I used to work as a supervisor in the customer service department of a supermarket in a well-off suburb in Melbourne. The store was on the corner of two streets, so our loading and delivery bay was on the side of the store, on the less busy street, rather than at the back of the store as is common.

We had many obnoxious, rich regular customers. The least favourite customer of the entire department was this guy.

Me: “Hi, [Customer], how can I help you today?”

Customer: “Close your d*** delivery door. It’s absolutely disgusting. Customers shouldn’t have to see that.”

Me: “Oh, sorry about that. We must be getting a delivery; I’m sure they will leave soon.”

Customer: “That’s unacceptable. I already said customers shouldn’t have to see that. That’s ridiculous. Customers should never see that. You shouldn’t ever open that door!”

Me: “The delivery bay door?”

Customer: “Obviously, the delivery bay door. I’ve already told you that.”

Me: “So, let me confirm. You would like for me to make them stop opening the delivery bay doors.”

Customer: “Finally!”

Me: “Okay, great, and how exactly do you propose that we get any products into the store to be able to sell them to you?”

Customer: “F*** off, smart-a**!” *Storms out of the store*

Related:
It’s All In The Delivery, Part 2
It’s All In The Delivery

Customer: “I need to find [Brand] cookies.”

I’m stacking shelves up a small ladder.

Me: “They’re literally right behind you.”

Customer: “What do you mean?”

Me: “Just turn around. You’re literally two feet away from them.”

The customer turns around, sees the cookies, and turns back to me. There is a pause.

Customer: “Well?”

Me: “Is there a problem, ma’am?”

Customer: “Aren’t you going to get them for me?”

Me: “Ma’am, they’re literally right there. You just have to reach out your arm.”

She just looks at me pointedly. I sigh internally, step down from my ladder, walk over to my pallets to place the items I have been shelving, walk back to the customer, and without breaking eye contact with her, reach out, take a pack of cookies, and hand them to her.

Customer: *Sniffs* “I also need the peanut-butter-flavored ones.”

Me: *Points* “Three feet down this aisle, right there.”

Customer: “Well?”

Me: “Well, indeed!”

I bowed slightly and went back to my shelving. The customer just stared at me for a moment — I could feel the glaring on the back of my head — and then she sighed aggressively and wandered off. She didn’t pick up her peanut-butter-flavored cookies.

A few years ago, I was in a grocery store that can be quite chaotic. It’s open twenty-four-seven, it’s always busy, and it has a bit of an unusual layout.

I was doing my shopping when an older Indian woman approached me and asked me where the hair dye was. I had actually bought hair dye here before, so I knew exactly where it was. It was clear that English was not the woman’s first language, so instead of trying to give her directions, I told her I would take her there and gestured for her to follow me.

When we got there, she smiled and nodded, but before I could turn away, she asked me which one to buy. I informed her that I didn’t actually work there.

Woman: “Yes, yes. I know. But you are nice. You will help me choose.”

She said this so calmly and politely that I found myself agreeing! This woman and I had a lovely conversation about what she was looking to do with her hair color. My mother was a hairdresser for over forty years, and I had been coloring my hair since grade school, so I was able to point her toward a product that would suit her needs. Overall, a pretty pleasant “I don’t work here”!

I’m at the fresh meat counter where I like to pick a nice steak for a special dinner. There is a busy worker behind the counter with his back to me. He collects a large number of boxes and disappears out of sight. I know he’ll be back, and I decide to quietly wait.

As I’m standing there, a rather strange-looking and strangely-dressed male customer walks by me and stops.

Customer: “You waiting? You looking for help?”

Me: “Yes, there’s a young man back there. He’ll be back soon—”

Customer: “Oh, no, no, that won’t do!”

He turns and spies a worker in the vegetable section.

Customer: “Hey, you! Get someone to help this lady here!”

Me: “No, no, it’s okay! He’s just getting rid of some boxes. He’ll be back.”

Voice Over Intercom: “Can someone assist a customer at the fresh meat counter? Customer service needed at fresh meat!”

A young man comes in from the back wiping his hands.

Meat Counter Worker: “Yes, ma’am?”

I looked to my right, and the strange customer was gone, so it looked like I was the impatient customer demanding service from a worker who doesn’t even work in that department! Sheesh!

I’m at the checkout serving customers when a voice comes over the tannoy system.

Voice: “Could the owner of the BMW with the registration [number] please come to Customer Services?”

A short time passes, and the tannoy goes again.

Voice: “Could the owner of the BMW with the registration [number] please come to Customer Services?”

Another amount of time passes, and yet another call-out is made. I am serving a customer who happens to know what it’s all about.

Customer: “It’s some old guy who has an £80,000 BMW. He’s parked over three spaces.”

I gasp at this blatant lack of respect for other customers.

As it happens, the BMW owner is being served at the checkout behind me, so my customer tells him that he is being called out about his car and that it’s stopping other people from parking there. This old guy looks at my customer.

Car Owner: “I am better than anyone else in this shop. I can park wherever and however I like!“

And with that, he walked out of the store.