the customer.* “Ma’am, don’t you want your lukewarm “iced” drink?!”

Yeah, I think the new girl is gonna be juuuuust fine.

I’m in the never-ending suburbia of Los Angeles, walking my two dogs. I’ve gone a different route than usual, passing a street for the first time, and I see a family hosting a yard sale.

Their little daughter, maybe six or so, is hosting a lemonade stand: fifty cents a cup. Bargain!

I get in line behind an old lady who is talking to this little girl.

Old Lady: “Fifty cents? That’s a bit steep!”

Little Girl: “It’s good lemonade.”

Old Lady: “Well, I’m going to look at your yard sale, and I need to save my coins for that, so you should give me a free drink to enjoy while I browse.”

Little Girl: *Weary sigh of someone beyond her years.* “This is why the whole street hates you, Dierdre.”

I burst into a snort laugh so abrupt it scares my dogs. Dierdre turns around, realizes an adult has been within earshot of her attempt to haggle with a kid, tuts, and storms away.

I gave the little girl a dollar. Fifty cents for the drink and fifty cents for the entertainment.

It’s 2 AM on a Sunday. I’m working at a late-night pizza place in Hollywood.

Caller: “I want [Pizza Combo].”

The caller sounds more than a little drunk.

Me: “Can I get an address?”

Caller: “It’s at the hotel down the street.”

Me: “I need an address.”

Caller: “The hotel! The one on Santa Monica!”

Me: “As in the boulevard?”

Caller: “Yeah! That’s the one!”

Me: “Can I get a hotel name and your name?”

Caller: “Just come to the hotel on Santa Monica!”

Me: “Santa Monica Boulevard is fourteen miles long.”

Caller: “…Well, that’s stupid!”

Me: “You can’t remember the name of your hotel?”

Caller: “No, lemme ask someone.” 

He hangs up, and I laugh it off and go back to work, happy to have never been so drunk I forgot the name of the hotel I was staying at.

I work in a vintage music store in a touristy part of Los Angeles. We have a huge vinyl collection (both old and new) and attract a lot of customer types, from old-school collectors to… newer fans of the medium:

A young guy comes over holding a vinyl album:

Customer: “Is this region specific?”

Me: “Region specific? You mean, like region locked?”

Customer: “Yeah.”

Me: “It’s vinyl.”

Customer: “Yeah. So, can I play these when I get back to the UK?”

Me: “It’s vinyl. They’re literal discs of PVC.”

Customer: “Yeah. So, can I play these when—”

Me: “—when you get back to the UK, yes. Yes, you can.”

Customer: “Wicked! Thanks!”

I’m on a call with a client to explain some issues with a project that was sent to him earlier. In the middle of the call, my office building shook with a pretty strong earthquake. Alarms sounded off, and evacuation began immediately.

Me: “Sir, I am going to have to call you back. We’ve just experienced an earthquake, and we need to evacuate the building. I am sure you can hear the alarms in the background.”

Caller: *Sighs.* “Do you have to go right this minute?”

Me: “…yes, sir, it’s an evacuation.”

Caller: “What floor are you on?”

Me: “A pretty high one.”

Caller: “Well, keep explaining the project to me for a few more minutes. It’ll give time for the stairwell to thin out a bit, and you can get down it faster.”

Me: “…no, sir. That isn’t how evacuations work. I’m going to put the phone down now.”

Caller: “Can you call me on your cell while you take the stairs?”

Me: “No!” *Click.*

The client left a voicemail with my boss, explaining how I was rude and aggressive. My boss called him back and said that if he ever tried to keep any of his guys inside a building during an emergency again, he’d drop him as a client.

CORRECTION: Some repeated words have been removed.