A Self-Inflicted Identity Crisis

A customer got rather irate at me because I wouldn’t serve him alcohol as he looked under twenty-five (a rule used by some UK supermarkets). His array of arguments consisted of:

Customer: “But I’m twenty-one, so you have to serve me!”

Me: “But you look under twenty-five, so I don’t.”

Customer: “But [Other Employee] knows I’m twenty-one!”

Me: “But she’s not in right now, and the final decision is made by me, not her.”

Customer: “What if I came in with ID? Would you serve me then?”

Me: “Well, yes, because then you could prove you are twenty-one.”

Customer: “But you were okay to sell me paracetamol?”

Me: “That only carries an age restriction of sixteen, so I didn’t need ID from you for that.”

Customer: “Well, you look like you’re f****** twelve, so I wouldn’t serve you!”

Me: “Well, I would have brought ID with me to prove that I am nineteen.”

He came back later, and the employee who “knew” his age served him.

Customer: *Smug* “See! I told you!”

Me: “I almost have the energy to try and look for a f*** to give you.”