I am seventeen, and when I am a cashier at the grocery store, I have a sign up saying I am underage and cannot legally sell alcohol.

A customer has several bottles of wine lined up in my queue.

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m not old enough to scan your alcohol. Can you move over to the next register? She’ll be able to help you there!”

She looks at me in complete disgust.

Customer: “This is wine, not alcohol. I don’t drink alcohol! You are so rude!“

Thankfully, she still moved over to the next line so I didn’t have to deal with her brand of crazy.

I work at a grocery store during high school. One of my jobs is to bag ice in the back, bring it to the front, and stock it in the ice freezers for sale.

A customer comes up to me as I’m wheeling a big cart full of ice bags.

Customer: “Excuse me. Is this ice cold?”

Me: “I’m not sure I understand the question.”

Customer: “I mean is it fresh? Is this ice fresh?”

Me: “It’s clean and comes straight from our suppliers.”

Customer: “No, not clean! Fresh means cold! Is it fresh?!”

Me: “It’s as cold and fresh as ice can be, sir.”

Customer: “It had better be!”

He grabbed some, squeezed it a little like one would some produce, narrowed his eyes at me a little, and wandered off, leaving me confused.

Related:
Their Demands Cut No Ice, Part 2
Their Demands Cut No Ice

My wife is pregnant and pretty far along. She’s matching the stereotype and getting all kinds of cravings at all kinds of times. One night at around 11:00 pm, she gets a craving for cheese sticks, salami, peanut butter, and a very specific chocolate and peanut butter candy.

I head to the store to pick up the items. I know from experience that when she asks for that candy, it’s going to be a rough night for my wife, and we won’t be going to bed any time soon since I want to stay up and help however I can. Knowing we will be up, I decide to pick up a bottle of a certain beer I like that happens to be a chocolate stout.

I go to the checkout, and the cashier tries to make small talk.

Cashier: “How are you this evening? Getting some midnight snacks?”

Me: *Chuckles* “Something like that. I got sent on an urgent run.”

Cashier: “Quite the mix you have here. This all going in one dish?”

Me: “No clue; this is just the list I got from my wife. Pregnancy cravings can be pretty random, I suppose.”

The cashier freezes in place mid-scan and gives me a glare like she is trying to make me spontaneously combust.

Cashier: “THIS IS BEER! HOW COULD YOU BE BUYING BEER?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT ALCOHOL CAN DO TO A CHILD?!”

The rant continues for quite some time without me being able to get so much as a word in. Eventually, I’m able to flag down another employee who looks like they might be a manager of some kind. He asks me what is going on, and I explain that I am just trying to buy groceries and the cashier is going off on a rant.

Manager: “[Cashier], why don’t you let me take over this transaction?”

Cashier: “BUT HE IS BUYING ALCOHOL FOR A PREGNANT WOMAN! HE IS TRYING TO POISON A CHILD!”

Manager: “Did you ever consider that maybe the beer was for him?”

After that, the cashier got a look of confusion on her face as if someone had just given a lecture on calculus to an eight-year-old.

Thankfully, I was able to pay and head home. I saw the cashier still working at that store later on but never anywhere near the registers.

I’m a cashier in a grocery store. All the signage around the registers says that we have to card anyone buying age-restricted items if they look under forty, but all of our training says we have to card anyone who looks under fifty. We’re trained to err on the side of caution.

I’m not the best at guessing ages, so I usually refrain from asking for ID only if my customer looks to have one foot in the grave. Usually, this works pretty well, and some older people are flattered that I ask for ID, but every once in a while…

Me: “Could I see your ID, please?”

Customer: “I’m old as dirt.”

Me: “Given the wonderful nature of geology, there’s new dirt every day.”

He showed me his ID.

This happened six or seven years ago when I worked in a grocery store. I worked in a department that prepared premade hot and cold meals. One of our most popular products was rotisserie chicken, which sold out very quickly on a busy day.

One Friday in particular, I was working the closing shift and a customer walked up to the counter.

Me: “Hi, how can I help you?”

Customer: “Hi. I’ll have a rotisserie chicken.”

Me: “Oh, I’m really sorry, sir, but we just sold our last one not too long ago, and we won’t be making more for tonight.”

Customer: “What do you mean, there are no more?! It’s not even 6:00 pm yet!”

Me: “Again, I’m sorry, but unfortunately—”

Customer: *Cutting me off* “You’ve ruined my supper! What am I going to do now?! What are you going to do for me now?!”

His face was super red and angry.

Me: “Next time, you can call in advance to reserve—”

This man gave a death stare and, without even blinking, proceeded to THROW HIS HAND-HELD BASKET ABOUT FIFTEEN FEET IN THE AIR!

Before the basket had even dropped back down, he started storming off out of the store. Then, a split second later, the basket fell into a display nearby; thankfully, it didn’t fall on someone. I simply heard him angrily mumble a few words while walking out of the store.

Man, I don’t miss retail work; people can go from 0 to 100 in an instant.