I am stocking shampoos when a girl in her late teens or early twenties approaches.

Customer: “Can you tell me where the toast is?”

Me: “The… toast?”

Customer: “Yes. I need to buy some toast.”

Me: “We don’t sell already made toast. Would you like me to point you to the bread aisle?”

Customer: “Is that what toast is made from?”

Me: “Yes, it is.”

Customer: “I’ll take the bread, then!”

I point out the bread aisle and she’s happily on her way. An older man who has been standing nearby comes up to me after this exchange.

Customer: “I can’t believe you got through that without laughing! Do you think she was drunk, high, or pranking you?”

Me: “I don’t know, but at least she’s happy!”

I am shopping for an online customer in our bread aisle when an elderly man approaches me, holding his phone out and looking confused.

Customer: “Can you help me? I need a ‘back-wet.’”

Me: “I’m not sure I understand. Do you know what a ‘back-wet’ is? If you do, I can help you figure out what area of the store it’s in.”

Customer: “I don’t know. My wife texted me the grocery list and I’ve never seen this word before in my life.”

Me: “If you don’t mind, can I take a look at the list?”

He shows me his phone.

Me: “Oh! A baguette! They are over on a cart in our produce section with the bakery bread. Let me walk you over.”

I show him our baguettes and hand one to him.

Customer: “Skinny bread? My wife always finds weird things she likes and then sends me to buy them without explaining what they are! It’s a good thing I asked someone who knows their bread. Some other employee might have just told me it’s bread, and I would have bought a regular loaf! Oh, boy, I would have been in the doghouse for that!”

It’s 1997 and I have just turned eighteen. I’ve been working for the same drugstore since I was seventeen and I get offered a transfer and a promotion to a new location. I’m ecstatic and I love the location.

One of the first “assignments” they give me isn’t that great. They’ve hired a floor cleaner to come in and clean the floors. It’s a full clean; they’re stripping the floors, waxing, and doing minor repairs. They’re starting after hours and it will take about ten to thirteen hours to complete. It’s so much work that they’re actually going to close the store the next day so the repairs can be completed and the wax can dry.

They need a manager to stick around and watch the cleaners clean and make sure nothing is taken during the work. As I am eighteen and “full of energy,” guess who got voluntold?

I will be honest; it isn’t that bad of a gig. I get overtime, I’m told I can get snacks and drinks up to $15 for free, and I can bring my Gameboy (yeah, yeah showing my age) and play Pokémon. Oh… and I can wear whatever I want, as long as it isn’t my working polo shirt because we are closed and we don’t want to accidentally make people think we are open.

We’re about six hours into the cleaning, at around 3:00 am, when all of a sudden, I hear a banging on the door and screeching. I have to sit on the actual till counter in a chair. I hop off the counter and have to walk on the tile, which I have been asked to not do, but I don’t have a choice.

There is a woman cussing me out because the door is locked. On the door, it’s clearly stated that the store is closed, why the store is closed, and that the store was closing at 8:00 pm last night and will be closed tomorrow. Apparently, this woman thinks that this does not apply to her.

Customer: “Who the h*** do you think you are?! Do you know who I am?! You let me in right now!”

I am eighteen, sleep-deprived, and hopped up on $15 of caffeine and sugar, so I say:

Me: “I’m sorry, no. Are you someone famous? Also, we are closed. Please see the sign. We will be open again on Sunday. Just to let you know, we have a twenty-four-hour location three miles away on [Highway]. I apologise for the inconvenience, but we are not open.”

Customer: “You will let me in! I need my mascara! I will break the door down! Your lights are on, so you are open! I will have you and this company closed!”

She looks and sees my Gameboy in my hand.

Customer: “What is that?! How dare you play on your work schedule?! You are so fired!”

Me: “Ma’am, we are closed. We are stripping the floors currently. There is no one on duty. I do not have a register open. I really am sorry, but I cannot help you. Again, there is a location three miles away that is open and can help you.”

Customer: “You just wait!” *Storms off*

I figure that this is just a random crazy issue, someone is mad and throwing a tantrum, and they have gone to the other location to get the stupid mascara that they apparently cannot live without at 3:00 am.

But… no.

Forty minutes later, four police cars show up at the store. The woman called the police! The police come to the door.

Police: “Excuse me. Why are you in the drugstore at almost 4:00 am when the store closes at 8:00 pm? We need to enter—”

I am wearing shorts, Birkenstocks, and a Hawaiian button-up — obviously not a work uniform.

Me: “Yes, sir.”

I open the door and the police flood in. I am handcuffed and am told it is precautionary. This is now the first time in my life I have been handcuffed. I would also say that I am officially scared.

Police: “We are detaining you on suspicion of theft.”

Me: “Please don’t, sir! I actually work here!”

They look at my Hawaiian shirt and raise an eyebrow. I look at my shirt and put two and two together and realize that this is not going well for me.

Me: “Well… yeah… I do work here. Listen, this is a misunderstanding. I was asked to be here tonight to watch the guys stripping the floor and waxing the floor and making repairs. My manager told me I would be working after hours and to not wear my work shirt so people wouldn’t think we were open. I am being 100% honest. Please! Ask the workers!”

The workers hear the ruckus over the machines they are using. They stop and see the cops and immediately stop in their tracks.

Workers: “Evening, officer. Umm… what’s going on?”

The police then question the workers, who corroborate my story. They have to show the police their work van, their tools, and their machines, etc. Meanwhile, I am still handcuffed. After about thirty minutes, the police understand this is a HUGE misunderstanding. I am released… though one of the officers decides to be the fashion police and says that an eighteen-year-old doesn’t need to be wearing a Hawaiian shirt.

I honestly think this is going to be the end of the story and you, dear reader, might, too. But you’d be wrong! It’s as if the earlier customer is summoned by a siren’s song. She COMES BACK TO THE STORE as the police are about to leave.

She sees the situation and decides to… I don’t know, be a champion of smug or something? She gets out of the car, walks up to the cops, and introduces herself as the person who called about this situation.

Customer: “Did you arrest him?!” *Looks at me* “I told you… You should have let me buy my mascara!”

Police: “Wait… You called us citing he was stealing.”

Customer: “Well, yes… he was stealing my time!“

This then led to an additional twenty minutes of the officers explaining to the customer what it means to call in a false report. It also led to her getting a ticket.

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It is just after a state law changes requiring us to record IDs for any and all purchased controlled prescriptions. To comply, a screen now pops up before we can complete the transaction and we cannot bypass it. We can only go back and take the controlled medicine off. Several customers/patients are unhappy with this new law.

Customer #1: *In the drive-thru* “I have never had to show my ID before!”

Me: “It’s a new law, ma’am. Sorry for the inconvenience. I just need to see your driver’s license.”

Customer #1: “I don’t have it! It’s at home! This is stupid! I’ll have to come back!” *Speeds off*

Later, another customer holds their ID at a hard-to-read angle and snatches it back before I have even a hope of a chance of reading the number or expiration date or checking for a hologram.

The customer quickly rattles off the ID number.

Me: “Ma’am, I need to check your ID in full and need to be able to properly read it per the law.”

Customer #2: “I told you my number!”

This goes back and forth for a bit before the no-nonsense manager/head pharmacist walks up.

Manager: “Ma’am, either let us see your ID properly or leave.”

She huffs and holds her ID at the awkward angle again. My manager snatches her ID, holds it in clear eyesight for me so I can enter the required information, and then gives it back.

Customer #2: “How dare you?!”

Manager: “It’s state law, Mrs. [Last Name]! Your total is total. Pay and leave.”

The customer finally complies.

Later, another customer:

Customer #3: “You new here?”

Me: “I’ve been working here about six months, sir. The law went into effect this week. I need to see your ID, please, in order to progress.”

Customer #3: “The h*** you do, white girl!”

I’m white; he is black.

Customer #3: “Get [Coworker] over here!”

[Coworker] happens to be black.

Coworker: “It’s the law, [Customer #3]. We need your ID.”

Customer #3: “You’re my sister and I’m your brother!”

Coworker: “I ain’t related to you! ID or get out of line.”

It’s the first day of the three-day weekend for the Fourth of July. I’m the closing manager for the night at my local pizza chain location. The general manager and a manager not quite out of training are also on shift, as well as some other assorted staff.

The new manager has a friend stop by and order a pizza. When the order is ready, the manager takes it to their friend’s car and tells the GM that they’re going to hang out for a bit. We’re not particularly busy, so sure, why not.

As the shift progresses, I notice that she still hasn’t returned to the store. Hours go by. Finally, almost four and a half hours later, my GM — who’s very laid back — finally takes her off the clock.

To top it all off, she comes in a bit later complaining that she wasn’t scheduled off for another hour but was clocked out because someone was nagging the GM about wasted labor. Seriously?!