Thousands of years ago, a certain mass-merchandiser known for building bigass stores in malls, and selling everything from paint to "computers", (Apple IIe!) furniture, and especially women's clothing, also had auto service and various auto parts.
I was a part-time employee. Due to our nearness to the Great White North, we in the Seasonally Frozen Wastelands sold a giant, heaping pile of...everything...to Canadian Nationals. Including stuff that wouldn't be declared at the border, such as vehicle service. You really think Customs looked under the hood to see if you had a water pump installed in the 'States? Spark plugs? Battery? Americans would go to the Canadian border on Canadian Holidays, and there'd be a sign posted: "Canada is closed for Victoria Day". The WHOLE FRIGGIN' COUNTRY was in my hometown, and the local Chamber of Criminals would encourage the business members to take Canadian dollars "at par" (dollar-for-dollar, despite the unfavorable exchange rate. Essentially, a discount to Canadians of whatever the exchange rate was--ten to twenty percent was pretty typical, sometimes more, and rarely less.) The local businesses lived on Canadian traffic. Without them, they'd go broke.
So, one hectic day we're slamming four new tires onto a vehicle with Canadian license plates. It was company policy that the greenish film of the white-side-wall protectant was to be washed-off the sidewalls before the customer got the car back. We hated this as is was both extremely labor-intensive and messy to scrub the sidewalls to remove what seemed to be a dried soap-scum "protectant".
The owner of the car comes back early, wanders into the shop where he sees us getting ready to scrub the tires to make them look "like new" which new tires don't because of the dried greenish **** on the sidewalls.
My boss catches up with the guy just as he gets to his car. "Would you like us to scuff-up the sidewalls so you can "get them across the border"?" he asks.
"No, that won't be necessary. I'm on holiday, but I work for Canadian Customs."
I didn't see my boss leave his office the rest of the day.
Same boss, different customer. Years before ABS became popular.
Customer (US military, not from "around here", just assigned here for a year or three, due to being very unlucky. This is his first real winter in his whole life.) has a brake-job done on the rear of his 4X4. Truck still doesn't stop worth a **** (No sh!t. It's January, the roads and parking lots are nothing but compacted snow (if you're lucky) or outright ice. NOTHING is stopping worth a ****.) There's not a thing wrong with his brakes.
Of course, in the name of "Customer Service" we have already test-driven the vehicle and pulled the wheels off looking for some hidden problem the first two times he came back complaining. Again, not a thing wrong with the brakes...but here he is again, expecting us to "fix" something on his truck when what he really needs is some magic solution to crappy, poorly-maintained icy roads in the dead of winter. Or an anchor.
So we have tried logic. We have explained that the brakes are fine, it's the roads that are ****. That everyone's car has the same issue, and it happens every winter. Nope. Customer is not satisfied.
My boss finally asks the guy why he bought a four-wheel-drive vehicle. "To go through snow and mud!"
"You bought four-wheel-drive to GO. Did you also order four-wheel brakes to STOP?"
"Well...no...I don't remember...probably not."
"That's the problem. Goodbye."