It’s 1995, and I’m working at a cheese store in a touristy Midwestern city. I am a bald white man with a preference for dark colors. It has been a tough week. Some dental work has failed, so I am without my three front upper teeth for the next week until the new bridge is made. I am trying hard not to smile.

A local has been browsing our postcards. She selects a pile about an inch and a half thick and just walks out with them.

I follow.

Me: “Excuse me. You need to pay for those.”

Customer: “Deese be free.”

Me: “What?”

Customer: “You be a cheese store. Deese be free.”

I laughed with a full toothless skinhead-looking smile. She was startled. I reached over, plucked the postcards out of her hand, and returned to the store.

I tried really hard not to smile at people until my dentist installed the new bridge.

My big box store has lights we turn on at the checkouts so that customers know which lanes are open. My shift is over in five minutes, so I turn out my light signaling that this lane is closed. There are several other checkouts available.

However, people who are not paying attention keep coming over to my lane as the line is the shortest; the people who have noticed that I am closed have gone to other lanes. They always manage to sneak in as my back is turned while finishing up transactions, and when I turn around, they have emptied their entire carts onto the belt already.

I’m incredibly annoyed as it’s now fifteen minutes past when I was supposed to leave, and I don’t have a walkie to ask a coworker to take over. And then, a customer hits me with this line in a very condescending voice:

Customer: “You know your light is off? How are people supposed to know this lane is open?”

Me: “I’m not open, which is why the light is off. People just keep ignoring it despite several open checkouts being available. They just don’t want to wait.”

Once again, my back is turned doing the payout when I hear my manager.

Manager: “Excuse me, ma’am, please do not unload at that checkout. It’s closed, and she was supposed to clock out fifteen minutes ago.”

Sure enough, another woman was trying to come to my lane. My current customer heard it all. I had already called her out, and now she was indirectly being called out again by my manager.

I avoided that register any other time I was asked to jump on as people just went to the first register they saw, whether or not it was open.

This happened in 2014. I was driving a lot for work. My current car was getting extremely old, and repairs were very costly, so I decided to purchase a new vehicle. I ended up deciding on a brand-new car.

I worked with the salesman and picked out the exact one I wanted, but the color I wanted was thirty minutes south at another branch. They wanted to put everything through and have me pick up the car the next day, so we went through all the financing, and I signed the paperwork.

The next day, I went to pick up the car. The color was right, but this was not the car I’d been told I was getting. I had purchased the more deluxe option. The car that showed up was a basic model. I was not happy.

Normally, when dealing with salesmen, I want to get it over with fast, so I often settle. Not this time. I flat-out told them this was a bait-and-switch, and they could either figure out how they were going to fix it, or I was canceling everything.

The dealership manager had to get involved. He was clearly angry that I wouldn’t just accept the car they tried to pawn off on me. He had the nerve to say:

Manager: “Now I have to sell this one as a used car since it was temporarily sold!”

I was pretty proud of myself for asking:

Me: “How is that my problem?”

Manager: “Why do you even want all those features?”

He dropped it when he saw my facial expression.

I wasn’t able to get the color I wanted, but I got the model and features I wanted, and they were able to get me insanely low-percentage financing. But seriously, how did they think that would fly?

One of our new hires is pouring a shot of tequila into a glass of milk, and I have to stop and ask about it.

Me: “What is that?!“

New Starter: “The customer asked for a tequila and milk.”

Me: “Seriously?”

New Starter: “Is that weird?”

Me: “It’s not… normal.”

Intrigued, I follow the new starter and the odd drink over to the customer.

New Starter: “Your tequila and milk, sir.”

The customer starts cracking up.

Customer: “I said, ‘Tia Maria and milk’.”

Tia Maria is a coffee liqueur. I start laughing, too, and the new starter looks confused.

New Starter: “I thought he said ‘tequila’.”

Customer: *Takes a sip* “This isn’t terrible, though, so I’ll have this, too!”

I got him the correct drink and just charged him for a glass of milk for being a good sport.

I work in a bar. A woman, out with her friends, orders.

Customer: “A virgin screwdriver, please. I can’t drink right now as I’m pregnant.”

Me: “Ma’am, respectfully, I can put that in as an Orange Juice and save you about six dollars. We charge two-fifty for an OJ and eight dollars for a screwdriver.”

Customer: “…But I don’t want an orange juice; I want a virgin screwdriver.”

Me: “Do you want it virgin or non-alcoholic? We do happen to have some non-alcoholic spirits we could mix in, such as Seedlip or Pentire. Is that what you would like?”

Customer: “Hmmm… No, I’d better not. My doctor said no spirits. I’d like a screwdriver without spirits or alcohol, please.”

Me: “Ma’am, I promise it will be the exact same thing but cheaper if I just bill it as an OJ.”

Customer: “I don’t want an OJ. I want a screwdriver, but without the alcohol and with no spirits.”

Me: “Very well.”

So, I got her her eight-dollar orange juice. Her “friends” patted her on the back and supported her for “standing her ground” as I got her beverage. At least she tipped.

Related:
When Your Explanation Runs Out Of Juice