I used to work at a fairly large fabric store in LA. We would get fashion students from FIDM and other schools all the time, and they were by far the stupidest customers I’ve ever seen.
Some would ask me what kind of fabric they needed for class (as if I would know)
Some would ask me to estimate how much fabric they would need for a garment, while refusing to give me any details about the garment. Honestly, having long sleeves on a blouse is not a proprietary secret.
I was once asked to make a yardage estimate for “triangle pants” and when I asked what she means by triangle pants, she just repeated herself over and over.
The absolute best was when a fashion student asked where we kept the leather. I told her that leather hides were up near the register. She said she wanted yardage instead, so I pointed her toward the faux leather. She came back really upset that I was trying to trick her. What she wanted was yardage of real leather. I had to calmly explain that cows don’t grow in flat sheets, she can have real leather hides, or faux leather yardage. She ended up stomping her foot and storming out.
Working at Taco Bell four summers ago, this lady pulls into the drive-through and demands to speak with a manager. We ask her if she could please pull around front and a manager will be out to meet her so she doesn’t block the drive-through. She says she can’t because she’s handicapped (not sure how that prevents her from parking and letting a manager talk to her.)
As she drives by the window where I am taking the drive-through orders, I catch a glimpse of the single fattest woman I have ever seen. In the backseat is a very fat child (gender unknown) covered in puke.
So he goes out front with her, and we can hear her screaming all the way inside the restaurant, with the doors closed. Apparently, our restaurant gave her son food poisoning, and he got sick during his soccer game and threw up all over himself. She wants a new meal, “but with no poison on it this time.”
So we remake her order: 3 Grande Meals (ten tacos each,) with extra cheese and sour cream. Which her son will eat half of, and then run his fat ass around, in August, in Georgia.
No handicap tag either, just dumb and fat.