I was in the army reserves and worked as a cashier at a big chain retail store. I got deployed, came back, and got my old job back as a cashier.

The store was having a special on canned peas — three cents a can. I think they were trying to get rid of overstock. A woman came to my register. She had two carts full to overflowing with canned peas.

Me: “If you know how many you have, you don’t need to unload all of them.”

She just huffed at me and proceeded to put hundreds of cans in the belt.

Customer: “I want them all bagged.”

They were in those flat cardboard boxes, so I bagged them all. About three-quarters through ringing them up, she glanced at the screen with the price. She proceeded to scream at me:

Customer: “The sign said two cents a can!”

Normally, I would just change the price. But since she had made me scan each one and I would have to go back and recount and change each one individually, I called the department to confirm that they were, in fact, two cents. No, I was informed that the sign said three cents. Keep in mind, she had like 200 cans, so it was only about $2 more than she had thought, and the cans were normally around fifty cents.

Me: “Ma’am, the sign says they’re three cents.”

She started throwing a hissy fit. Other customers were staring at her in disbelief.

After a little bit of this and going back and forth and her calling me names, she picked up a can of peas and threw them at me. She missed and almost hit another customer in line behind me. She then picked up another can and threw it again. I was prepared this time and caught it, which pissed her off more.

Remember, I had just gotten back from a combat deployment. I saw red and thought about jumping over the counter at her, but I didn’t; instead, I just walked off my register. A manager had heard the commotion and took over.

I sat in the break room for a minute to get control of myself. Another manager walked in and berated me for walking off my register. At that point, I threw down my name tag, flipped off the manager, left the store, and didn’t come back. I joined the active army shortly after.

I’m hard of hearing, so when I was hired, I was given a separate name tag that is pinned on the left side of my chest. Sometimes my hair covers it, but I’m mindful to make sure it doesn’t. The name tag in question is bright yellow (against a somewhat dark-blue apron) saying, “I’m Hearing Impaired,” in big, bold letters. Along with this, I also have a transcribe app on my phone that I used to keep out to talk to customers, but now I keep it away from customers and in front of my coworker who can relay requests to me.

I am a courtesy clerk, so unfortunately, I do have to interact with customers. I love doing so! It’s just, well, difficult. On top of that, masks are currently mandatory.

I have had too many customers whose interactions end up like this.

Customer: “Excuse me, can you help me find [unintelligible].”

Me: “I’m sorry, what did you ask?”

Customer: *Intelligible request and vague hand movements*

Me: “Sorry, give me one minute. I am hard of hearing…”

At this point, I move aside my hair to show the name tag if I have to.

Me: “I have a transcribe app that will help me understand what you are asking.”

However, when I get the app opened, the customer will stare at it and then roll their eyes, or scoff, and march off. I’m left standing there confused, wondering why they keep walking off. Do they think my app is recording them? I can only imagine!

A few years back, I was a lowly cashier at a local grocery store. For the third day in a row, I was assigned to the “ten items or less” express checkout since I was decently fast.

I helped one customer, while the one behind her proceeded to pile at least fifty items into my register belt. Being express, I wasn’t assigned a bagging associate.

The customer did not help bag any of her groceries or put them in her cart. Okay, jerk, I see you. I didn’t bag her gallon jug of orange juice or her gallon jug of milk as I had already bagged her two weeks of groceries.

Customer: “I want them both in a bag!”

I simply looked at her and responded sweetly:

Me: “You want both of them in a bag?”

She confirmed, ever so “politely,” that that was what she wanted. So, complying with her request, I put both jugs in A singular bag, together, and set them in her cart, smiling.

The woman got upset and complained to my manager. I was called to the front desk, where I explained to my boss that I did exactly what the customer wanted and put both gallons in A bag, together. I received an eye roll and was sent back to my station.

Employee, one. Customer, zero.

I was in my early teens and on a school trip to Stockholm with my class. We had visited the museums and gone on the tour we were there for, so our teachers let us loose for an hour to shop for souvenirs before it was time to head back home to our small city in the countryside. This was in the early nineties and kids had a lot more freedom then than they have now.

My family didn’t have a lot of money when I was growing up, but I had saved up for months for this trip so I would be able to buy myself something special. I have always been interested in fashion, and there is a very well-known fancy department store in Stockholm that I was dying to visit. My friends and I spent some time walking through the different areas, ahh-ing and ooh-ing at all the things we couldn’t afford. 

I still wanted a souvenir from my visit, so we went to the accessories department where I picked out a beautiful scarf that was pretty pricey but still within my budget.  

There was a line to the register, and I took my place in it, clutching the scarf in one hand and my little wallet in the other, while feeling very grown-up and fancy. 

When it was my turn, the lady behind the counter looked at my fourteen-year-old self, my mail-order clothes, and my mended backpack, and instantly turned to the next person in line and started serving them instead.

Me: “I’m sorry, I think it was my turn. I would like to buy this scarf, please.”

Cashier: “Go put that back where you found it, kid. We’re very busy right now.”

Me: “But we have to meet our teacher in fifteen minutes. Can I just pay for this, please?”

Cashier: “So, you found something on the clearance rack and you just want the [Department Store] bag. I get it. You’ll have to wait your turn while I serve the real customers.”

I was close to tears, but I was too intimidated to stand up to an adult in a place where it had been made clear to me that I didn’t belong. I also really wanted the scarf, so I dutifully stood aside, waiting for the line to clear. 

Eventually, the last customer in the line had paid, and I stepped up to the counter again.

Cashier: “Are you still here? All right, put that scarf back and you can have a bag for two crowns.”

Me: “I would like to pay for the scarf, please. I don’t need a bag; I’ve got room in my backpack.”

We were late back to meet with our teacher, and while it was a beautiful scarf, I rarely wore it because every time I looked at it, it brought the entire humiliating experience up again. 

Now, as an adult, I can actually afford to shop at that department store, but I have never been back because of the way they treated me back then.

My brother, sister-in-law, and three nieces live with me now. As a treat, I decide to buy some chocolate for the kids while at the dollar store with my brother. This is the conversation that happens as we get up to the counter to pay for everything.

Me: *To my brother* “By the way, I’m not even going to tell them about the candy.”

Cashier: “What?!”

She starts searching through our items.

Me: *In my head* “Why does she care if I tell my nieces about candy?”

Brother: *Out loud* “She means my kids. She’s not going to tell my kids about the candy.”

I finally figure out what she was thinking.

Me: “I am so sorry. I didn’t even realize how that sounded!”

Thankfully, we all got to laugh it off afterward. Oops.