(A sweet little old lady comes up to my till with her walker. She is probably in her nineties or late eighties and looks like your stereotypical sweet old granny.)

Me: “Good afternoon, Miss! How’s it going today?”

Little Old Lady: “Quite well, thank you! And calling me ‘Miss’, ha!  You’re such a sweet girl. Made my day!”

Me: “Glad to be of service! Do you need a hand with your basket?”

Little Old Lady: “Oh, no, I try to do things for myself even if they’re harder. Keeps me young.”

(We go through the transaction, chatting away, and at the end she uses her debit card. It’s a chip card and she tries to swipe it, so I correct her.)

Me: “Oh! That’s a chip card. The stripe probably won’t work, so can you please just slide that right up there in the bottom?”

Little Old Lady: “What’s that, sorry?”

Me: “Can you just slide that right up there in the bottom?”

Little Old Lady: *deadpans* “That’s what she said.”

(It took about five seconds before I and the other guy in line burst out laughing.)

Other Customer: “A lady your age saying that? Nice move, ma’am!”

Little Old Lady: “That’s MISS!” *devilish little grin* “And I’m old, not dead. Have a nice day!”

(She slowly makes her way out of the store, slow as only the elderly can be. The other customer and I look at one another, tears still wet on my face from laughter.)

Me: “Best older customer ever.”

Other Customer: “F*** yes!”

(Working in a liquor store one night, a male who looks about 16 enters the store. Please note: this happened in 2009.)

Customer: *places beers on the counter* “Hi, I’ll just have these, thanks, and a bottle of rum.”

Me: “Uh, sure mate. I’ll need to see some ID first.”

(The customer produces ID, and it looks real—his photo on it, holograms where they should be—but one thing stands out: his DOB says he was born in 1929.)

Me: “So. 1929 huh? You sure don’t look 80 to me.”

Customer: “I’m over 18 though, aren’t I?”

Me: “I think you better get out of my store before I call the cops, Gramps.”

(The kid left the beer on the counter and ran off. He also left his ID, which I kept to show off to my friends. We all had a good laugh about it!)

(I work at a pet store that also offers boarding/day care services for dogs. We have three day camps, two of which are visible to customers inside and outside of the store. I am on my way back from a break when I notice a father, mother, and child standing in front of a window, looking into one of the day camps.)

Me: “Hello! I see you have noticed one of our day camp rooms. Do you have any questions about our boarding and day camp services?”

Father: “Yes, we do. What is that dog?” *points*

Me: “That would be Oso. He’s a real sweetheart.”

Father: “And what breed is he?”

Me: “He’s a Great Pyrenees mix.”

Mother: “We’ll take him.”

Me: “…I’m sorry?”

Mother: “I SAID, we’ll take him.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but these dogs are not for sale.”

Father: “What?”

Me: “All of these dogs are staying with us while their owners are out of town. Some of them, like Oso, only come in for a few hours every day because the owners don’t want them to be left home alone all day.”

Mother: “That’s ridiculous. Why would you have these dogs on display if they weren’t for sale?”

Father: “We’d like to purchase that dog. How much is he?”

Me: “I’m sorry, but none of these dogs are for sale. We do offer adoption services on weekends, so you are more than welcome to come back on Saturday and look at the puppies.”

Child: *whining* “I want the dooooggiiiiiiie!”

Father: “Yes, but we want THAT dog. How much is he?”

Me: “Sir, I’m sorry, but none of these dogs are for sale. They all have owners.”

Mother: “Then how about that dog?” *points at a different one*

Me: “I don’t know what that dog’s name is.”

Mother: “No, no, how much is that dog? If the first one isn’t for sale, then what about this one?”

Me: “Ma’am, NONE of the dogs are for sale. They ALL have owners.”

Mother: “Then why are you displaying them in the store if they aren’t for sale?!”

Child: “I WANT THE DOGGIE!”

Me: “Excuse me, but I need to clock back in from break. Let me get the manager…”

(When the store manager came by, they asked how much Oso was again. When they were told he was not for sale, the child threw a major temper tantrum, both of the parents starting yelling at the store manager, and they only left after the store manager threatened to call security.)

(I’m just getting over a bad case of poison ivy when this happens. I’m called over by a middle-aged man.)

Customer: “Hey, ugly! Can you help me?”

Coworker: “What did you call her?!”

Customer: “What she is.” *to me* “Can you help me?”

Me: “Sure, moron.”

Customer: “What did you call me?!”

Me: “What you are.”

(I’m working on a particularly stormy day at the pet store. Lights are flickering and the wind is rattling the doors and siding of the store. Everyone is visibly terrified, save for one unscathed customer.)

Customer: “I’m looking for a hamster for my daughter.”

Me: “Uh, sure, sir… our hamsters are over here. We have quite a selection and I can open the bins if you see one you’d like to hold.”

Customer: “These are all males. I’m looking for a female.”

Me: “I apologize for that sir. We only carry one gender to keep from in-store breeding. It’s in the best interest of the pets’ health and customer satisfaction, and we’re a male store.”

Customer: “You mean I HAD to drive all the way in THIS storm for a hamster you don’t even have?”

Me: “Well, you didn’t have to. But if you’d like, we have a female store located close by.”

Customer: “No way. Only a psycho would drive in this weather!”