I have been called a c**t, by a woman at work once (I happen to be a girl).
Two years in a row I've been told by customers that I've personally ruined their Christmas.
On Superbowl a customer told me it was my fault that she was missing Superbowl and her sons birthday. She called me a bitch... Several times.
I had a customer get offended when I asked him to stop swearing at other customers because there are little children around. He went to management and said I'm being rude.
My manager said, "She is right you do need to watch your language in the store, or you will be escorted out."
He was swearing at me and another customer. Now I'm just oh so nice to him its ridiculous.
I have some African American customers who think I'm racist. Fuck that I am not going against policy because other stores do it for you.
I've had this one kid call management on me twice already. I flat out refuse to help him. I can't think of anything else, but I've been called a lot of things. Welcome to the life of deli. I've got plenty of stories, but I want a good one, one day.
Our Amish barbecue stand has added a new item to their menu: turkey kielbasa sausage. They already sell turkey-based meatloaf, ham, and bacon. These products are hideously awful. But apparently the very special snowflakes who are our customers in this upscale farmers market prefer food made from white meat turkey, and not meat which actually taste good because it is made from pigs!
Seriously, turkey scrapple? My Amish grandparents are turning in their graves.
So today the barbecue stand had a banner saying “Try our new turkey kielbasa!” And here are some of the questions which I heard while I was passing by at various times during the day.
“What is the difference between pork kielbasa and turkey kielbasa?”
“What does the turkey kielbasa taste like?”
“Why do they call it turkey kielbasa?”
“What part of the body is a kielbasa? Is it the neck?”
At closing time, I went to the barbecue stand to pick up a rotisserie turkey breast that I’d ordered earlier in the day. I struck a pose and said, using my whiniest, most grating soccer-mom voice:
“What is this turkey made of? Does it have pork in it? Was it cured with nitrates? Is it hormone free?” … and continued asking questions until I was pelted with leftover dinner rolls by the waitstaff.