I work as a cashier at a small grocery store that’s well-known for selling a lot of foreign foods. Some of these are specialty produce, which is generally pretty expensive, so I only ever see people come through my till with small amounts unless the produce is on sale.

So, I am naturally a little shocked when an older woman places a large pile of bitter melons on the conveyor belt. I weigh them and they ring up at about $25. I’m about to start scanning the rest of her items when she leans over and looks at the screen.

Customer: “Your bitter melon is wrong.”

Me: “Oh, is it on sale?”

Customer: “It’s not $8.80 per kilo, it’s three-something per kilo.”

This isn’t unusual; sometimes items still scan at the original price even if they’re on sale. I call someone from the produce department and even try reweighing her bitter melons while the produce guy goes to check the price. He comes back and says that I have the right price.

The woman is not having any of this.

Customer: “It’s a different bitter melon. It’s not fu qua.”

Me: “Sorry, fu qua is just another name for bitter melon. It’s not—”

Customer: “There was a sign. It’s not fu qua, it’s a different bitter melon.”

At this point, the produce worker has gotten the sign for the bitter melons to show to the woman, and I watch as he explains, very clearly, that the bitter melons are indeed about $3… per pound. Not per kilogram.

The customer decides she doesn’t want them.

I scan the rest of her stuff, and she pays without incident, but she keeps insisting to me, “it wasn’t fu qua, it was a different bitter melon.” I’m tired and fed up at this point.

Me: “Ma’am. Fu qua is the only bitter melon.”

I didn’t see her again after that.

When I was seventeen, I had a part-time job at a large supermarket, usually working on the tills.

One day, when I arrived at work, my manager asked me to come into his office, where I found the head of security waiting. I was then told that the tills that I worked at were regularly short of money at the end of each day, and whilst they did not outright accuse me, they made it clear that they thought I was stealing.

I was terrified. I was young, green around the ears, and had never been in trouble before, and whilst I knew I was innocent, the grilling I received left me traumatised. However, I answered their questions as best I could, and as the tills were manned by several different people during the day they could not prove for certain it was me — not least because I was actually not guilty!

I was eventually told not to speak to anyone about this and to start work, but I was warned that they would be keeping an eye on me. I then heard nothing more but remained anxious for quite some time. I would have quit, but the pay was great at that age.

A couple of months later, I arrived at work to find there had been some sort of commotion and was told that my manager had been escorted from the premises. News soon got out that it had been him stealing from the tills — and that I had not been the only one accused of stealing. He had eventually gotten careless and caught. It seems he had secretly been dating another checkout operator — who was also seventeen, less than half his age — and had been stealing to fund a relatively lavish lifestyle.

I was immensely relieved but also incredibly angry that a grown man would not only steal from his employers but would take an active part in terrifying a number of his staff, many of them teens, by accusing them of the crime he was himself committing.

It’s thirty years later, and even now, I get anxious whenever a manager asks to speak to me unexpectedly.

CONTENT WARNING: Emotional Abuse

As an adult, I’ve come to the realisation that my mum… wasn’t okay when I was a kid. I could go on for hours about the strange things she said and did, but this one stands out because she got shut down so nonchalantly by an employee that she was quiet for a good hour afterward.

The setting is a small town in Ireland where we were visiting family. I was around fifteen years old, and my brothers were around twelve and fourteen. My mum told us we could wander around town for a time while she went food shopping.

We did so, and then after maybe half an hour, we decided to head over to the supermarket to help her with the shopping. We had each bought a drink in a different shop, and we were sipping them as we walked around. I took a sip when we were in the supermarket, which was apparently a bad idea.

Mum: “What are you doing?”

Me: “Drinking my drink.”

Mum: “What’s wrong with you? The staff will think you’re stealing!”

Me: “It’s fine. I have a receipt from the shop I bought it from, so if anyone asks, I’ll just show them.”

Mum: “Absolutely not. I don’t want to be seen with a criminal! F*** off and drink it outside. You can come back when you’re finished!”

Me: “That’s ridiculous. I’m not doing that. It’s raining and I don’t want to get soaked.”

Mum: “Fine, then. I’ll have the staff kick you out.”

She called out to an employee nearby, some guy who couldn’t have been more than eighteen years old.

Mum: “Excuse me! Excuse me! I need you to kick out this brat; he’s drinking a drink in the shop and won’t leave even after I told him to!”

Employee: *To me, obviously confused. “Uh, did you pay for that drink?”

Me: “Yeah, I have a receipt, I bought it from [Small Shop a few streets away]. Do you want to see it?”

Employee: “No, that’s fine. It’s okay.”

Mum: “So, you’re not going to kick him out?! He could have stolen that drink!”

Employee: “Uh, no… He’s allowed to drink a drink he bought in another shop.”

Me: “See? It’s fine.”

Mum: *To me* “Oh, you think you’re so smart. F*** off back to the car. I don’t want to see you again until you’ve finished that drink.”

Me: “All right.”

I went out to the car and sat in it for about five minutes. Then, I got a phone call from my mum.

Mum: “Where are you?! I need help packing up the shopping!”

Me: “I’m in the car. You told me not to come back until I’d finished my drink.”

Mum: “Don’t talk back to me, you little s***! Get back here and help me bag the shopping!”

I sighed and headed back to the supermarket, where she proceeded to berate me for packing the bags “wrong” and dragged the cashier into the argument.

Mum: “What do you do when someone steals a drink and drinks it while they’re in the shop?”

Me: “I didn’t steal it. I have the receipt from the shop I bought it from.”

Cashier: “People are allowed to drink things in the shop so long as they pay for it. Leave the boy alone, will you?”

My mum then fumed silently for the next hour and locked herself in her bedroom when we got home to have a cry about how terrible and insolent I was. I wish I could explain her thought process, but that was just one of many insane things she accused me of throughout my childhood.

I am a cashier refusing a sale to a customer because they won’t remove their thumb from the photo section of their ID during an alcohol sale.

Customer: “Where is your manager?!”

I call my manager, who gets the ID from the reluctant customer.

Customer: “Your cashier is saying my ID isn’t valid!”

Manager: “This isn’t your ID, ma’am. The ID holder is male.”

Customer: “I had a sex change!”

Manager: “And he’s Black.”

Customer: “I bleached my skin!”

Manager: “And the height is 6’2″.”

Customer: “I got sick and lost a foot!”

The customer stormed out. My manager called the police and handed the stolen ID over.

Related:
Has ID, No Idea, Part 2
Has ID, No Idea

 Why do some customers think employees will fall for anything? Check out other liars like this one in our roundup: 24 Satisfying Stories About Lying Customers Getting Caught

I am working as a cashier in a very gay part of San Francisco. (I know it’s all kinda gay but we are very close to Castro.) A woman with a southern accent is checking out from my register and is looking around apprehensively.

Me: “Are you okay, ma’am?”

Customer: “Well, I’m visiting my son, y’see, so I’m not from around here.”

Me: “Do you need any local help?”

Customer: *Holding up a tourist map* “Maybe? My son gave me this guide to all the ‘el-gee-bee-tees’ and such, since he’s got himself a nice man and all, but it’s all kinda new to me.”

Me: “What is it you’re confused about? Maybe I can help.”

Customer: “Well, this here map says there’s a large bear population in this area, but this is a city. Why are there bears? Are they dangerous? I haven’t seen any yet, but I need to get these groceries home, and I have to walk it.”

Me: “…Okay, ma’am, let me explain a few things…”