(A lady comes running up to the till almost in tears, screaming that she has lost her daughter. I ask the lady for her daughter’s details. As a rule, we are not allowed to say the child’s name.)

Customer: “Just call her name!”

Me: “We can’t do that. How old is she and what is she wearing?”

Customer: “Just call her name! Please, I just need to find her. She’s lost. She’ll be scared.”

Me: “If you can tell us what she looks like and her age, we can put a call out for her and everybody in store can look out for her.”

Customer: “Just call her name will you! Stop being so cocky!”

Me: “We really aren’t supposed to put out names. If somebody finds your daughter, she is more likely to go off with them if they say her name.”

Customer: “Are you stupid? She is 37 years old! She isn’t going to go off with some stranger!”

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Me: “How are you today sir?”

Customer: “Ahhhhh…well, I’m pretty good now!”

Me: “Now?”

Customer: “I’ve just had a horrible stomach ache all day, but I just farted and I feel much better!”

Me: “That’s…nice…”

(The relieved customer leaves, but another customer approaches. They’re unaware of the previous conversation.)

Another customer: “Can you smell something? Do you think it’s the meat? Does it smell off to you?”

Me: “No, miss. I don’t think it’s the meat.”

Customer: “How big do people usually make fleece blankets?”

Me: “For people under six foot they’re usually 2 1/2 yards, and for over six feet, three yards.”

(The customer is silent for a moment, giving me a confused stare.)

Customer: “I’m just no good with metric yards.”

(At the front of our store is a bin full of loose fantasy figurines.  One night, two pre-teen boys come in and start rounding up all the fairy princesses they can find, naming each one after porn stars. They proceed to stage some pretty graphic stuff with the toys, complete with language and racial slurs.)

Me: “You kids drop those toys, right now! This is a family story, you got it? You either clean your language up or get out of here. NOW!”

(The boys stare at me open-mouthed. One of them squeaks, “Yes, ma’am,” and they both drop the toys and run.)

Coworker:  ”Wow! Way to go!”

Me:  ”Yeah, you don’t mess with the Toy Store Amazon.”

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Customer: “How much is that bracelet in the display case?”

Me: “It’s $50.”

Customer: “Wow, that’s expensive, but it’s nice. I’ll take it.”

Me: “Okay, so your total is $50. We’re out of the store’s jewelry boxes, but I’d be happy to give you a gift bag for the bracelet.”

Customer: “But you have some nice boxes here on the counter, and the bracelets in them are cheaper than the one I’m buying. Why don’t the more expensive bracelets come in a box?”

Customer’s son: *looking embarrassed* “Mom, she doesn’t decide the prices.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. Maybe there’s a wristwatch box that I can put this in.”

(I get a box from the watch department and show it to the customer.)

Me: “Is this box ok?”

Customer: “This box…” *points to the jewelry boxes on the counter* “…is so much nicer. Can’t you take the bracelet out of the box and switch it with this one?”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, those bracelets are attached to the boxes.”

Customer’s son: “Mom, just take the watch box.”

Customer: “Can you at least switch the price tags?”

Customer’s son: *looks at her mom incredulously*

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t do that.”

Customer: “Okay, I’ll take it anyway, but I’ll have you know that I’m crying inside!”