Child: “Daddy! Look at this!”

(The father comes over to find his child looking at an adult magazine.)

Father: *to me* “What the h*** is wrong with you? How can you let a six-year-old boy look at this smut?!”

Me: *ringing up another customer* “Sir, I’m with another customer right now.”

Father: *waving the magazine in my face* “He is way too young for this! Why didn’t you stop him from looking at this?” *he starts screaming obscenities*

(My manager walks by as this is happening.)

Manager: “Sir, she is a cashier, not a babysitter. It is not her job to watch your child; it is yours. She was doing her job when you came up to scream at her. Now get out before I call the police.”

(The man looks embarrassed as he leads his son out. A minute later, he walks back in.)

Father: *mumbles* “I forgot my other son.”

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(An elderly gentleman selects a paintbrush and takes it to the counter.)

Customer: “Now, I don’t pay for items. I sing and dance on the tabletops instead.”

Me: *I laugh, thinking he’s joking* “That’s $1.19 please.”

Customer: “Well, I reckon that’d be about a minute’s worth of singing.”

Me: *still thinking he’s joking* “Actually, it’s $1.19, so it’s probably more like a minute and twenty seconds.”

(The customer then starts singing a monotone song — something about a cat. He is hobbling from side to side. I can’t help it; I just laugh until tears are running down my face.)

Customer: “That was verse one! There are 93 more!”

Me: “In that case, I’ll just take the cash.”

This story is part of our Musically Ignorant Customers roundup!

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(I witness this exchange between a customer and my manager.)

Manager: “I’m going to have to ask you to leave your backpack at the counter.”

Customer: “Don’t worry about it. My policy is not to shoplift when my friends can’t spare bail money.”

(The manager laughed and walked off, letting him keep his backpack.)

Customer: “I’m looking for a book about a football player.”

Me: “Do you know the title or author?”

Customer: “It’s about a kid who plays football.”

Me: “Is it fiction or nonfiction?”

Customer: “Which is the real one?”

Me: “You mean which is a true story?”

Customer: “Yeah.”

Me: “Nonfiction books are true stories. Is it a biography or autobiography?”

Customer: *exasperated* “What’s the difference?”

Me: “Biographies are written by someone else about a person; autobiographies are written by the person themselves.”

Customer: “I doubt he wrote it; he’s a football player. Do you know how many hits those guys take to the head?!”

(We have a rewards program that mails out free coupons for shopping. We need to verify each customer’s account in order for them to earn their coupons. There are two customers in my line, one young woman, and behind her one middle-aged woman.)

Me: “Do you receive your coupons?”

Customer #1: “Yeah, I think so.”

Me: “All right, what’s your phone number?”

Customer #1: “Oh, it’s–”

Customer #2: “You don’t have to give that, you know.”

([Customer #1] looks confused.)

Me: “Well, we need to look you up so that you get credit for the purchase and get your discounts. I can look it up by mail or email if you’d prefer. Which do you get?”

Customer #1: “I get–”

Customer #2: “Nope. Don’t do it. That’s how they find you. They find your PIN numbers and bra size that way.”

Customer #1: “I… um.”

Me: “We don’t need your bra size.”

Customer #1: “Well, let’s just skip it. I can’t remember what I get. It’s fine.”

(I finish the transaction and [Customer #2] approaches.)

Me: “So, I’m guessing you don’t get coupons, either.”

Customer #2: “Of course I do. I just didn’t want her to use them all before I got here. And I’m a 34B.”

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