Someone told me about a certain story series on this site, knowing I had a perfect experience to add to the collection. A young woman approaches me in the underwear/lingerie section of our large clothes shop.

Customer: “I need to be measured for a bra. I just got some work done, and I’m a few sizes bigger!”

Me: “Oh, uh… congrats? I can put you in for an opening at 4 PM today?”

Customer: “I can’t see someone now?”

Me: “Our fitting expert is with a client at the moment.”

The woman looks over to see our fitting expert with said client, a woman in her sixties, it would seem.

Customer: *Scoffs.* “She needs to be measured for a bra? Like anyone is going to appreciate what’s going on down there!”

This is a large store, but our department is small, so both the fitter and the client have heard every word this woman has just said. The client fixes the woman with a hard stare and says in a thick Scottish accent:

Old Scottish Woman: “You’re one to talk! Like anyone’s ginna look at your droopy chebs when ye hiv a face that wid turn a funeral up a side street.”

Customer: *To me.* “Are you going to let your customers be treated like that?!”

Me: “Ma’am, she’s a customer too, and you asked for it.”

Customer: *Angered, turning back to the older woman.* “Your t**s don’t need a bra, they need a hammock!” *Starts storming out.*

Old Scottish Woman: “And win I was your age. I didna need to get mine all propped up like a melon just ta feel good, ya punched lasagna!”

Me: *To the older woman.* “I’m so sorry about her.”

Old Scottish Woman: “Och, don’t worry about it. Her heid is full o’ wee shops, and they are all shut.”

Related:
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 9
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 8
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 7
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 6
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 5

Customer: “I found these items, but I don’t know how much they are.”

Me: “These are $4, that one is $9, and those last two are $5.50 each.”

Customer: “How… how do you know how much they are?!”

Me: “I remember because I put the price tag on them all literally this week, and just because all the price tags have been torn off, it doesn’t mean the prices have changed.”

Customer: “Well, I’m not gonna pay that much! That’s way too much! I thought this was a thrift store! Why are your prices so high!?”

Me: “We have to keep replacing the price tags that people keep ripping off of the items.”

The customer goes red, and I look around the not-too-large store.

Me: “It’s curious how none of the other items around the store had their tags ripped off except your items… and only your items.”

The customer goes even redder, places all the items on my counter, mumbles some excuse about needing to be somewhere else, and rushes out. I found the tags on the floor a little later…

I work in a store that sells exclusively paper and stationery, with the word “paper store” in the title of the store:

Customer: “I’ve been down every aisle, and I can’t find any nails!”

Me: “We don’t sell nails, sir.”

Customer: “Why not?”

Me: “Because this is a stationery and paper store.”

Customer: “But you do have a nail section?”

Me: “We don’t.”

Customer: “You sold out?”

Me: “No, we used them all up to nail the sign above the shop that says “paper store”.”

The customer didn’t get my smart-a** comment, and left to look for nails elsewhere… maybe a bakery or something.

I’m working the checkout. A guy coming through my line doesn’t have a whole lot, but he pays with both dollar bills and loose change, so it takes me a bit to count it.

Customer: “You gotta count it out so slowly?!”

Me: “I’m just checking, sir.”

Customer: “You don’t trust me?”

Of course I don’t! I don’t know you.

Me: “It’s just protocol, sir.”

Customer: “H*** no it isn’t, you’re just a bit slow, aren’t ya?”

Me: *Loud enough for the whole lane (and one either side of me) to hear.* “Do you talk to everyone like that, or just people who aren’t allowed to fight back?”

He got really quiet after that and just took his items and receipt and stormed off.

I work in an auto shop in a pretty rural area, so the next one around is quite a ways from our town. A customer walks up to me and says in a demanding tone:

Customer: “Go get me [size] tire. I can’t see any on your shelves.”

Me: “We don’t carry that size on hand, that’s why you couldn’t see it. I can order them in for you.”

Customer: *Immediately getting angry.* “Now listen here, you lazy [slur for Black people]! I know you have it in the back. You’re just being a lazy s***! Do your job and go get it from the back!”

Me: “Sir, doing my job right now would be asking you to leave due to the language you’re using, so that’s exactly what I am going to do.”

Customer: “You can’t make me leave!”

Me: “No, but the cops can, and they’re who I will be calling back if you don’t leave right now.”

Customer: “You wouldn’t—”

I pick up the phone and place my finger over the nine.

Customer: “F****** [racist slur]!”

He leaves, and I get on with my day.

The next day, I see him come back in, wearing glasses and a hat, both comically oversized.

Customer: *Polite.* “Hello, sir. Would you please order me a tire in [size]?”

Me: “No, but I will call the cops and have you jailed for trespassing.”

Customer: “F****** [racist slur]!” *Storms out.*

Looks like running his bigoted mouth means realizing he has to drive fifty miles to the nearest auto shop and he didn’t like it!