(I’m a cashier at a sports store. A customer comes up with just a few items, one being a small shoebox. I open the box and there are two dirty old kid’s shoes inside.)

Customer: “Oh, my son has them on; he’s somewhere else in the store.”

Me: “I just need to see the shoes before I ring them up, and make sure they are right.”

Customer: “Oh, uh…”

(He calls his son—who is standing ducked behind the candy aisle—over.)

Customer: “Here!”

(He cheerfully points at his son.)

Me: “I have to see them up-close.”

(He picks his son up and holds his feet out.)

Customer: “See?”

Me: “Can I get one of those?”

Customer: “Sure?”

(He’s not smiling as much now, and pops one of the shoes off.I check the shoe. It’s the same brand, same size, but different style number.)

Me: “Oh, you’ve got the wrong shoe. Are these the ones you want? I can call for the right box.”

(He puts on a big show of arm movements and smacking his forehead.)

Customer: “Aww buddy! We got the wrong shoes! We got the wrong shoes, buddy. We’ll be right back.”

(He takes back the box. I wait for a while, holding his other items. I call the shoe department to tell them about the man, and find out the box was for a much cheaper pair of kid’s shoes. I let my manager know, and she heads off after him. When the man returns, I am alone.)

Customer: “Here we go!”

(I check the box: same brand and style number. I nod, smile, and ring them up. My manager walks up, not smiling at all, and holds out another box.)

Manager: “You wanted this too, right?”

(He looks rather wide-eyed and quiet. He suddenly smiles and takes the box, nodding.)

Customer: “Yeah, right! I lost this, thank you! I was going to ask for it. Haha.”

(I ring up the box and the man leaves with his son. My manager says she followed my tip and found him putting on some adult shoes himself, determined to get a free pair. She just brought up the box for the shoes he was going to steal.)

(I work at a 24-hour convenience store on a college campus I attend. A man in his twenties comes in at about 4AM. He’s the only one in the store except me, and one of my co-workers.)

Me: “Hi there! How’re you today?”

Customer: “Not bad.”

(He walks over to one of the three aisles in the store before starting to strip down naked. I’m taken aback, and immediately start to call the police, while my coworker attempts to talk the man down.)

Coworker: “Hey, dude, what are you doing? Put your clothes on!”

Customer: “It’s a glorious day! A righteous day!”

(The man, now fully nude, begins to touch his body to the disgust of both of us. He starts rubbing his front up against the ice-cold freezer door.)

Me: “Sir, I’ve called the police. They’ll be here soon; please put your clothes on.”

(The customer mumbles incoherently as he rests up against the door, touching himself very inappropriately. My coworker manages to talk him into getting into his underwear, as the cops arrive and arrest him.)

Cop #1: “What’s your name, son?”

Customer: “I AM GOD!”

Cop #1: “Yeah, okay, son. Let’s go.”

(The cops lead him out into the freezing air in only his underwear. Later in the day, they come back to explain why he did it.)

Cop #1: “Apparently, he was on four hits of acid, and had just left a house party on campus!”

(The customer came in the next day demanding that we return his iPhone that ‘we clearly stole’. We threw him out of the store.)

(I work at a chain coffee shop. The building is on the side of a hill; directly behind the shop is a sheer drop off. Every Sunday morning, a woman comes in with same conversation.)

Woman: “Why don’t you have a drive through? The coffee shop in every other town has a drive through!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but there’s no room around the back of the building for a drive through.”

Woman: “This is ridiculous! If you weren’t the only place on the way to church to get coffee, I’d never stop here. The one day of the week I have to wear heels; I have to walk across the parking lot!”

(One Sunday morning, there is a loud crash, and the building shakes. I run outside; the woman has rammed her car between the back of the building and the cliff side. The entire front of the car is hanging off of the edge. Her airbag has deployed and she seems dazed. She starts to open the door. I start yelling.)

Me: “No! Climb out through the back!”

(We eventually get her inside, and call the cops.)

Woman: “I was trying to prove there’s enough room for them to have a drive through. I guess I was wrong!”

(The company won for damages. A family whose home was hit by debris rolling down the hill sued her as well. Seemed like way more trouble in the end than just walking into a building for a latte!)

(I am behind two boys in line. They pile a bunch of coolers on the counter, and try to pay with American money.)

Cashier: “Could I see some ID, please?”

(Boy #1 waves his hand like Obi-Wan.)

Boy #1: “Oh, you don’t need to see our IDs.”

Cashier: “Uh, actually, I do.”

Boy #2: “It’s okay; we’re both 21!”

Cashier: “Drinking age in Ontario is 19.”

Boy #2: “Oh. Well, we’re both 19, then.”

Cashier: “Do you even have identification?”

Boy #1: “Fine! Here!”

(He throws a card on the counter.)

Cashier: “The government doesn’t consider this valid ID.”

Boy #1: “OH COME ON!”

Cashier: “…and this American state driver’s licence says you’re 16.”

Boy #2: “F****** Canadians!”

Entering is as easy as 1-2-3:

1. Submit a funny or interesting story about customers doing something criminal or illegal—and, if they were caught, how they were punished.
2. Enter your email address in the form to qualify.
3. All posted stories will be entered in a drawing to win a free t-shirt gift certificate, to use in the official Not Always Right shop!

PS: winners will be announced the first Wednesday of every month. Next free t-shirt gift certificate: Wednesday, April 3!