Our store policy is to ask everyone for their ID no matter the age. A seventy-something-old woman comes up to my register.

Customer: “Hello, how is your night going?”

Me: “Fine thank you. Oh, ma’am, uh… may I see your ID real quick please?”

Customer: “I don’t have my ID. I left it at home; can’t you tell I’m old enough!”

Me: “Yes ma’am, I can but, it is the store’s policy to see everyone’s ID for alcohol and tobacco purchases.”

Customer: *Getting visibly irritated.* “Fine, if I go home and get my d*** ID will you sell me the wine.”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, it is 9:50 pm, you have ten minutes till the store is closed, are you sure you can make it?”

Customer: “I can make it! Just shut up about the d*** ID!”

She leaves and fast forward ten minutes later the store is closed, the drawers have been pulled and I’m now mopping as I see this lady coming back up to the door.

Customer: “Hey! Let me in!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, the store closed at 10 PM.”

I move closer and put my phone on the glass door so she can see that it is 10:10 PM.

Customer: “No! I made it back before ten! Let me in!”

She pulls on the locked door.

Customer: *Screaming.* “You think you’re god but you’re not! You’re just a pipsqueak!” 

She storms off to her car. God carried on mopping.

It’s a busy day at the grocery store, and I am running super late for my break. My manager has come over to force my line to end at the last current customer, and I am finally free to walk to the break room and have something to eat.

I get no more than a few feet away from my checkout when a woman in another line grabs my arm.

Customer: “Stop wandering around and get on a checkout! Look how busy you are!”

Me: “Ma’am, please don’t touch me. Also, I literally just clocked out for my break.”

Customer: “A break? A break?! Look how busy it is! They shouldn’t let you take a break until all the customers have been served!”

Me: “Please take any staffing issues you have up with my manager. Now, if you’ll excuse me—”

Customer: “Don’t walk away from me! Serve me right now!”

Me: “Ma’am, I am clocked out. It would actually be against the law for me to serve you right now.”

Customer: “I don’t care! Break the law, or I’ll break you!”

Me: “Wow, first you touch me, and then you threaten violence? Yeah, that’s enough to get you kicked out.”

I see a line of shocked faces from several nearby customers.

Me: “You all heard that, right?”

Customers: “We did!”

Me: “You’re taking up my valuable break time, but I will be more than happy to spend it watching security escorting your entitled rude a** out of the store. So… am I going or am I staying?”

The customer, obviously not expecting my confidence — not to mention the support of nearby customers — backs down, steps back in line, and looks at the floor.

Me: “Wise choice.” 

I took my break. I still reported the incident to my manager, who looked at the CCTV later and took an image of the customer in case we have an issue with them again.

A customer is buying an age-restricted item, and for reasons too long to go into here, I am required to enter a date of birth as part of the checkout process. I don’t have to confirm the date of birth as long as they’re over eighteen.

I ask the customer.

Customer: “Ugh, really? Make something up.”

I just put in 11/11 since I like how that date looks.

Me: “Can I at least have a year?”

Customer: “Just do anything! I don’t care.”

I just type in 1950, since it’s a nice round year.

Customer: “What?! You think I’m that old?!”

Me: “No, I just put in a random year. I wasn’t trying to guess your age or anything.”

Customer: “You’re so rude! I’ll have you know I am nowhere near that old!”

I change it to 2000.

Customer: “And now you’re turning me into a child in an attempt to calm me down?!”

Me: “Ma’am, maybe it’s best if you just gave me a year to type in.” 

Customer: “Just do anything! I don’t care.”

Upselling really isn’t a thing here in Sweden. Or at least, it hasn’t been. I was hit by the Upselling Frenzy From Hell a couple of days ago and still wonder what got into the pharmacist.

I had just checked out after a few rather strenuous days in the hospital (after four days of being completely zonked out at home), with my soap-washed hair in a tussle and dressed in a nightgown. I looked and felt really poorly, but I had to get my latest round of antibiotics before heading home. The last bus going directly home was leaving in less than thirty minutes.

When it was finally my turn, the pharmacist quickly got the antibiotics. I had finished my last round of antibiotics sixteen days prior. It was the same brand and same dosage — and yup, same illness, just with the flu added for some extra fun the second time around.

Then, she went off.

Pharmacist: “Do you know how to take this?”

Me: “Yes, I finished the last round two weeks ago. Same brand, same dosage.”

Pharmacist: “You have to [long winding description].”

Me: “Okay. Can I pay, please?”

Pharmacist: “Don’t you need [Product #1]?”

Me: “No. Just the antibiotics. Can I pay, please?”

Pharmacist: “But you must need [Product #2]!”

Me: “No. Just the antibiotics. Please let me pay.”

Pharmacist: “Oh, but [Product #3]—”

Me: “NO, I WANT TO GO HOME. LET ME PAY. PLEASE!”

Pharmacist: “But look at your list of prescriptions! Surely you need [Prescription #1]?”

Me: “No. Let me pay.”

Pharmacist: “[Prescription #2] — you absolutely need that one, right?”

Me: “Got it five days ago. Let me pay.”

Pharmacist: “Oh, but [Prescription #3]— ”

Me: “I NEED TO CATCH THE BUS. PLEASE LET ME PAY BEFORE I PASS OUT!”

Pharmacist: “Sheesh. What a grumpy b****.”

When I put the antibiotics in my brand-new backpack, the zipper broke. But I did manage to catch the bus with a minute to spare, and I was the only passenger, so the driver treated me like a queen.

Me: “Your receipt is in the bag.”

Customer: “You, too!”

I pause for a moment at the conversational disconnect.

Customer: “Wait… No… I… thought… Nooooo!” 

She grabbed her bags and ran out. I haven’t seen her since.