I’m working my checkout lane, and one of my college classmates is in line just behind my current customer. My classmate also happens to be Asian-American.

Customer: “I have a coupon for that pasta sauce.”

She has two different types of pasta sauce at different prices: three more expensive and four cheaper.

Me: “I’ll apply it to one of the more expensive ones.”

Customer: “No, you’ll apply it to all of them!”

Me: “I’m afraid it’s one coupon per item, ma’am.”

Customer: “Well, I have four coupons! Use them all!”

My classmate speaks up.

Classmate: “Ma’am, I have one of those coupons you can use; I won’t use it.”

The customer accepts, and I thank my classmate.

Me: *To my classmate* “I bet you can calculate what the discount will be when I apply all of these coupons before the register does, huh?”

Customer: *To me* “How racist! Just because he’s Asian, he must be good at math?!”

Me: “Uh… no, ma’am, because he’s the captain of our mathlete team.”

Customer: “Well… it’s still rude to assume!”

Classmate: “She didn’t assume anything. You are the one who assumed she was being racist. Oh, and the discount if applied to the most expensive items first will be [correct amount].”

The register confirmed this, and the customer paid, leaving red-faced. She complained about me, and now we have the store rule to not acknowledge people we know as customers in front of other customers.

I’m a cashier at a retail furniture store, and I am bored out of my absolute mind since it is a weekday morning and the store is about as dead as I’ve ever seen it. Regardless, I’m at the counter probably trying to think of words that rhyme with “bucket” or some other absurdity, when this younger couple comes up with a couple of pillows and whatever else. I scan their items and start getting them in bags, and their total comes out to some odd dollars and six cents.

The guy pulls out his wallet and gets a $50 bill. They both go through their pockets and can’t find any change, so he just gives me the fifty.

Guy: “Man, this is why I hate stores. They always make you break stuff for no reason.”

I say something about how it’s a pain and make some joke about sales tax that I’ve used every day for a year. I start getting the guy his change — whatever dollars and 94 cents — and I count out loud as I’m getting the coins — 25, 50, 75, 85, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94 — and as I’m about to give it to him, he says:

Guy: “See what I mean, man? Look at all that change.”

And that’s where things get bizarre.

I give him his change and the receipt and tell him to have a good day.

Guy: “You realize you would’ve been better off giving me a dollar?”

I sort of give him a look and just explain.

Me: “I know carrying the coins around can be annoying, but the computers will tell the managers at the end of the night exactly how much is supposed to be in the drawer, and they throw a fit if it’s off at all, above or below what it’s supposed to be.”

Guy: “No, you just gave me more than a dollar in change for no reason.”

He balls his hand into a fist around the coins and starts shaking them like a maraca.

Me: *Confused* “Sir, I’m pretty certain I gave you the 94 cents I was supposed to.”

Guy: “Yeah, man, that’s more than a dollar.”

And he walked off.

I am befuddled.

In Texas, to be sales tax-exempt, you have to be a farmer, a church, work for the government, etc. For everyone else, you pay sales tax on most non-food-related items in my state; it doesn’t matter if you’re the governor or a tourist.

In order for a tax-exempt purchase to go through we (the cashiers) have to have the right paperwork filled out, signed, and submitted. Each. And. Every. Time. Someone wants to buy something. It is a long process that takes far longer than it should, holds up the line, and makes cranky customers more cranky.

All that being explained, throw it out the window when it comes to this guy. This older man comes up to my register where I scan and bag his items. I tell him his total, and this is where the confusion starts.

Me: “Your total will be $50.83, sir.”

Customer: “I don’t pay tax.”

Me: “Oh, do you have your tax-exempt paperwork ready with your exemption number?”

Customer: “No, I don’t have paperwork, and I don’t pay tax.”

I’m really confused at this point.

Me: “I’m sorry, but if you don’t have your paperwork, I can’t process the sale without tax. You’ll have to pay the tax and then go through the tax office to try to get a refund.”

This man just looks at me like I’m the dumbest creature on this planet and he doesn’t know why he has to talk to me.

Customer: “I’m from Oregon! I don’t pay sales tax there, and I’m not going to pay your tax! Now take it off or I’m leaving!”

I have a vague understanding (and I could be wrong) that if you visit a sales-tax state, like Texas, and you live in a non-sales-tax state like Oregon, you can get a refund on the sales tax when you get home. But at the time of this purchase (2013), you have to pay the sales tax. Also, it’s not like I would’ve known this guy was from a different state just by looking at him.

Me: “Sir, this is Texas, and everyone pays sales tax. Everyone. I can’t exempt you just because you’re from another state; I don’t even have a way to input that into my computer. Sorry.” 

He, of course, got mad and started walking out of the store yelling about how he didn’t pay sales tax and he was not going to. My coworkers just looked at him like he was a nut, and I explained what had happened when he left.

My manager just rolled his eyes, muttered about what a “f****** dumba**” the guy was, and went back to building a display case.

It’s my first day at a retail job. I am ringing out an elderly woman with a few items, one of which is a package of store-brand cookies that are classified as “fudge grahams”. After I finish scanning her items, she hands me a coupon for a brand of cereal bar treats whose name includes the word “grahams”. I immediately put it down and look at her, namely since I know for a fact that we don’t carry those cereal bar treats at our store.

Me: “Excuse me, ma’am, but I think there was a mistake here?”

Customer: “What?”

Me: “This coupon right here.”

I point to the coupon she gave me.

Me: “We don’t sell these.”

Customer: “Yes, you do!”

Me: *Confused* “Um, no, I don’t believe we do.”

Customer: “Yes, you do! Right here!”

She points at the fudge graham cookies.

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but this coupon is for [Cereal Brand] treats. These here are fudge grahams.”

Customer: *In a tone that’s confused and annoyed* “So? It says ‘grahams’!”

Me: *Pointing to the word on the coupon* “It says, ‘[Cereal Brand] treats’. These are fudge grahams. They’re two different things.”

Customer: *In the same tone as before* “So? It says ‘grahams’!”

Me: “Ma’am, those are cookies. This coupon is for a cereal bar treat. They’re two different products.”

Customer: *Still in the same tone* “So? It says ‘grahams’!”

By now, I’m doing my best not to facepalm and trying to maintain a professional tone of voice.*

Me: “Ma’am, it says ‘[Cereal Brand] Treats.'”

I read each word carefully.

Me: “They’re a type of cereal bar that we don’t sell here. These are fudge graham cookies. They’re not the same thing.”

Customer: *Now acting like I’m doing this on purpose* “Are you going to accept this coupon or not?”

Me: *Politely, shaking my head* “I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s no way I can accept this.”

Customer: *Demanding* “Take the fudge graham cookies off of my order.” 

I obliged without saying another word. To this day, I have no idea if she was confused, trying to play by her own rules, or just trying to pull a fast one on me. Either way, it taught me that you truly never know what to expect in the world of retail!

I recently went to send money using a common wire transfer company inside a larger store. The cashier is a girl I’ve seen many times at this location. She greets me with a smile and a wave.

Cashier: “Hey, girl, how are you?”

Me: “I’m good. How are you?”

Cashier: “Oh, living the dream! How can I help you today?”

Me: “I’d like to send some money via [Transfer Company].”

Cashier: “No problem! I’ll be happy to help you.”

We go through the details of the transfer, and when we get to the payment part, her computer freezes.

Cashier: “Oh. I… I’m sorry. The computer seems to have taken a nap. I’m so sorry. All we can do is start over.”

Me: “Okay, no problem.”

Apparently, there is a woman standing close enough to hear our conversation. She lets out an angry huff, and I turn to see her standing less than two feet from my back.

Customer: “[Store] can’t get good registers? Really?”

Cashier: *Still polite* “I do apologize. The computer—”

Customer: “Yeah, I heard. The computer f***ed up. How convenient for you. Why—”

Me: “Are you paying for this?”

Customer: “What?”

Me: “Are you paying for this?”

I gesture to my money transfer and then to her return in her hands.

Me: “Or are you doing your own thing?”

Customer: “I am not paying for your s***, you—”

Me: “Then back the f*** up before I feed you your credit card.”

The woman steps back so that she is waiting beside the sign that clearly says:

Sign: “WAIT HERE FOR NEXT AVAILABLE ASSOCIATE.”

She is glaring into the back of my head while I go back to the cashier, who looks like she’s about to cry.

Cashier: “I really am sorry. I know you’re mad, but I didn’t mean to do it.”

Me: “Hey, you are fine. I used to work here, and I’d bet this is the same exact computer that would restart while I was cashing a customer’s check. Don’t worry.”

Cashier: “Okay.” *Takes a deep breath* “Okay.”

Me: “Okay? Are you ready to start again?” 

We made it through the transaction without another incident. By the time we were done, the woman behind me was no longer in line. I don’t know who she went to harass, but I hope they gave her the treatment she deserved.