CONTENT WARNING: Pet Death

My husband and I had just dropped our rabbit off at the vet’s; she was not doing well and the outlook was not hopeful. We needed some groceries, so we were in the discount supermarket next door when we got a phone call to tell us that our rabbit had had a seizure and ask if we wanted them to attempt resuscitation.

As we were next door, we said we’d be right over, but we had a basket of shopping. My husband refuses to be one of those people who just leave stuff in the wrong place, so he handed it to a cashier.

Husband: “I’m sorry. Our pet is dying, so we need to go, but we’ll be back for our shopping.”

Our rabbit sadly passed away, and after saying our goodbyes, we went back to the supermarket to get our shopping. As soon as the cashier saw us — I was still sobbing — she left her till and the large queue. She’d put our basket in the chiller out the back to stop anything going bad. She gave me a hug and got a colleague to open a till so we could just get our things and go.

The supermarket in question has a reputation for curt service and scanning items too quickly, but that cashier made a terrible night slightly more bearable. It really stood out as an example of people caring, which doesn’t happen too often these days.

This customer has quite an attitude. He used to run his own business, and if other businesses he was buying from weren’t up to his standards, he’d think it was poor service.

This customer phones me one day wondering about getting a part for his BBQ. I contact the company who made the BBQ, get pricing, and tell him how much it would cost.

Customer: “Okay. Let me think it over. I’ll let you know if I want to order it.”

He ends the call, and I write down in my notes about everything that happened.

Maybe two weeks later, the phone rings and my coworker answers it. I hear him saying stuff like, “I’m not aware of any order,” and asking who he is dealing with. He then looks at me and hands me the phone.

Coworker: “It’s [Customer]; he wants to talk to you.”

I pick up the phone, and the customer goes off.

Customer: “I talked to you about that part. I’m extremely pissed that you didn’t follow through on my order! I’m incredibly unhappy with your service.”

He keeps ranting until I finally interrupt him.

Me: “Listen. The last time we spoke, you said you would let me know what you wanted to do. You didn’t tell me to order it or anything. That was the last I heard from you.”

He sputters for a moment.

Customer: “Oh… Well… Ummm…”

He is silent for a moment, and then in a much more meek voice, says:

Customer: “How long will it take you to get it in?”

Me: “[Timeframe].”

Customer: “Go ahead and order it.”

That was the end of it. Ever since then, whenever he comes in, he doesn’t give me any attitude. He has become much more bearable to deal with.

I’m done with my groceries and get in line.

Cashier: “Excuse me, miss, could you place this sign at the end of the line so I can close after helping you?”

Me: “Of course!”

I take the sign and place it behind my groceries. It’s quite the sign, pretty hard to miss, but this wouldn’t be on this site if it ended there! And yes, an older man starts unloading his groceries, putting the sign aside.

Cashier: “Excuse me, sir, I’m about to close.”

The man doesn’t respond.

Cashier: “Sir, this cash register is closed.”

The man looks up. He looks around, bewildered.

Me: “The cash register is closed; that’s why the sign was there.”

Customer: “What sign? And why would you close? You still have customers! How dare you close when there are still customers?!”

Cashier: “Sir, my shift is over, but there are plenty of other cash registers still open. There’s only one person at register one.”

Customer: “You still have customers!” *Packs everything in his cart again* “You’re here to help customers!”

He leaves anyway and I can hear him say something while waiting in line one, but I have no idea what. The cashier sighs and mutters.

Cashier: “Sorry that I want to go home after an eight-hour shift.” *Sees me* “Oh, I’m so sorry!”

Me: “Oh, you don’t have to apologize for a boomer who can’t wait two more minutes.”

Cashier: “I didn’t mean you—”

Me: “Then I certainly heard nothing. So, what’s my total? And yes, to the receipt and I’d like to pay with my card. Thank you and have a lovely evening!”

I made sure I hurried so the girl could go home. It sounded like she needed it. While I packed my groceries, I saw the man walking to Customer Service. I saw who was on duty. I know that woman; she doesn’t take crap from anyone. I would love to have been a fly on that wall!

I had a coworker who showed me her son’s school essay; the assignment was to write about their families. Her son mentioned something about his grandmother making “simon crocketts” for dinner.

Me: “What are simon crocketts?”

Coworker: “They’re fried patties made from canned fish.”

I looked at her for a moment.

Me: “You mean salmon croquettes?”

She stared at me blankly. 

Coworker: “My family has always called them simon crocketts.”

I pulled into a parking spot at the local grocery store and reached into my back seat to get my reusable bags. In those few seconds, a woman approached my car and rapped her keys against my windshield.

Me: “Yes?”

Woman: “Are you disabled?”

Me: “No, are you?”

Woman: *Offended* “Of course not!”

Me: “Okay.”

Woman: “You can’t park here!”

She pointed at a disabled parking sign in front of my car. It was facing the blue-lined space across from my car. I opened my door enough to look out and saw that I was in a white-lined space.

Me: “This isn’t disabled parking.”

Woman: “Yes, it is! There’s the sign!”

Me: “For that space, yes.”

I got out of the car, making sure to lock it.

Woman: “Move your car! Do you want a ticket? I’ll call the police! I’m tired of you lazy children!”

Me: “Ma’am, this is not disabled parking, so I will not be moving my car.”

I walked off. The woman followed me in the store.

Woman: “You want me to call the cops?”

Me: “I want you to f*** off.”

Woman: “Excuse me?!”

Me: “Look. If you’re so sure I’m wrong, call the police. Otherwise, I will call them for you stalking and harassing me.”

She stared at me for a moment before pulling out her phone and walking back toward the entrance. I saw her duck into a fast-food restaurant near the entrance of the building and figured she was waiting for the police to arrive.

I was wrong. When I returned, there was a milkshake poured over my car, particularly the driver door and the windshield.