Customer: “I’d like a pack of [Brand] cigarettes, the brown pack.”

Me: “Sure! You know, we don’t sell much of this kind. Had a regular customer special request them and accidentally got most the other varieties trying to order the right kind.”

Customer: “I’m glad you do. They’re addictive-free!”

Me: *taken aback for a split second but managing to keep my incredulity mostly in check* “Actually, it’s just additive free. See?” *I point to the packaging* “It just means they don’t add in any extra stuff to them.”

Customer: *being super nice but sticking to her guns* “Well, they’re nicotine-free.”

Me: “No, they still have it.”

Customer: “They’re 100% tobacco, so they don’t have nicotine.”

Me: “Oh, no, nicotine is part of tobacco; you can’t really separate it out.”

Customer: *having completed the purchase starts walking away, continues responding to me, but sounding either confused, or doubtful of my knowledge* “Oh, okay…”

Me: “Yeah, it only say 100% U.S. grown. It’d be like having orange-free orange juice, you really can’t have it without the oranges… Um, have a nice day!”

(I realized as I said it that with artificial flavoring, you CAN have orange-free orange juice, but that’s beside the point.)

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(Due to an unknown genetic disease, I’ve been left with almost no sense of smell. On this particular night, a drunk man comes in and accidentally drops his bottle of alcohol on the floor. Being the only one who can’t smell it, my supervisor sends me to clean the mess when this interaction occurs. Note that I am 19 and have moved out of home by this time.)

Customer: “Oh, darling, it mustn’t be very nice having to clean up after other people. But don’t you be getting high off of those alcohol fumes!”

Me: “Well, I don’t think you can get intoxicated just by inhaling this stuff, but I’m not bothered by the smell much.”

Customer: “I suppose you mustn’t be. A lot of children like you have drunken parents. I’m sorry you have to go home to that.”

Me: *a bit offended* “I actually moved out of home last year. I turn 20 soon and my parents never drank.”

Customer: “Now, you can try to cover for them but it’s okay to tell people about living with parents addicted to alcohol. Did they force you to drink? Is that why you aren’t bothered by the smell?”

Me: *rather irate at this point* “I have a disease. I can’t smell because of that. I’d like to stop talking to you about this now, if you don’t mind.”

(The customer bows and shakes her head slowly, and I can hear her tutting.)

Customer: “So they got to you too, did they? Poor innocent youth…Yes, addiction is a disease, but you can overcome it by listen to the word of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.”

(By this point I’m astonished by her stupidity, and the mess is all clean. After giving her a weird look, I walk away and wonder what the heck just happened!)

(I’m putting away items when the new associate approaches me. It is only her second or third shift.)

Coworker: *nervously* “Do we discount damaged items? The lady at the register is asking.”

(Giving her a smile, I follow her back to the registers to handle the situation.)

Me: “How can I help you today?”

Customer: “This coat has a huge rip it in! You have to discount it for me.” *she shoves the coat in my face*

(I take the coat from her and start trying to look for what she’s talking about. Clearly upset that I won’t take her word for it she points at a few threads sticking out of the seam, which is in no way a rip/tear in the coat.)

Me: “Ma’am, this is excess thread from when they were serging the seams, not a rip. It’s perfectly normal on clothing items that are mass produced.”

Customer: *getting more upset that I won’t mark the brand new item down for her* “You should still discount it.”

Me: “I would be happy to get you another one from the back. Since the jackets are so large, we only keep one of each size out.”

(While explaining this, I grab a pair of scissors and snip off the threads so that the coat looks just like all the other ones.)

Customer: “It’s going to get a hole in it now!”

(I give the woman a steady look before taking hold of the jacket and tugging with some force at the spot I cut the thread from. Nothing happens to the coat.)

Me: “No, I don’t think it is.”

(The customer purchased the coat, at full price, and left without another word.)

(I get a page that a customer is heading to check out. I head over to the register to ring them up, an older couple holding one of our “take me” tags with item numbers on them.)

Me: “Hey, how was your shopping experience?”

Wife: “It was nice; we need two of these today, please.”

Husband: “They’re on sale.”

Me: “Great! Let me make sure we have them in stock.” *I page back to the warehouse and get the okay that we have them* “Okay, so we have them. Did you want us to have them built? It’s 80 a piece.”

Wife: *pointing to husband* “That’s what he is for.”

(All three of us laugh, I begin scanning in the numbers they come up 219.99.)

Husband: “That’s wrong; you have a sign that says 40% off!”

Me: *dreading this since it will be the fourth time today dealing with this issue* “Well, sir… it actually it’s up to 40% off on select—”

Husband: “Right, select, and it was part of it!”

Wife: “Calm down.”

Me: “I will check for you but I am pretty sure this is not part of this offer.”

(Still remaining calm I page back to a coworker who checks and it comes back not on sale no signs are near it either.)

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, that desk is not part of—”

Husband: “That is false advertising!”

Me: “I’m sorry you feel that way but it is no—”

Husband: “Yes, it is! There are signs everywhere!” *points to the first sign walking in the door about the up to* “See? How was I supposed to know it’s not one of the select ones?!”

Me: “Well, sir, if you read the fin—”

Husband: “The fine print, missy. I am—”

Me: “Sir, please refrain from calling me by anything other than my name, [My Name].”

Husband: “Now, listen here, m—”

Wife: “Enough, [Husband]. Leave the girl alone. I told you it wasn’t on sale. [My Name], please ring this up, I saw that if I have a rewards I can save 10%. Is this true?”

Me: “Yes, may I have your phone number?”

Wife: “Of course.” *glaring at her husband, gives the number*

(Her husband has snuck outside to smoke.)

Wife: “I’m sorry about him. He tries this all the time.”

Me: “No worries, I’m just glad I could help you out. Would you like one of us to load these into your car?”

Wife: *thinks for a moment and smirks* “No, I think I will have [Husband] do it; maybe it will teach him.”

Me: *laughs* “Well, if you decided he has learned his lesson feel free to ask for our help. Good luck; have a great day!”

Wife: “Thanks for the help.” *leaves as I look out the window I see her ripping him a new one and he comes in to get the desks refusing to look at me*

Me: “Have a great day, sir!”

(My store mostly sells gifts, but we have a rack of jewelry pieces, as well. I come around a display to check on a customer, and realize she has her hand to her ear, an expression of pain, and there’s blood on her hand.)

Customer: “I used to have my ears pierced when I was a baby, but they grew shut when I was in college. I was seeing if I could open them again with these earrings.”

(The woman was easily middle-aged, so her ears had healed decades before.)

Me: *horrified* “We don’t even allow pierced people to try on earrings for hygienic reasons, but definitely not to pierce ears!”

(She asks to use the bathroom to wash the blood, while I wipe down anything she touched with gloves and bleach, and throw out the earring she used and anything that she touched. She comes out of the bathroom.)

Customer: “Where can I get my ears pierced?”

Me: “There’s a tattoo and piercing parlor a block over.”

Customer: “A TATTOO place! Do you know how unhygienic that place could be?!”

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