Robert Sheckley (1928–2005)

"I never thought of it that way," Carmody said politely enough. But he was beginning to grow annoyed at the glib civil servants of Galactic Centre. They had an answer for everything; but the fact was, they simply didn't do their jobs very well, and they blamed their failures on cosmic conditions.
"Well, yes, that's also true," the Clerk said. "Your point (I took the liberty of reading your mind) is well made."

A tall bearded old man with piercing eyes had come to me and ordered a planet. (That was how your planet began, Carmody.) Well, I did the job quickly, in six days I believe, and thought that would be the end of it. It was another of those budget planets, and I had cut a few corners here and there. But to hear the owner complain, you'd have thought I'd stolen the eyes out of his head.
"Why are there so many tornadoes?" he asked. "It's part of the atmospheric circulation system," I told him. (Actually, I had been a little rushed at that time; I had forgotten to put in an air-circulation overload valve.)
"Three-quarters of the place is water!" he told me. "And I clearly specified a four-to-one land-to-water ratio!"
"Well, we couldn't do it that way!" I told him. (I had lost his ridiculous specifications; I never can keep track of these absurd little one-planet projects.)
"And you've filled what little land you gave me with deserts and swamps and jungles and mountains."
"It's scenic," I pointed out.