A woman comes up to me on the shop floor. We are a huge sporting goods store and stock pretty much anything you could think of related to all sports.

Customer: “My son needs a football.”

Me: “Happy to help! Is this for American football or soccer? Also, is this for casual play, or is he in a league or competition?”

Customer: “Why does that matter?”

Me: “Well, to get the best ball for your son, I need to know if the ball needs to fit any regulations.”

Customer: “It’s American football, and he plays in a local team.”

Me: “How old is your son?”

Customer: *Angry now* “Why does that matter?!”

Me: “I need to know his age so I know if he’s in a pee-wee team, juniors, youths, high school, or college.”

Customer: “It shouldn’t be this complicated! I just need a football for my son!” *Dramatic sigh* “Ugh, he’s twelve!”

Me: “Thank you.” *Walks to the section* “These are the regulation American footballs for his age group.”

Customer: “Finally. Now I also need a football for my daughter.”

Me: “And how old is she?”

Customer: “Why does that matter?”

Customer: “Can I like… buy a gun?”

Me: “We have to fill out some paperwork, but if it all checks out, then you can.”

Customer: “I don’t like paperwork. I just want the gun.”

Me: “Uh… I’m afraid the paperwork is necessary.”

Customer: “I never pass the paperwork! I was just at the bank, and they made me do the paperwork and then they said no!”

Me: “Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. Why do you want to purchase a gun?”

Customer: “To make the bank say yes!”

I calmly asked him for his number so my manager could call him to help him out. As soon as he was gone, the number (and camera footage!) was given to the police!

I am the idiot customer in this story. I’m in a sporting goods store to buy a new camping bottle, having lost the old one. I find one that’s a bit too small, so I ask the saleswoman:

Me: “This is 0.5 metres; it’s too small. I would prefer a 1.5 metre bottle.”

Saleswoman: “Metre?”

Me: “Well, it was written 0.5 on my old bottle, anyway.”

Saleswoman: “But are you sure that it was not in litres?”

Yes, it was in litres. That poor saleswoman was imagining a 1.5-metre water bottle!

I’m stocking when I overhear a commotion in one of the main walkways. I walk out to find one of the workers from the auto department covered in motor oil and being yelled at about his current state by a customer dressed in a suit, who is not letting him get a word in at all.

Customer: “You should be ashamed of yourself! Keeping yourself in such a state! I want to talk to your manager right now! You teenagers don’t know how to take care of yourselves at all!”

I don’t know why she called him a teenager when they are the same height and he has a beard. I step in to try and give my coworker a chance to slip away and clean himself off.

Me: “Ma’am, can I help you with anything?

Customer: “You aren’t the manager! Go get me a manager, little girl!”

She manages to stop both of us from leaving, continuing to interrupt us and yell at us. Behind her, I see the hunting desk manager come into view, immediately giving me some joy. He is well known for speaking his mind to customers due to being on the spectrum, and over the winter, he got a concussion from slipping on the driveway, and ever since he’s been sensitive to both light and loud noise.

Manager: “What’s going on here? I’m getting a headache overhearing it.”

Customer: “These workers are a disgrace! They can’t kee—”

Manager: “So, the guy covered in motor oil coming from the auto department on his way to the bathrooms is a disgrace? Holy s***, lady, the fact that you stopped him and have had him here for this long means he’s now going home to take a f****** shower. [Coworker], go home. I’ll tell your supervisor what happened.”

Customer: “I want to talk to your manager!”

Manager: “Sure thing.”

He then walks behind a rack of goods and then right back out with an evil smirk.

Manager: “Hi, I’m the hunting section supervisor. How can I help you?”

Customer: “You disrespectful b*****d! How dare yo—”

Manager: “Lady, I don’t give a d***. Please leave these two alone and go about your shopping.”

I managed to usher my oil-covered coworker away. I later got the rest of the details from the store’s manager. After I left, the lady started screaming into the hunting desk manager’s face until she left, defeated.

As for the auto department coworker, we went to the garden centre and used a hose to get as much oil off of him as possible before he walked home.

I answer the phone to a young boy, who inquires about a high-end basketball shoe that basketball teams wear.

Me: “Sorry, our store doesn’t carry that shoe.”

The kid hangs up. Ten minutes later, I answer the phone to the same kid, asking about the same shoe!

Me: “Excuse me, but you called just ten minutes ago.”

Kid: “My mom told me to call back, and speak to a different person.”

Me: “Well, speaking to a different person will not change the fact that we do not carry this shoe.”

Kid: *Click.*

How stupid can parents be?!