holding back is a fine art, X. It's all good.
I think we should use the "I Hate..." thread to just list all the things we hate in the most humorous way possible. So theraputic.

You know what?

I hate people like 90% of Trek's customers. I talk to them every freaking day.

"I'm calling for (sample name) Maria H(mumblemumble) C(mumblemumble)"
Me: "Ok..." turning to database with extension numbers... "Can you spell their last name?"
"E.... s.... q....u.....i...v...e...l..."
Me: "Esquivel? .... I don't have anyone here by that name..."
"No, that's MY name."
"Can you spell out the last name of the person you're looking for?"
"*starting to get mad* E...S...Q..."
"Their name, ma'am...."
"E....S..."

*screams*

Eventually they get it. sometimes.

Then there's the fantastic folks in our print room. the temperature is never right for them. Not that they're people with the actual climate-controlled clean rooms, they're just picky.
*ring ring*
Me: "_______ Security, how can I help you?"
"Hi this is Jim Bob in SM Print... It's really hot in here and..."
Me: "...I'll let facilities know."

I call facilities. Glen is such an old, sour curmudgeon. We get along GREAT.
*ring, ring*
"This is me...."
Me: "This is me... We have SM Print complaining about their temp again."
"Lemme guess, they're too cold."
Me: "They will be in about fifteen minutes."
Glen laughs. "I'll change the temp once."
I laugh. "Sounds good to me."
Mind you, this happens all the time.

Another call last night, to Glen.
*ring ring*
G: This is me.
Me: This is me... again.
G: You're gettin' to be a regular lil' pest tonight.
Me: No kidding. I just missed ya is all. Say, Screening said one of their power outlets is hanging out on the floor with bare wires... Couldja take a look?
G: (dryly) I'm sure it just fell out.
Me: Yup, just the way people accidentally poop in the urinal.
G: At least not this week. Yet. Don't jinx that.
Me: Believe me, I won't. So... Are you going to fix that outlet?
G: I'm pondering letting someone get zapped.
Me: I think we'd both get in trouble if someone got fried here...
G: Nah, you did your job already- complain at me!
Me: Ah, guess you're right. Take yer time! *sniff* I smell fried chicken. Better make sure nothing bad happened.
G: Bah. Burning people smell like burning hair.
Me, laughing hard enough to have a hard time with the PTT button on the radio: You're a sick man, Glen.
G: Uh-huh. oh, crap, I smell burning hair!
(end comm)
Note: No dumb employees were harmed in the making of this post.