A customer comes up to my register while talking on her phone. As I’m ringing up her purchases, she says:
Customer: “I asked you a question!”
Me: “You are talking on your phone. How am I supposed to know that?”
She didn’t end the call; she just huffed at me. I finished her transaction and she went on her way, still on the phone.
I’m a manager at my furniture store, and it’s nearing the holiday season. We’re running a promotion, which is keeping the store hopping. A middle-aged woman approaches me and wants to know why the ladies’ room smells so bad.
I go check it out, fearing the worst as only a retail person can. I don’t smell anything outside the door, so there is nothing concerning at first blush.
I walk in, and I notice by the tennis shoes that someone is in a stall. From the sound and smell of things, that person is working on a number two. Since I hear the appropriate sounds of someone taking a dump in the actual toilet and not an existential horror of an “art” project, I have no objections.
I leave quietly, and the middle-aged woman is practically right in my face before I can take three steps.
Customer: “Well? Why does it smell so bad?”
Me: “Someone is in the stall using the toilet and most likely that is the source of the odor.”
Customer: “You should do something about that!”
Me: “We cannot control people’s bodily functions. If you are able, just wait a few minutes after the person is done and let our fans do the work. Then it won’t smell so bad.”
Customer: “Oh! I don’t have to go to the bathroom. I just wanted to know what the smell was!”
Me: *Thoroughly disgusted* “Let me get this straight; you just go around smelling bathrooms that you don’t even need to go into?”
Customer: “Well, you’re an employee! I would expect you to take care of problems!”
Me: *Now angry* “Ma’am, look how busy the store is. You could have figured it out for yourself if you had taken the time to pay attention for a single minute. Instead, you interrupted my job and apparently hoped that I would waste my time harassing someone who is behaving perfectly appropriately? Lady, is there something wrong with you?”
The woman turned red, turned around, and stormed out. And yes, a later check showed that there were no horrors to be found in the restroom.
What Americans call “flip-flops,” we Australians call “thongs,” and New Zealanders call “jandals.” At the time of this story, I have never heard the word “jandal” before and have no idea what it means.
Customer: “Hi, do you sell jandals?”
Me: *Thinking I may have misheard* “I’m sorry, do we sell what?”
Customer: “Jandals.”
Me: “I’m really sorry, I have no idea what that is.”
Customer: *Getting angry* “Jandals! JAN-DALS! For your feet?”
I’m really confused, and now I’m getting nervous as she is raising her voice.
Me: “Um, are they like socks or something?”
Customer: “Ugh! I can’t believe you don’t know what jandals are! You know, like—” *slowly and loudly* “—FLIP. FLOPS!”
Me: “Oh! Flip-flops! As in thongs? Yes, we have those!”
I start to walk her over to the aisle, but she continues ranting.
Customer: “No, not thongs, jandals. Thongs go up your butt. Jandals go on your feet. Back in my country, they’re called jandals. If you said the word ‘thong’ to anyone, they would laugh at you!”
Me: “But… we’re not in your country. We’re in Australia.”
She glared at me but had no response and stormed off. I have no issue with people of different cultures having different names for items, but don’t tell me I’m wrong when you’re in my country.
For the fourth Saturday in a row, I am the only cashier on duty and I have a ridiculously long line. We are badly understaffed in the first place, and we had both a call-out and a no-call, no-show. I’m doing the best I can.
A group of people comes to my register with three large items, so I expect it to be a fairly simple transaction. It is, until one of the men holds up two credit cards. One is red and one is blue.
Customer: “Pick one.”
Me: “What?”
Customer: “One is mine; one is hers.”
He nods to the woman who I presume is his wife.
Customer: “Pick the one I pay with.”
Me: “Sir… I literally don’t care.”
Customer: “Pick one!”
I glance at the line, hoping he’ll take a hint, but he’s insisting I select the card he uses. In the interest of getting him out of my life, I pick the red card.
Customer: “D***! That one’s mine!”
Play stupid games, win stupid prizes. Next Saturday, I’m considering calling in sick.
A woman got busted for trying to steal from the big box store I worked at.
She took a car seat out of its box and proceeded to fill it with a DVD player, some DVDs, diapers, sandpaper, children’s jewelry, and board games.
After that, she tried to tape the box up really well and pay for it. Unluckily for her, she was caught on camera and stopped by our Loss Prevention before she could leave.
The funniest part? All the stuff she tried to steal was only worth $85. The car seat itself was being sold for $125.
