I work for the post office in a very, very rural area. The door opens, and there’s a thud on the counter. A customer is standing there with a box, taped up, with nothing on it.

Me: “Hi! What can I do for you?”

Customer: *Grunt.*

Me: “…I’m sorry?”

Customer: *Nods at box on the counter, grunts.*

Me: “Were you looking to send this off?”

Customer: *Grunt.*

Me: “Okay, well, let me get a weight on it and while I’m doing that, if you could get the address ou—”

Customer: “Bubba.”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Customer: “Bubba. Send it to my cousin Bubba.”

Me: “Sure, that’s no problem. I just need his address.”

Customer: *Disapproving grunt.*

Me: “I’m sorry, but without at least a ZIP code and weight, I can’t even get you a price on it.”

Customer: “I dun know. You dun know Bubba’s address?”

Me: “No, sir. I’m sorry. I don’t and there’s no way for me to look up addresses for a person.”

Customer: *Disapproving grunt.*

Me: “I’m sorry, there’s just a lot of people in the U.S., and for security reasons, we don’t keep a huge database for everyone to access with that information.”

Customer: *Grunt.*

Me: “You could maybe call him?”

Customer: “Georgia.”

Me: *Eyebrow raise.*

Customer: “Bubba stays in Georgia.”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, I’d need more info—”

Customer: *Grabs box and stomps out.*

Related:
Knows Zip About Zip Codes, Part 5
Knows Zip About Zip Codes, Part 4
Knows Zip About Zip Codes, Part 3
Knows Zip About Zip Codes, Part 2
Knows Zip About Zip Codes

A week earlier, this customer had dug in his pockets for change and started laying out on the counter everything he was carrying. One of the items was a pistol, so I know he carries. 

I’m wearing a pentacle necklace while checking this customer out. He peers at my neck and decides to share his opinion.

Customer: “You worship the devil?”

Me: “Uh, no, sir. There’s no devil in the craft.”

Customer: “Good, because if you did, I’d have to shoot you dead.”

He then leaves like he didn’t threaten my life. I don’t think too much of it at first, until he’s been gone for ten minutes, and then I remember he actually has a gun. My boss tells me to call the police immediately. 

Long story short, he’s the same guy who threatened a Walmart cashier earlier that week, but they didn’t have his name until he checked out with me using his membership card.

He gets a visit from the cops and is banned from my chain of stores nationwide.

All over a necklace.

It is Black Friday at the large superstore where I work. The massive crowd has been waiting in a pen (yes, like cattle) and as soon as we open the gates, they unleash h*** on the towels.

I see a lady literally dive into the pallet and start throwing stack after stack of towels in her buggy with her husband following suit on the other side. A little grandmother walks over to the buggy and starts removing stack after stack from that lady’s buggy over to hers.

Of course, this does not go down well, and I find myself calling security over the ensuing physical fight that has started over $1 towels.

As they’re fighting yet another woman casually walks over to both of their buggies and takes all the towels for herself, noticed by no one except myself. I’m beyond caring at this point, if they’re willing to shed blood for those towels I am not going to get involved!

I used to jump on a cash register at a department store where I worked when it got busy. I would be one of four people putting folks through. This one lady would always come to my cash; I was really fast. 

This is the South, so certain terms of endearment down here are very common.

Me: “Hello, hun! How are we doing today?”

Customer: “Do not call me hun! I am not your hun! You will address me as ma’am or not at all!”

‘Not at all,’ it is! I check her out in silence and move on with my life.

A few weeks later, I’ve forgotten all about it, and she’s back.

Me: “Hello, hun! How are we doing today?”

Customer: “I have told you not to call me hun! That’s it! I want to speak to your manager!”

Me: “My manager is on vacation this weekend, ma’am. I’m the manager on duty today, ma’am, but I can get her to call you if you like?”

Customer: “You better have her call me on Monday or I will be back here to get you into even more trouble than you’re already in!”

I left her a message on her voicemail, with the standard store code indicating a callback is required for a customer complaint.

My manager got back on Monday and had so many messages on her phone waiting for her that she didn’t listen all the way through my message, and jumped straight ahead to calling the customer back.

Manager: “Hi! How can I help you, hun?”

Apparently, the call did not go well.

I’m speaking through the speaker to cars pulling up to our drive-thru. A new hire is shadowing me.

Me: “Welcome to KFC, what can I get you?”

Customer: “Yeah, did you have to change your name from Kentucky Fried Chicken to KFC because y’all started using genetically-engineered chickens with extra legs and wings that the government won’t allow you to sell as ‘chicken’?”

Me: “No.”

Customer: “Ah. That’s a pity.”

And then the car does a U-turn (our wide drive-thru allowed this) and exited without even ordering. I turn to my now-confused-looking trainee.

Me: “Don’t worry, that almost never happens.”

Trainee: “Almost?!”