I am in line at a grocery store cashing out a twelve-pack. A woman walks toward me and takes her place in line. However, instead of standing behind me in line she decides to stand right beside me. The woman in front of me finishes her transaction and, what do you know, the lady beside me actually pushes past me and tries to cut me.

Honestly, in my head, I am about to just let her go because she clearly is in a much bigger rush than I, and I personally don’t mind waiting an extra two minutes. No big deal to me.

However, the awesome cashier (who has cashed me out frequently) speaks up.

Cashier: “Uh, I’m sorry, but she was waiting here before you.”

The lady scoffs and steps aside. With a huge smile, I make sure to have a nice and lengthy chat with the cashier. “How’s your day?” “Yeah, thank God it’s Friday!” “Did you do anything fun on Halloween?” And so on. She knew, and I knew.

The whole time, I felt the rushing lady’s eyes burning a hole in the back of my head, and I was just loving every minute of it.

Thanks, awesome cashier!

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Thanks to some assistance and other factors, I end up going to a high school that usually costs a lot of money. It’s a big deal in my family that I get to go! While the vast majority of the costs are covered, I still don’t want to be a burden on my family, so I get a part-time job on the weekends working the checkout at a grocery store.

The grocery store, like my school and most things in the area, is quite high-end and so attracts a certain “type” of customer.

I am scanning items when I hear my name called. I look up, and the customer I am serving is with one of my schoolmates.

Schoolmate: “Oh, hey, [My Name]! I didn’t know you worked here!”

Me: “Yes, just at the weekends to help out the family.”

Schoolmate’s Mother: “[Schoolmate], how do you know this…” *gives me a quick look up-and-down, her disapproval palpable* “…person?“

Schoolmate: “Mom, this is [My Name]. I know her from school.”

Schoolmate’s Mother: “Do you work there, too? The cafeteria?”

Schoolmate: *Laughs* “No, Mom! Silly! Remember I told you that I got extra help in science the other day? That was [My Name]!”

Schoolmate’s Mother: “Oh, so you’re a teacher’s assistant?”

Me: “No, ma’am, I am a student, same as [Schoolmate]. I helped her with a science project the other day.”

Schoolmate’s Mother: *Looking like she’s having a stroke* “But… but why are you working?“

I want to say, “Because I’m poor,” but she’s still a customer, so I pull out some BS to get this conversation over and done with.

Me: “Oh, I just think it will make me a more open-minded person and allow me to appreciate the value of hard work.”

Schoolmate’s Mother: “Nonsense! I’ve never worked a day in my life, and look how I turned out.”

Schoolmate: “Mom… that’s not the flex that you think it is.”

Later that year, this crazy lady actually complains at an open parents’ night that “people like me” shouldn’t be allowed in the school and certainly shouldn’t be mingling with the “real students.”

A few months later, she ends up in my checkout lane again! I don’t think she notices me at first as she is on her phone, but she realizes something is up when I’m not touching any of her items.

Schoolmate’s Mother: “Well?”

Me: “Oh, hi there, Mrs. [Schoolmate’s Mother]. Sorry, I would love to check you out, but I can’t. I’m not real, y’see. You said I wasn’t a real person, so there’s nothing I can do.”

The penny has dropped; she remembers.

Schoolmate’s Mother: “That’s not what I meant, and you know it! Check me out or I will call over your manager.”

Me: “Oh, well, y’see, we could do that, but I’m seventeen and I am amazing at my job here, just like I am amazing at school — y’know, that same school where I don’t belong — and I think I am safe at both. Now, please feel free to use another checkout where real people exist, but since I am not real and therefore unable to serve you, you’ll just be talking to yourself. Bye!”

She stormed off, and she must have complained to my manager; said manager came over near the end of my shift to give me a high-five after I explained my side of the story.

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This was around fifteen years ago when I was working part-time as a courtesy clerk at a local grocery store.

We had a customer come in after I had retrieved a children’s car-shaped cart from the far end of the parking lot, near a path leading to a residential area, demanding to speak with me directly. Apparently, this customer had been wearing a gold bracelet that had gotten stuck on the cart, and instead of bringing the cart back into the store and asking for assistance, she decided to abandon the cart, grab her groceries, and walk home to get a screwdriver.

By the time she returned, approximately two hours had passed. She was very aggressive and accusatory toward me until I pointed out that the business down at the end of the parking lot had security cameras, and she might be better served asking them if they had seen anything. She accepted this alternative and left.

I was walking back to the office with the manager on duty and the keyholder, when our keyholder mentioned something to me.

Keyholder: “You do realize she was accusing you of stealing her bracelet, right?”

Me: “Wait, what? That never even occurred to me!”

Manager: “I don’t think it would’ve even crossed your mind if you saw it, anyway. How many phones and tablets have you turned in by now?”

I don’t recall the conversation clearly, but it was remarkable having management immediately dismiss the accusations against me on the basis of my established character. I didn’t think I had made that much of an impact, but given that when I left that job they actually had a cake made in the bakery for me and threw me a little surprise celebration, I guess I did.

I still wonder, though… if that bracelet was so important to that woman, why did she do something so stupid?!

I am in a grocery store in the small Dutch town where I live with my daughter. I’m American and moved here three years ago when I married my Dutch husband. Our daughter is both American and Dutch and speaks both languages.

Enter a snooty-looking grandma. She’s the type with a pale pink button-down cardigan with pearl buttons, a perfect bun at the nape of her neck, and a skirt six inches below her knee declaring she’s probably in some strict religious sect. And every time she sees me, I just get this look — not of disgust but of clear disapproval. I’m confused and decide it must be my dress length — which is admittedly pretty short, but hey, I’m 5’11”, and having legs isn’t wrong! — and continue my shopping. Every time I cross her in an aisle, I get the same look.

I enter an aisle and start scavenging for salted mixed nuts. Suddenly, I see the grandma further down the aisle with a VERY uncomfortable-looking sixteen-year-old employee cornered.

Grandma: *In Dutch* “Dat kan toch niet!” *That can’t be allowed!*

My interest is piqued and I listen further. The girl stutters.

Employee: *Through clear discomfort* “It… it is allowed, ma’am. There’s nothing wrong.”

Grandma: *Angrily, in Dutch* “If you’re in the Netherlands, you have to speak Dutch. You can’t be throwing different languages around everywhere, especially around the children!”

Employee: “Um… I can get my manager if you want.”

The lightbulb goes off. I’ve been speaking in English to my toddler daughter the whole time. Unluckily for Snooty Grandma, I walk up behind them. Mind you, her back is to me and I can see the sixteen-year-old’s face. Grandma does not see me.

Me: *In perfect Dutch* “Sorry, maar wat verwacht u van de winkel dan?” *Sorry, but what do you expect the store to do, then, ma’am?*

Checkmate, Dutch Grandma. What she didn’t know is I’m nearly fluent in Dutch and had just been choosing to speak my mother tongue with MY child. Had she listened carefully, she would’ve realized that everything I said to my child SHE ANSWERED IN DUTCH. My daughter prefers Dutch to English. 

Grandma angrily turned around to face me, and I watched her face go from irritation to shock as she realized I’d understood everything she said. Her mouth fell open, and the color drained out of her cheeks. Her mouth snapped shut, and she stormed off without another word. I didn’t see her again.

I saw this story posted and was inspired to share a similar experience I had a long time ago.

I was still at the age of getting birthday money from relatives, and my mother took me to do some leisure shopping. I broke off from her to look for something else, and then I ran into this woman.

She was with a few children and had a sign saying she needed help buying food for her babies. Since she had approached me and I felt kind of nervous about leaving her, especially since I was just purchasing fun stuff when she needed help, I decided to buy a bit of baby food for her — just the small meals in jars. I asked her if that was okay, and she said it was.

I was going to pay after that, kind of uncomfortable to keep shopping for myself, when she started loading more stuff into my cart and having her older kids — who weren’t more than ten, by my guess — help out.

Me: “Ma’am, I can’t afford that much.”

Again, a kid’s birthday money was my budget.

Woman: “Oh, it’s not that expensive!”

At this point, she was basically doing a baby shopping trip.

When I got her to stop adding stuff, we headed to the front, and I began to stress about how I was going to pay for this stuff and whether I should ask to put any back. While we were waiting, the woman headed off with her kids, probably to get more stuff.

Then, my mother caught up with me and asked what was going on.

I told her everything, and she was upset.

Mother: “Grab the stuff you’re buying for yourself and pay for it before that woman comes back.”

I did, and the cashier put the baby stuff to the side.

We tried to rush out of the store after that, but I remember seeing the woman before we left, back up front and seeming confused that I wasn’t there anymore.

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