Unfiltered Story #204417

, , , | Unfiltered | August 11, 2020

I’m a cashier/sales associate at a thrift store part time. This takes place on a Monday. A man has come in to buy a large china set we have for sale (60 or 80 piece, can’t remember). He counts and realizes that it’s actually about 3 pieces short of the full set and starts swearing to himself, but decides to buy it anyway.

After confirming that he does definitely want the set, I start ringing him up. Unfortunately for me, each piece has a price written on the bottom rather than a single price for the whole set. Also unfortunate, due to a miscommunication in my training a few months prior, I was at the time under the impression I was not allowed to use the ‘quantity’ button on the register, so I have to type in the price for every single item. Besides being time consuming, having so many similar items rung up tends to make the register lag very badly. Suddenly several people line up behind this guy, so I call for someone to help out those people on the other register since I was obviously going to be doing this for awhile.

Now that he has an audience, he starts telling people the story of him buying the china set. Apparently he had seen the set on Saturday, but felt it was too expensive. But after looking up online how much a set like this is worth later that night, he decided to come back. He came back on Sunday night, but because we close three hours earlier on Sundays (a well-known fact that is also printed very clearly with the hours on our door), he got there after we had closed. He proceeded to rant about how he “can’t believe you fuckers were closed so early” over and over, in the process calling the store and its employees ‘pieces of shit’, ‘fuckers’, ‘motherfuckers’, ‘bastards’ and more. Please note that it was a time during the day when most kids would be at school, but there were still toddlers and babies around the store along with some other slightly older kids with their parents instead of at school for whatever reason.

At this point, I’ve almost finished ringing up all the pieces, when he proudly announces that he is planning to sell the set on ebay and begins bragging about how smart he is to do so and giddily telling other customers how much money he is going to make selling it all. We have plenty of regular customers who resell some of our nicer or more antique goods, so this isn’t a surprise or a problem. I have retired family who do things like this to make a little extra money, so I generally don’t have a problem with it. I was just glad he was almost gone, and pulled out a few boxes to load his things into.

We do offer to wrap fragile items in newspaper, but often if people take their things in a box they don’t feel they need it, or just want single sheets of paper to separate the stuff a little. But no, because of how much this guy expects to make off his haul, he wants every single piece wrapped individually. Since the other customers are being taken care of by my coworker and because I take pride in my excellent service to the customers, I agree to wrap every piece like he wants. After watching me wrap a few, he requests I go even farther and also tape the newspaper up to close it, something we do not typically do, but again I oblige.

He now launches again into how much money he’s going to make from this. The other customers are by now pretty irritated with him and suggest that he help me wrap his things. Some of them are more subtle about it while a couple people outright say he should be helping me, but he’s oblivious to it all. Since it’s now new people in line, he again breaks into the dramatic retelling of how he first saw the set, how us “fuckers” are closed Sunday nights and asks if everyone else can believe how we “dare” to “close early on him”, and how he came back today on his lunch break to get the set. This is the first time he mentions he is on his break, and he takes the opportunity to tell me to hurry it up. Someone again suggests that maybe he should be helping me then, but he again ignores them. Eventually I finish and he happily goes on his way.

I’d like to say I perform well under pressure but that would be a lie. When I make small mistakes, they tend to rattle me and continue to affect me for some time, and apparently repeatedly being called a ‘fucker’ does the same. I was shaken for a while and when I went home that night I realized I still felt very hurt and was having a very hard time handling being called such names. It actually stuck with me for most of a week, feeling very depressed, degraded, and unappreciated.

I’ve encountered some really great customers at my job, but sadly it’s the crappy ones that stick with you.