A man approaches me in the kitchenware department looking a little lost.

Customer: “I’m looking for a threek?”

Me: “Sorry, a what?” 

Customer: “A threek. My wife told me to look in the kitchen section.”

Me: “Can you describe it?”

Customer: “Like a fork, but with three prongs instead of four, so… a threek.” 

Me: “Sorry, sir, but I think your wife might be pranking you. We don’t sell three-pronged forks, and if we did, they’d still be called forks.”

Customer: “So, you don’t sell threeks?” 

Me: “I don’t think anyone does.”

Customer: “Typical. I won’t hear the end of this when I get home.”

I work in a large department store that has a café inside. Customers who are members of the store get one free hot drink per day. An older customer and her daughter walk up to me at the entrance of the café.

Customer: “You’re all thieves! The membership fee went up!”

Me: “Yes, I am aware that the annual fee went up by $5. It’s to keep up with the costs of—”

Customer: “I don’t care what it’s for! You’re all thieves, and I want to cancel my membership!”

Me: “I am sorry to hear that, ma’am. If you go to the membership desk, you can—”

Customer: “I am going nowhere! You will cancel my membership for me right now!”

I’m not supposed to, but since I also work the membership desk, and the terminals we all use have access to all the same systems, I am able to log into the membership database from my terminal at the café entrance.

Using their information, and between apologetic looks from the customer’s adult daughter, I am able to cancel the membership. 

Me: “That’s all done for you, ma’am. Since the annual payment isn’t due until the end of the month, you’ll be able to use your current membership until the thirty-first, and after that it will expire.” 

With that, the customer gives “Hmph!” and storms off.

I would have never thought about her again, but then, a few months later, I recognize the same bad attitude when she storms in again (once again, daughter in tow) and starts kicking up a fuss about having to pay for her coffee. 

Customer: “Members get free drinks! Why am I being charged for this coffee?!”

Me: “Ma’am, you told us a few months ago that you wanted to cancel your membership.”

Customer: “I don’t remember that. I’m not paying for my coffee!”

Me: “Ma’am, only members get free hot drinks, and I do recall that—” 

Customer: “No. If I don’t remember it, then it didn’t happen.”

Customer’s Daughter: “Mom, I was with you. I remember it.” 

Customer: “You’re mistaken. I don’t remember doing it, so it didn’t happen — simple as that. I want to complain to your manager; you’ve misplaced my order and you’re trying to shift the blame on to me.” 

Customer’s Daughter: “You will do no such thing.” *To me* “I’m sorry, you’re fine. And before you start feeling sorry for her thinking this is dementia or something, don’t. She’s been like this my whole life.”

Customer: “Stop interfering! You’re making me look bad!”

Customer’s Daughter: “No, Mom, you’re doing that just fine on your own.” 

Customer: “This is the last time we go shopping together!”

Customer’s Daughter: “Until you need a ride again, and then you’ll just ‘not remember’ that you said that?” 

I backed away from the argument; it seemed like it was going to go on for a while…

Related:
Oh, No! If It Isn’t The Consequences Of My Own Actions!

Many years ago, I was poring over a clearance rack, looking for clothes for my niece and nephew, who always loved Aunt [My Name]’s clothes gifts when they were small. Now, I shudder to think what would happen if I tried to buy their clothes, but they are not part of this annoying experience.

I had pulled quite a few pieces for them and was looking for more when I felt a pain in my leg from behind. I turned and saw nothing, so I went back to bargain-hunting. Then, there was another pain, and again, I saw nothing to have caused it, so I turned sideways for better viewing.

Suddenly, a little boy jumped out from under the next rack full of adult clearance clothing with some kind of stick, and he poked my leg. This time, I saw him.

Me: “What’s your name?”

He did not answer but disappeared under the clothing again.

Now I was standing facing the rack he used for hiding. I saw him about to launch another assault, I stepped back, and he missed. This prompted him to scream as if he had been hurt, and a woman emerged from another part of the store. (Mamas know the cries of their offspring.)

Woman: “What did you do to my baby?!”

Me: “He’s been hiding under the clothes on this rack and poking my leg with a stick. The last time he tried it, I moved, and he missed. That’s when he started screaming.”

Woman: *Standing there with her arms crossed* “What did you do to him?”

Me: “Again, I just moved away on his last attack, and he was angry that I moved.”

She snatched him up and dried his tears.

Woman: “I will report you to the store if you bother my child again.”

I watched her walk away and hoped I would never be that way if I had a child.

A bickering couple comes up to me as I am working behind the counter.

Male Customer: “Excuse me, but are you a Mormon?”

Me: “Uh… yes?”

Male Customer: “Excellent! We finally found one! Can you please tell my wife you’re allowed to have as many wives as you want?”

Me: “That’s… not true. We only take one wife.”

Female Customer: “Hah! See?! I told you!”

Male Customer: “Huh… I always thought Mormons were allowed multiple wives.”

Me: “It’s a common misconception, sir.”

Male Customer: “Well then, what’s the point of all that missionary stuff you’ve all gotta do if not to find yourselves some decent wives?”

Me: “It’s purely to preach, sir.”

Male Customer: “What a waste of time!”

Female Customer: “Don’t mind him. He’s just bored every Sunday at church and is feeling around for other options…”

Related:
Not A Fan Of Poly-gab-at-me

In the UK, “pants” typically means what Americans would call “underwear”, and they use “trousers” to mean what Americans call “pants”.

Customer: *In an English accent* “‘Scuse me. Where can I find boys’ pants?”

Employee: “Right over… Sorry, do you mean in the American or the British sense?”

Customer: “Just pants!”

Employee: “Right, but… trousers or underwear?”

Customer: “What? Neither! Pants!”

Employee: “Uh… children’s clothes are right over there.”

A few minutes later, the customer comes back, gesturing at her basket.

Customer: “Look, this is what I meant! No American or British or anything. Pants!”

Employee: “Ma’am, those are socks.”