(It is a few minutes before my shift is over and I am working the self-scans with a coworker. A woman asks me for help with a plastic bag containing a dozen small plastic bottles.)

Me: “What can I help you with?”

Customer: “I have these little bottles and when I scan the package it says that they’re a dollar twenty-nine.”

Me: “Well, it could be that the entire package is a dollar twenty-nine.”

Customer: “Actually, I think it means individually because I scanned another bottle and it came up as a dollar twenty-nine so I think it’s referring to each bottle by itself and not the whole package. See, the bottle I scanned is already here.”

(She shows me a small plastic bottle by the rest of her groceries and at that moment I realize she has thirteen small plastic bottles — the one she had scanned and is with her groceries, and the container that has twelve.)

Me: “Hold on one minute and I’ll check with my coworker.”

(I go to my coworker and she tells me to scan the bottles individually.)

Me: *to customer* “Okay, ma’am. I’ll just scan them separately. Since you’ve already scanned one, I’ll just scan the other twelve.”

Customer: “What do you mean? I only have twelve. I’ve scanned one, now you only have to scan eleven more.”

Me: “Well, ma’am, you actually have thirteen. There’s the one that you scanned, and the other twelve in this bag.”

Customer: “What do you mean? I’ve scanned one, so now there’s just eleven left to scan.”

Me: “Take a look. You’ve scanned one and there’s twelve in this bag so that’s thirteen.”

Customer: “No, that’s only twelve. I’ve scanned one and now eleven more have to be scanned.”

Me: “Here, ma’am, take a look.” *counts the bottles in the plastic bag and the one that she has by her groceries* “So, take the one that you have already scanned and the ones in this bag and that’s thirteen.”

Customer: “That’s right. It’s twelve. This one plus the other eleven, and that’s twelve.”

Me: “Yes, but you don’t have twelve. See, there’s the one that you’ve already scanned, plus I’m holding twelve. That makes it thirteen.”

(This exchange goes on for a second time as I try to explain to the customer that she actually has thirteen bottles.)

Customer: “Look! I don’t have time for this. Just give me twelve if that’ll make you feel better but I know I have eleven.”

(Instead, I gave her the “eleven” that she thought she had just to get rid of her as I just wanted to leave and go home to blow off some steam. Truth be told, though, after her getting angry with me, I actually felt compelled to add an extra five bottles to her order just to get even. Good thing common sense stopped me.)

(I’m working at a “big box” store in an upper-middle-class neighborhood. It’s after Christmas and all wrapping paper is on sale. At first, it is marked down to $1 a roll; this weekend that I’m working as a cashier, it has been discounted to 50 cents. A well-dressed man and his family come through my line with some odds and ends and wrapping paper. I ring up the wrapping paper; it hasn’t been changed in the system, so it comes up as $1.)

Customer: “No! That rang up wrong! It says back there it’s 50 cents! I can’t believe this place! You’d better change it now!”

Me: “I did see that it was marked down.”

Customer: *shuffling around* “You’d better get someone over here to change it.”

Me: “It’s not a big deal, sir. I can change the price myself under $20.”

(His wife and kids are just standing silently as I change the price to save him a whopping $2.)

Customer: “Did you change all of them?!”

Me: “Yes, they are all changed.”

Customer: “Let me see.”

(I show him the price change and he hands me his credit card as if he is completely disgusted with me — as if I somehow tried to scam him out of $2. He continues to talk bad about me and the store and says, “Come on!” to his family as they move through the line and leave. The next customer walks up and we both give each other looks like “What was that all about?”)

Me: *chuckling* “How are you today?”

Nice Lady Customer: “Better than that guy, ha.”

(I continue to ring her things up.)

Nice Lady Customer: “Oh… I think the last guy forgot his bag.”

(I look over to see the bag of wrapping paper that the last customer had screamed about — freaked out over $2! — just sitting there as he forgot it in his haste to leave.)

Me: “Hmm, that’s too bad.”

(I finished ringing this lady up and, since no one else was in my line, I immediately took his bag of wrapping paper to customer service as merchandise that was left out and needed to be put back out on the floor. Merry Christmas, a**hole.)

This story is part of our After Christmas roundup!

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(My husband and I are doing Christmas shopping at a department store at which he used to work. He knows all of their sales speeches, credit card pitches, and protection plan details by heart, even though he hasn’t worked for the company in years — barring minor changes in the fine print, of course. We finish our shopping and head up to the register. The cashier doesn’t even greet us.)

Cashier: “You want to sign up for a credit card? You could get 5% back on—”

Husband: “Let me stop you there. I already have a store credit card, thanks.”

(The cashier throws a brochure at us and jabs at it with one of her incredibly long, neon green acrylic nails.)

Cashier: “No, there are two cards now. You don’t have them both.”

Husband: “What I had was the store’s original card, and a few months ago they mailed me an offer to switch it from the store brand to the Mastercard labeled card.”

Cashier: *rudely* “They don’t do that.”

Husband: “Yes, they do. I worked for [Company] for a while and I’ve had this card for years. I received the offer in the mail about six months ago and switched because it had a better interest rate. I don’t want to apply for a second card from here.”

Cashier: “They don’t switch people! It’s one or the other!”

Husband: “Okay, well, I have some membership points in my account that I’d like to apply to this purchase.”

(He holds out his phone with the correct QR code already displayed on the screen for her to scan.)

Cashier: “We don’t do that here.”

Husband: “Okay, then.”

(We stand there waiting, because she has got a hold of our receipts and seems unwilling to hand those over. We have to specifically ask for them before she’ll let them go. At this point, I’m pissed. I don’t think my eyebrows could climb any higher on my face without disappearing into my hairline. As we turn to leave…)

Cashier: “I ain’t never heard of no switching people to the Mastercard!”

(I’m at the grocery store with a small number of items. This particular grocery store asks that all alcohol be placed at the end of your items. I don’t have any alcohol, but I do have a six-pack of ginger beer, which happens to be at the end of my order. Please note, if you’re not familiar with ginger beer, that it’s not actually beer. It’s a soda that’s simply very gingery, but it’s not beer, just like ginger ale is not ale.)

Cashier: “Can I see your ID, please?”

Me: *not really paying attention* “Huh?”

Cashier: “Your ID, please.”

Me: “Oh. Wait, why?”

Cashier: “For your beer.”

Me: “I’m not buying beer, though?”

(The cashier points to my ginger beer.)

Me: “Oh! Sorry. That’s just ginger beer.”

Cashier: “Yes, and I need your ID.”

Me: “But why?”

Cashier: *sighs* “It’s the law, I have to ID everyone for alcohol.”

Me: “But it’s not alcohol!”

Cashier: “It’s beer!”

Me: “It’s ginger beer. Not beer.”

Cashier: *sighs again* “[Manager], could you come here?”

(The manager is at the next lane and comes right over.)

Cashier: “This lady is buying beer but doesn’t understand that she needs to show her ID.”

Me: “It’s not beer!”

Manager: *lifts up the six-pack* “That’s not beer; it’s ginger beer. It’s not alcoholic. She’s fine.

(Neither the cashier nor I made eye contact as I paid and hurried out of there.)

(I’m working as a cashier in this story. We’re soliciting donations for a program the store runs. This conversation happens at the end of a transaction.)

Me: “Would you like to make a small donation to [Program] today?”

Customer: *eyeing me suspiciously* “What is this program?”

Me: “It helps to set up gardens and provide salad bars at schools so kids can have better access to fresh, healthy food.”

Customer: “Do I look like I care about fat kids?”

Me: “Uh, guess not. Have a nice evening, ma’am.”