That Stabbing Pain Is A Customer

(It’s just after eight am and a slovenly man walks into the shop where I work and asks for a large bottle of vodka that is kept behind the counter. It is illegal in this country to sell alcohol before ten am.)

Coworker: “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t sell you this before ten o’clock.”

Customer: “What?”

Coworker: *points at clock* “We cannot sell alcohol before ten.”

Customer: *suddenly angry* “But I want it.”

Coworker: “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t sell you this until ten.”

Customer: “I can’t wait until ten; I’m getting the bus in five minutes.”

Coworker: “I’m sorry, sir, but I could be fined up to £5,000 for selling this before the allowed time, and our shop could lose its licence.”

Customer: “I won’t tell anyone.”

Coworker: “That isn’t the issue, sir. It is illegal, and I won’t sell you the alcohol. Our tills won’t even allow them to be scanned before ten o’clock, either, so I cannot process the transaction, even if it weren’t against the law.”

Customer: *irritated* “What if I just leave you the money and you can put it through later?”

Coworker: “That is still an illegal sale and can result in me losing my job.”

Customer: *leans over counter* “I don’t f****** care if it’s illegal; give me the drink or I will f****** stab you!”

(At this point, I am now afraid for the safety of my coworker and I’ve grabbed the phone to call the police. My coworker on the other hand is unfazed, and merely crosses his arms over his chest.)

Coworker: “Well I’m not selling you it. So I guess you’ll just have to stab me.”

Customer: *flustered and red in the face* “Fine!” *leaves the store*

(I ran to the window and, after checking the number of the bus he was getting on, I called the police. He was apprehended by the police twenty minutes later at the next bus stop.)