Several years ago, when I still thought the food-service industry was a viable means to an end, I worked at Word of Life, an adult religious conference center. Now, the way the place was set up, people would pay for a room for the week, and would attend various meetings during the week. Because of this, and because I interacted with nearly every customer on a daily basis, by Tuesday or so you pretty much knew what you were dealing with.
Now, all kinds of people came through the doors here. And of course, you take the good with the bad, and there were many people who were, to put it nicely, a few fries short of a Happy Meal.
One night I was working in the Snack Shack (sort of like the concessions stand at a movie theater) and I saw an older gentleman who was one of those people I just mentioned walk up to the window. It was my turn to take a customer, so I put on my best face and approached him.
Me: Hi, can I help you?
Him: Yeah, I see you have chicken. What kind of chicken do you have?
Me: We have wings, tenders, and popcorn chicken.
Him: Popcorn chicken? Is that like, popcorn flavored?
Me: No, it's just small pieces of chicken, and you get a bunch, so it's called popcorn chicken. (I went on for about 5 minutes trying to explain this to him. He wasn't having any of it.)
Him: (5 minutes later) No, I don't want any popcorn flavored chicken, I'll take the chicken wings.
At this point, the smile we're supposed to use to greet customers is gone from my face, and my voice has gone from "cheery" to a very irritated monotone. I go in the back to whoever was running the fryer that night, tell them to throw eight wings in the fryer, and go about my business.
A few minutes later, the wings were done, so I took them out to the counter. At this point, I just wanted this idiot to pay, take his chicken, and maybe choke on a bone or something. But of course, it wouldn't be that easy, would it? I swear on my life--this was the final exchange I had with him that night.
Me: Here you go, that's $5.75.
Him: These aren't popcorn flavored are they?
Me: No. They are not.
I took his money, went in the back, and banged my head against the wall. I wish I could lifeguard the fucking gene pool.