Beware The Wares Of Overreaction

, , , , | Right | January 8, 2020

(I buy something in a store and I plan to pay with my card. I head to the register, which is more like a desk with a cash register and card machine. The card machine is bolted down, most likely since this is an area people tend to steal things that aren’t bolted down. I put my things on the desk and almost at the same time, another customer drops his stuff, as well, right in front of the card machine. He is uncomfortably close, but since he’s tapping on his phone and I’ll be done soon, I don’t mind. I don’t worry he might read my PIN, since we have a tapping system for low amounts, no PIN required.)

Cashier: “That’ll be [low amount], please.”

Me: “Card, please.”

(The cashier readies the machine and I turn to the man. Before I can say anything, he notices me and does a step back.)

Me: “Thank you, but could you please move your things, as well, so I can reach the machine?”

(The man suddenly violently pushes his wares over the counter.)

Other Customer: “Can you reach it now?!”

Me: *smiling* “Yes, thank you.”

(I finished my payment, thanked the cashier, and headed out, while the man gathered the wares again. Glad it wasn’t breakables!)

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Man! I Feel Like A Bigot

, , , , , | Right | January 8, 2020

(My dad and I are waiting in line at the checkout of a local grocer. There’s one young woman in her early thirties ahead of us who has been complaining the entire time. The cashier — a young boy no older than seventeen — is doing his best to process her as quickly as possible. To the poor kid’s dismay, the woman starts screaming at him about being too slow. Just a note, I’m a feminist but have zero tolerance for sexism on either side.)

Customer: “You men are all alike! I bet you’re just keeping me here so long because I’m a woman! You think I’m buying these groceries just to get home to my family and cook for them! Well, I’ll have you know I have my husband cook! Let the useless man do something for once!”

Cashier: “I’m sorry you feel that way, ma’am. I think you should know, however, I do not think bad of you–”


Cashier: “Ma’am–”


(I’ve had enough and step in. I’m six feet tall and I tower a good foot over this lady.)

Me: *to my dad, loud enough for the whole line to hear* “Wow, bigot alert!”

Customer: *whipping around to glare at me* “I’M NOT A BIGOT! HE’S THE BIGOT! GOOD FOR NOTHING MEN!”

(My dad rolls his eyes, figuring it would be best not to step into an argument between me and this woman.)

Me: “Did I say, ‘bigot’? I meant ‘misandrist.’”

Customer: *scoffing as if I’m stupid* “It’s pronounced ‘misogynist’! And how could you turn on your own gender?! Women are supposed to support each other!”

Me: *as sweetly as I can* “Oh, I’m sorry, the discrimination card is two-sided.”

(She turned red and turned around and walked out without her groceries. We heard her storm out of the parking lot. I apologized to the cashier and gave him a tip. A couple of days later, he told me that the woman tried to return to buy the groceries she had left behind. She blew up when she found that they’d been put back on the shelves, and she had to be escorted out when she found out she was banned from the chain! Sweet justice!)

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Leaving It To Bagger Chance

, , , | Working | January 7, 2020

(I’m on holiday but staying at a friend’s home so I’m buying groceries. This is before the US starts charging for plastic bags and I don’t know that, so, as usual, I bring my own shopping bag and put it down neatly folded behind my groceries.)

Cashier: *grabs bag and starts flipping it over and over* “Where’s the barcode?”

Me: ”That’s already mine; I’m not buying it.”

Cashier: *puts it down and continues to ring up my items*

Bagger: *grabs a plastic bag and starts bagging my groceries*

Me: “Wait, no. I already have a bag.” *moves shopping bag in front of him*

Bagger: *picks up my bag, stares at it, and sets it back down, continuing to bag in plastic bags*

Me: “No, I’m not paying for the plastic bags!”

Cashier: “Pay? They’re free.”

Me: “Oh! Okay… I see. Where I’m from, they’ve been charging for plastic bags for years so I use reusable bags like these.” *nudges my bag* “My shopping goes in here, not the plastic bags.”

(The bagger stares at my bag, stares at the shopping he already put in the plastic bag, and then picks up my bag and starts handing it to the cashier.)

Cashier: *takes it and looks at me questioningly*

Me: “Oh, never mind. I’ll just bag it myself.” *takes my bag and starts removing the groceries from the plastic bag*

Bagger: *holds his hands out, confused, and stares at me*

Cashier: *continues to ring up the rest of my groceries*

Bagger: *attempts to hand me plastic bags*

(In future shopping trips, I just immediately start off by saying that the shopping goes in my bag and not the plastic bags, with no issues.)

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Strangling Some Manners From You

, , , , , | Working | January 7, 2020

(I am just a regular customer waiting for checkout in a well-known French hypermarket. A young lady with two young kids at the cashier has just finished packing her stuff and moved to the side, so I can proceed to checkout. One of her kids starts crying. That’s nothing extraordinary — it happens, right? The real problem here is the cashier, too busy talking with her coworkers to do her job correctly. She says the following about the kid:)

Cashier: “Oh, God, can’t we do something about it? I don’t know, like… strangle him?!”

(I honestly can’t believe what I just heard, so I give her the “Did you just seriously…” kind of look, which makes her realize that something is actually wrong. Checkout is complete, so I pack my stuff, take my change — forcing myself not to give a sarcastic “have a nice day” to this disrespectful cashier — and just leave. On my way out, the cashier has the nerve to yell at me:)

Cashier: “Nobody taught you to say, ‘Thank you.’?!”

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A Cent’s Worth Of Satisfaction Is Priceless  

, , , , , | Right | January 6, 2020

(I have recently been hired at a chain store in a small town. I’m manning the cash register on a very busy day. My current customer hands me a $10 bill to pay, and I pause to see if she starts digging for change.)

Me: “Out of ten?” *punches buttons on register*

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: *starts counting out change*

Customer: “Here.” *hands me a nickel*

(I’m not good at mental math, and this random nickel confuses me enough that I lose track of my counting.)

Customer: “You need to give me $3.02. I’m an accountant.”

(I try and fail to do the math in my head, partly because the customer keeps repeating that I owe her $3.02 because she’s an accountant. After several long seconds, I give up and pull out a pen and scrap paper.)

Customer: *in a very condescending tone* “I told you, I’m an accountant! I know this, and you owe me $3.02!”

Me: *finishes calculations* “Okay, ma’am, your change is $3.03. Have a good day.”

(The customer actually flounced out of the store in a huff. One cent isn’t much, but I admit to taking some small satisfaction in the accountant being wrong in her math.)

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