I was in my early teens and on a school trip to Stockholm with my class. We had visited the museums and gone on the tour we were there for, so our teachers let us loose for an hour to shop for souvenirs before it was time to head back home to our small city in the countryside. This was in the early nineties and kids had a lot more freedom then than they have now.

My family didn’t have a lot of money when I was growing up, but I had saved up for months for this trip so I would be able to buy myself something special. I have always been interested in fashion, and there is a very well-known fancy department store in Stockholm that I was dying to visit. My friends and I spent some time walking through the different areas, ahh-ing and ooh-ing at all the things we couldn’t afford. 

I still wanted a souvenir from my visit, so we went to the accessories department where I picked out a beautiful scarf that was pretty pricey but still within my budget.  

There was a line to the register, and I took my place in it, clutching the scarf in one hand and my little wallet in the other, while feeling very grown-up and fancy. 

When it was my turn, the lady behind the counter looked at my fourteen-year-old self, my mail-order clothes, and my mended backpack, and instantly turned to the next person in line and started serving them instead.

Me: “I’m sorry, I think it was my turn. I would like to buy this scarf, please.”

Cashier: “Go put that back where you found it, kid. We’re very busy right now.”

Me: “But we have to meet our teacher in fifteen minutes. Can I just pay for this, please?”

Cashier: “So, you found something on the clearance rack and you just want the [Department Store] bag. I get it. You’ll have to wait your turn while I serve the real customers.”

I was close to tears, but I was too intimidated to stand up to an adult in a place where it had been made clear to me that I didn’t belong. I also really wanted the scarf, so I dutifully stood aside, waiting for the line to clear. 

Eventually, the last customer in the line had paid, and I stepped up to the counter again.

Cashier: “Are you still here? All right, put that scarf back and you can have a bag for two crowns.”

Me: “I would like to pay for the scarf, please. I don’t need a bag; I’ve got room in my backpack.”

We were late back to meet with our teacher, and while it was a beautiful scarf, I rarely wore it because every time I looked at it, it brought the entire humiliating experience up again. 

Now, as an adult, I can actually afford to shop at that department store, but I have never been back because of the way they treated me back then.

Related:
Big Mistake! Big! Huge!

I work at a very popular grocery store that’s almost exclusively in Texas. I work in the curbside department where people get their orders shopped for them. I’m the main person on the phones. A call comes in and I answer.

Me: “Hi! [My Name] in curbside speaking; how can I help you?”

Caller: “Hi. I was calling because several items were either missing or spoiled. I called earlier, but I want to make sure my refund went through.”

Me: “All right! Let me check the refund book and I’ll let you know. Can I have your information?”

She gives me all the relevant information and I double-check everything.

Me: “All right, we have [various items] scheduled for a refund tonight. Does this sound right?”

She tells me a few more things are missing or messed up. I honestly don’t care because this happens every day, so I just record everything diligently and reaffirm it with her.

Caller: *After the confirmations* “Is it possible to pick up the garlic that was missing? I really need it.”

Me: “Of course! You can come whenever it is most convenient for you.”

Caller: “Well, there was also an item that they left off because it wasn’t ready at the time. Can I pick that up, as well?”

Me: “Hmm, well, we didn’t charge you for that item, so I’d have to check with my supervisor and make sure that’s okay.”

The only supervisor in the department is notorious for not really caring about customers, but he’s the highest authority in the department at the moment, so I ask him if it would be okay. He pretty much shuts me down and says that we can’t because she didn’t pay for it.

I reluctantly get back on the phone.

Me: “Unfortunately, my manager has told me we can’t provide that item as you weren’t charged for it.”

Cue the snarkiness and sarcasm.

Caller: “Wow. So, even though I’m being inconvenienced by having to drive back up there, you won’t provide this item for me?”

Me: “Uh, unfortunately, yes. The cost of the item far outweighs the cost of the garlic.”

Caller: “Well, I’m not asking for it for free! I have my card; you can just go inside and pay for me.”

Me: *Slightly panicked* “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t take your credit card and make a purchase for you. You have to be physically present for that.”

Caller: “So, you’re telling me that if I want this item, I would have to pay the fee and wait four hours all over again?”

I am kind of confused because most people don’t have a problem with going in the store for any additional items they need.

Me: “Well, if you want us to deliver it through curbside, then yeah.”

Caller: “…”

Me: “…”

Caller: “Whatever. You have terrible customer service! I’ll be there to pick up my garlic. When will it be ready?”

Me: “It’ll be ready by the time you get here. Whenever is most convenient.”

Caller: “OH, SO YOU HAVE IT READY NOW? YOU’RE TELLING ME IT’S LITERALLY IN YOUR HANDS?”

Me: “No, but we’re located right next to the produce section, so it’ll take me about thirty seconds to grab it.”

Caller: “Whatever. It had better be ready when I get there.”

By the time the conversation was done, I was shaking in anger. I got her stupid garlic, only to be told she called back and said she no longer wanted it. THEN, she called our general manager and told them about my terrible customer service. Luckily, my supervisor was questioned about it and not me, but I was still pretty upset over the whole situation.

I hate working the night shift: long hours and very little sleep. By the time my body has adjusted to the routine, I have to switch back to days. I feel like a zombie.

I’ve finished another shift and am on my way home, only to realise that I haven’t really eaten anything and have nothing at home. I go to the corner shop on my street and pick out a few things. In my addled state, I manage to knock a number of things off the shelf.

I’m bent over to pick them up when I hear:

Shopkeeper: “Pick that up!”

I have the items already in my hands.

Me: “Well, yeah, that’s what I was doing.”

Shopkeeper: “Your type, here all the time…” *More quietly* “Pfft, drug addicts.”

Me: “I’m wearing my work uniform, and I’m not on drugs. What the h*** is wrong with you?!”

I’m too tired to deal with him, so I leave my things, drop the items I was putting back, and go to leave the store.

Shopkeeper: “Hey! Where are you going?! You can’t leave that there!”

I left. There was a chain store just down the road, so I shopped there. Unsurprisingly, I didn’t get any grief and could shop in peace.

My brother, sister-in-law, and three nieces live with me now. As a treat, I decide to buy some chocolate for the kids while at the dollar store with my brother. This is the conversation that happens as we get up to the counter to pay for everything.

Me: *To my brother* “By the way, I’m not even going to tell them about the candy.”

Cashier: “What?!”

She starts searching through our items.

Me: *In my head* “Why does she care if I tell my nieces about candy?”

Brother: *Out loud* “She means my kids. She’s not going to tell my kids about the candy.”

I finally figure out what she was thinking.

Me: “I am so sorry. I didn’t even realize how that sounded!”

Thankfully, we all got to laugh it off afterward. Oops.

I work for a well-known china manufacturer. There are about 100 different patterns of china in the range. A woman comes to the counter and aggressively slaps down a till receipt.

Customer: “Can you find out what’s happened to this order? Someone phoned and told me it would be in three weeks ago.”

Me: “Okay, do you have your copy of the order?”

Customer: “No, it’s at home on my pinboard.”

Me: “Okay, what was it you ordered?”

Customer: “Some cups and saucers, I think.”

Me: “What pattern?”

Customer: “I can’t remember.”

Me: “What’s your name? I’ll have to look it up in the order book.”

Customer: “Don’t you know? You’re supposed to know about orders.”

Me: “Madam, we have about twenty or thirty orders at any one time. I can’t be expected to remember them all.”

She’s getting very annoyed now at my lack of mind-reading skills.

Customer: “Well, that’s convenient, isn’t it.”

Me: “No, it’s not convenient at all. You don’t know what you’ve ordered, so now I’ve got to go through all these orders to find yours.”

She huffs and goes silent. At this point, my colleague comes in from lunch and senses an atmosphere.

Colleague: “Everything all right?”

Me: “Yes, this lady has ordered something, but she can’t remember what, so I’m trying to find out for her.”

Colleague: “Don’t you have your copy of the order, madam?”

Customer: “No, I left it at home on my pinboard.”

Colleague: “…”

Finally, I find the order.

Me: “Oh, yes, the pink cups and saucers. They’ve been here for a couple of weeks.”

Customer: “So, why didn’t anyone phone me?”

Me: “But madam, you said someone did, three weeks ago.”

There wasn’t another peep out of her while I wrapped her stuff and sent her on her way.