Grapes Of Wrath

Our oldest cashier (she probably partied with Betty White) is at the register, glaring at a customer. When I get closer, the customer turns her rage to me and stalks towards me.

Customer: “YOU! Come here!”

Me: “How can I help you, ma’am?”

Customer: “This… this is… She is messing with my grapes!”

Me: “Okay, let me see what I can do for you.”

Customer: “She’s trying to overcharge me! Look!”

The cashier shows me her screen but I see nothing wrong.

Me: “Okay, I’m not—”

Customer: “The grapes are $1.98!”

Cashier: “They’re $1.98 per pound, not $1.98 per bag.”

Customer: “That’s not true. The sign clearly says $1.98.”

Cashier: “Per pound.”

Customer: “Don’t be stupid. You don’t weigh grapes.”

Me: “Ma’am, grapes are sold by weight.”

Customer: “No, they’re not!”

Me: “Ma’am, we can go look if you want but—”

Customer: “NO!” *Stomps her foot* “No! This is robbery!”

The man in line behind her speaks up.

Customer Behind Her: “Learn to read, you c***! I can see from right here that the sign says ‘per pound.’”

He points to the sign not twenty feet away. We stand there in silence for a moment. The cashier and I make eye contact and the cashier lets out a laugh. I look away and try to avoid laughing too.

Customer: “You… you’re all f****** high school dropouts and inbred b*****ds! Go to Hell!”

She stormed out, leaving her groceries behind. I told upper management about the exchange just in case she filed a complaint. I never heard anything, so either she never complained or it didn’t get her anywhere.