A customer comes to the customer service desk, looking distraught. I am with my manager.

Customer: “I demand that you fire your security guard immediately!”

Me: “What happened, ma’am?”

Customer: “Your security guard is a bigot! He wouldn’t let me bring my child into the store! I had to leave her outside with my husband!”

Me: “I’m sure that’s not what happened, ma’am. We don’t discriminate against anyone shopping with us.”

Customer: “That’s what happened! You need to fire him!”

My manager steps in, knowing this is not the kind of thing you can resolve at the customer service desk.

Manager: “Ma’am, let’s go speak to the guard and we can figure out what’s going on here.”

Customer: “You better! My child will be traumatized for years because of this!”

They both head off toward the entrance and I continue my duties. A few minutes later, the manager comes back, shaking his head.

Manager: “She neglected to mention that her child is a cat.”

I worked at a large retail chain in the grocery section. We KNEW who had authentic support dogs and who had emotional support animals with no training.

We had a lady who kept coming in with her Bichon Frisé and claiming it was a support dog. We suspected it wasn’t.

One day, our store manager caught them in the middle of a grocery aisle. The dog was pooping and peeing on the floor. The lady just walked away without cleaning it up.

The store manager finally banned her after that.

During the utterly unprecedented snowfall that hit Texas like a semi-truck going the wrong way down a busy highway, there was a day I had to walk to a supermarket because my car just plain refused to start. As it was very, VERY cold, I was wearing layers: a sweatshirt, a hoodie, a beanie, a snood (which is basically a fitted mask from nose to neck), and flannel pajama pants under my jeans.

On top of my hoodie was an old military jacket that I bought from a thrift store which didn’t provide a lot of cover, but layers are layers, and it was cold.

I also happened to have the bottoms of my jeans tucked into the tops of my work boots to keep the two feet of snow I had to trudge through out of my pants. These boots — to play devil’s advocate — could be mistaken for military boots at a distance, even though they’re not.

When I was just about to walk into the supermarket that some woman I’d never seen before (and never saw again) sprinted up to me and almost literally shoved her phone in my face, clearly recording.

Stranger: “Hey! You can’t wear that!”

Me: *Blinks* “…Huh?”

Stranger: *Points at my jacket* “Take that off! It’s stolen valor!”

I looked down at myself and blinked again.

Me: “…It’s a jacket.”

Stranger: “You’re trying to get a discount! Just buy your groceries like everyone else!”

I realized she was recording me, like the “Stolen Valor Revealed” videos on YouTube. I decided, perhaps naively, to try and explain the misunderstanding.

Me: “Oh, no, you’re mistaken. I’m not trying to get a military discount—”

She interrupted me and poked me in the chest to indicate my jacket.

Stranger: “Why else would you wear that, then?!”

It took me a few seconds to look around at the TWO FEET of snow that had gotten dumped on Texas almost overnight and then back at her.

Me: “‘Cause it’s cold.”

She blinked, took a moment herself to look around, and then blinked again. I could almost hear the gears clicking in her head as they stalled out after being given simple logic. At that point, I figured that, while she was distracted, I was just going to get inside the supermarket before my hands turned blue. And that way, I would have witnesses around me in case she escalated matters.

As it happened, I didn’t see the lady again until I was heading for the registers, and she was “hidden” behind a display, evidently thinking she was being sneaky, with her phone up again, ready to call me out. So, I preempted it.

Me: *To the cashier* “Just for the record, this jacket isn’t to mark me military; it’s just because it’s cold.”

The cashier looked a bit confused, as though I didn’t even need to say that, before nodding politely.

Cashier: “Um, okay, sir. Do you have a loyalty card?”

The transaction went without a hitch; I paid with my card, and I very specifically did NOT get any kind of discount. The woman who’d approached me wasn’t there anymore, and I figured she’d given up and found someone else to bother.

That was until I made my way to the front door. Ms. Stolen Valor was standing next to it with the very confused-looking manager in tow. I let out a sigh and held my receipt out to him before she could throw around any accusations.

Me: “Here’s my receipt. She’s claiming stolen valor, right?”

The manager also sighed, already looking like it had been a long day, took my receipt, gave it a quick pass with his eyes, and then handed it back to me.

Manager: “You’re fine, sir. Was she bothering you before?”

Me: “Yeah, she ambushed me outside, and she tried to sneak a video at the registers, but I basically ignored her. Am I free to go?”

The strange woman was going red in the face and was possibly two seconds from stomping her feet.

Manager: “Unless you want to file a harassment charge, sure.”

Me: “That won’t be necessary; it’s too cold. Sorry to leave you with her.”

Manager: *Chuckles mirthlessly* “I’ll live, I hope.”

I nodded politely to the manager and then passed right by the accusing woman. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see she was seething, clearly upset that she didn’t get a million-view callout video or whatever, but I just plain did not care. The manager, however, did keep her with him so she didn’t follow me down the street, and I can only imagine — and hope — that she at least got a reprimand for her antics.

I guess at the end of the day, I didn’t steal any valor, but I did get my time wasted.

I am at the deli counter in the grocery store. It’s the middle of the day, and it’s not very busy, but I am in a bit of a hurry since I am trying to buy sandwich stuff for the week on my lunch break on Monday. My boss doesn’t usually notice when I leave, so the risk of being gone too long is minimal but still on my mind

The guy ahead of me is being served by someone who is currently cutting part of his order. Another deli person comes out from their little side room and looks at me.

Deli Guy: “Are you being helped?”

Me: “Hi, not yet. Can—”

The customer ahead of me speaks up.

Customer: “No! I was here first; he’s going to serve me!“

Me: “Uh, that lady is currently helping you, and you don’t need both workers for one order. I really just need one thing, so can I please just order?”

Customer: “I need both people! It’ll be faster!”

At this point, the woman serving him is done with his first item and has very obviously heard him. She comes up with his meat and asks what else he wants.

The deli guy and I move a bit further down the case, and I give him my very short order of one pound of turkey. He goes to slice it, and the other customer sees and stares at me the entire time it’s being sliced.

At this point, a woman comes up and joins him, putting some dry goods in their cart.

Customer: “We would be done by now, but some young people don’t know how to wait their turn.”

He glares at me. I let out a short laugh and almost did the whole “Okay, boomer” meme, but instead, I stop, not wanting to lean into what he thinks I am, and just say:

Me: “Okay, buh… Whatever.”

I left to check out. For a second, I was wondering if I had done something wrong, but no, that’s not how delis work, at least not in Brooklyn: you get one worker, and the other worker is for another customer.

Related:
Running Out Of Ways To Put This Deli-cately

I worked in the dairy department at a grocery store. I was filling the yogurt section and had a large Boston cart on the floor to do it. The store often had a lot of floor displays in the middle of the aisle — an annoying corporate policy — and they took up a lot of space, so I had to park my cart as close to me as possible.

As I was working, two customers came into the aisle on either side of my cart, making it impossible for me to move. A third customer came down the aisle and began to make those scoffing noises that always precede a righteous tirade.

Customer: “CAN YOU MOVE YOUR CART, PLEASE?!”

Obviously, I was unable to do so. I was polite, shrugged, gestured to the people and giant displays surrounding me, apologized, and told her to have a nice day. The other two customers were otherwise occupied. The third customer grumbled something about how this was unacceptable and angrily went up front.

About five minutes later, the store manager calmly walked up with the customer, who was all but foaming at the mouth, waiting for him to rip me a new one.

Manager: “What happened?”

I explained.

Manager: *Calmly* “Next time, move the cart as best you can.”

The woman absolutely DEFLATED when he didn’t fire me on the spot. As she headed back to the front of the store, defeated and crestfallen, the manager turned back to me.

Manager: “You’re fine. I don’t fault you at all, man. She was a total b**** to everyone.”