(I am shopping late at night in a 24-hour grocery store. My cashier is a young woman, in her early 20s who looks to be about 8 months pregnant. She is also looking increasingly pale throughout the transaction.)

Me: “Are you okay? You aren’t looking very good.”

Cashier: “Hmm? I’m sorry. I’m not feeling very well tonight, and I’m getting very dizzy at random.”

(Though I’m not a doctor or medically trained, these types of symptoms don’t strike me as mild, especially in the case of a pregnant woman.)

Me: “Would you like me to go get your manager for you? You look like you should be sitting down.”

Cashier: *grips the counter to steady herself* “Yes… please…”

(I go to find the manager, a woman of about 60, who comes to the register with me.)

Manager: *to the cashier* “What the h*** is going on here?”

Cashier: “It’s happening again, what I told you about earlier. I can barely stand, I feel like I’m going to pass out, and I can’t breathe too well.”

Manager: “Oh, for crying out loud! You’re just faking it so I’ll let you go home early to your idiot husband.”

Me: “Excuse me, ma’am? She really looks sick, and since she is pregnant don’t you think you should err on the side of caution and send her home, or even to the hospital?”

Manager: “Bulls**t!  I’ve had 6 kids myself, and this DOESN’T happen to pregnant women. I never got dizzy and light-headed when I was pregnant, and I see no reason why she would!”

Me: “Again, ma’am, she doesn’t look good. Call her an ambulance, or at least call her husband so he can come get her!”

Manager: “No! She’s just being lazy. Besides, it’s none of your business!”

(At this time, I see a city police officer enter the store. He’s presumably off his shift since he is still in full uniform, but grabs a cart. I rush over to him.)

Me: “Officer, I’m sorry to bother you, but the cashier over here looks like she is going to pass out. She is pregnant, and looks to be due at any time now. I notified her manager, who refuses to do anything about it. Can you please help her?”

(The police officer heads over to the cashier in question, and helps her to a bench near the Customer Service desk. I wait around as the officer calls in an emergency on his radio, getting an ambulance sent for the cashier. The manager is trying the whole time to tell first me, then the cop, then the EMTs when they arrive that the cashier is just being lazy. The cashier is taken off to the hospital. Weeks later, I return to the store and ask a different manager about the cashier.)

Another Manager: “She’s doing alright. She ended up delivering a healthy baby boy about twelve hours later. Are you the customer that helped her?”

Me: “Yes, I am.”

Another Manager: “Well, as thanks, I’d like to give you a $500 gift card to the store. I also have a personal letter from the cashier…”

(I won’t go into details about the letter, but suffice to say it was addressed to “The Man Who Helped Me”!)

(After visiting an out-of-state friend, I’m taking the bus back to my home. On the way back, the bus stops in Tennessee, and I take the opportunity to grab a bite to eat at the bus stations diner. Going to the counter, I realize that the current customer is really going at it with the poor girl behind the register, who seems to have some sort of mental disability, and is having a very hard time understanding the woman’s order.)

Employee: “So, that was… cheese fries and—”

Customer: “Are you deaf?! I said a hot dog. A hot dog!”

Employee: “Yes, a hot dog, ma’am. Are you still wanting the cheese fries that you—”

Customer: “Why the f*** do you keep bringing up cheese fries! I never f***ing said anything about cheese fries!”

(The poor employee looks close to tears at this point, and people surrounding the counter are starting to stare.)

Employee: “Yes, ma’am, I understand. I’m sorry for my misunderstanding.”

Customer: *sighs* “Honestly, the standards of these places…”

(The customer steps to the side, muttering to herself, and I place my order. I speak calmly and make sure to apologize for how the previous customer has treated the employee. While I’m still waiting for my food, the annoyed customer’s meal comes up. Coming back to the counter, she takes one look and it’s obvious something is wrong.)

Customer: “Where are my godd*** cheese fries?! Are you really that stupid?!”

Employee: “Ma’am… I thought… I’ll get them for you ma’am.”

(While the customer is still waiting on the cheese fries that she clearly did not order, she turns to me to complain.)

Customer: “Can you believe these people? I’ve been on a bus for four hours and I can only be treated this well? Honestly, did you see that? Is she stupid?”

Me: “Yes ma’am, I did see that, and I don’t think she’s stupid. She treated you with more respect than I think you’ve treated anyone your entire life. You’ve been on a bus for four hours? She’s been working this job, dealing with people like you for a while now. I think we know who’s better off.”

(My food comes up, and I collect it.)

Me: *to the employee* “Thank you!”

Employee: *gives me a small smile*

(After this, the customer just stood there and stared, embarrassed. Thankfully, I didn’t see her again before left. And to top it off, I got a free drink!)

(At the gas station where I work, a bunch of young, smart-mouthed customers are holding up the line, talking about how f***ed up they’re going to get that night. I call several times but they’re too busy goofing off to notice. Eventually, a large, 6’6″ and ripped middle-aged gentleman who is also waiting taps one of the young customers on his shoulder. The young customer almost mouths off to the large gentleman, but thinks better of it and turns to me.)

Young Customer: “Hey, can I get a pack of cigarettes?”

Me: “I’m gonna need to see your ID.”

Young Customer: “I’m gonna need to see YOUR ID!”

(I immediately pull out my wallet and flip it open so it’s showing my ID.)

Me: “Still gonna need to see your ID.”

Young Customer: “Look, a**hole! I’m old enough to buy alcohol and you will sell me—”

(At this moment, the large and ripped gentleman who has been patiently waiting behind walks up, pushes the smart-mouthed customer out of the way, and puts his stuff down.)

Gentleman: “Hey, can I get a pack of cigarettes?’

Me: “Not a problem, sir.”

Gentleman: *to the young customer* “THAT’S how easy it is for adults. Maybe you’ll get there someday.”

(I work at a major pet retail store. A customer approaches the register, talking on her cell phone, and puts a dog toy on the counter.)

Customer: “[Competitor] has this for $7.99 and you’re charging $9.99! It’s too expensive!”

Me: “I can price match it for you, ma’am—”

Customer: “You shouldn’t charge so much! It’s ridiculous!”

Me: “Ma’am, it’s—”

Customer: *to her friend on the phone* “It’s so expensive here!”

Me: “Ma’am, it’s only two dollars.”

Customer: *embarrassed* “I don’t have two dollars. I only have a credit card.”

Me: “We take credit for any amount, ma’am.”

(The customer swipes her card, takes her purchase, and rushes off, talking to her friend on the phone.)

Customer: “Oh my God, I’m so embarrassed! I just made a huge fuss and it was only two dollars!”

(I am a customer getting my items, when, from behind me, a man around 20 to 30 years old goes up to one of the store’s employees.)

Customer: “Where the h*** do you keep your F***ING baked beans?!”

Employee: “Baked beans? Right this way, sir.”

(I am in need of baked beans myself, so I decide to follow them.)

Employee: “Here are our baked beans, sir.”

Customer: “These are NOT baked beans!”

Employee: “I’m sorry, sir, but these are baked beans.”

Customer: “No! These are TIN beans. I want baked beans!”

Employee: “Sir, the baked beans are inside the tins.”

Customer: “What? I don’t want them in a tin. I want them out of the tin!”

Employee: “I’m sorry, sir, but this is how baked beans are stored.”

Customer: “Baked beans don’t need to be stored!” *storms out of the store*