I used to work at a deli in a grocery store. One day, a dude comes up to the counter while my back is turned. He knocks on the counter with the veracity of a rabid Jehovah's Witness and immediately shouts at top volume: "HEY I NEED SERVICE OVER HERE! HELLOOOO?"
I grit my teeth in my best "How can I help you?" smile and walk over.
Before I can get a word in, he shouts, "A POUND OF HAM!" and storms away.
I call after him, "Sir, what kind of ham? How do you want it sliced?"
He screams over his shoulder, "I DON'T FUCKING CARE, JUST GIVE ME A FUCKING POUND OF HAM! I'LL BE BACK FOR IT!"
Without another word, he disappears. I shrug, grab the cheapest, crappiest ham in the case, open the slicer to the widest setting and buzz off two half-pound slices of slimy, almost-expired, cheap ham. I leave it on the counter and return to washing the dishes behind the counter.
The man returns a few minutes later, sees the ham, and grabs it furiously before stomping to the cash register. He pays and leaves.
The next day, hamboy returns to the deli. I'm the only one working again, and right away I recognize him. I don't even try to disguise my shit-eating grin as I address him. "Hello sir, what can I do for you today?"
He holds up the pound of ham from yesterday and, with a surprisingly subdued tone, says, "I can't use this. It's not sliced."
"Actually, sir, it is sliced. I recall you asked for a pound of ham, and so I gave you a pound of ham. Is there anything else I can get for you today?"
He paused, staring right into my eyes, seemingly trying to intimidate me. I don't even blink; I just stare right back. Finally, he looks down at the floor and mumbles, "I'd like a pound of Boar's Head honey ham, sliced thin please."
"Absolutely sir! Coming right up!"
I sliced the ham, bagged it, tagged it, and wished him a pleasant day. He left with his tail tucked between his legs. I like to think he was polite and courteous to deli workers everywhere after that. I never saw him again.