THE HAND BRAKE.
(I’m a woman in her 20s, and I look quite young. A group of men in their 30s have come in, having booked a minivan for a trip to the Czech Republic.)
Me: “…and here’s your rental agreement. It states that the car is a diesel, but please check yourself at the gas station, because the computer-provided data about the cars have been known to be wrong.”
Customer: “Do you think I’m stupid? I’m a grown-up man for God’s sake!”
Me: “Certainly not, but such mistakes happen more often you’d like to think. I’m only saying this to avoid you having to pay for any damages, or simply having a broken car in the middle of your trip.”
Customer: “Well, you’re a girl, so I’m not surprised you don’t know that the type of fuel the car requires is written on the gas refilling hole. I’m not surprised you know nothing about cars; it’s a man thing and requires some technical knowledge.
Me: “Okay then. Have a nice trip and be safe!”
(The customers go out to the parking lot. I can see them fidgeting with the remote, and have some trouble just opening the car. Once inside, I see them pushing various buttons on the radio and still not driving out of the parking lot. After several minutes, the customer I’ve spoken with comes back in.)
Me: “Is everything okay?”
Customer: “…I can’t find the handbrake.”
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