His Heart Belongs In The Frozen Section

, , , , , | Right | August 21, 2018

(I bag groceries at a grocery supermarket in my town. Premium customer service is our policy; baggers must help the shopper unload their items onto the conveyor belt, and then go bag them, and walk them out of the store to their car. This is the reaction as I approach a customer at my lane.)

Me: “Good afternoon, sir! Can I help you unload your items?”

Customer: *angered* “No! Just go bag for me!”

Me: “Yes, sir.”

(I go bag as he hurriedly throws and slams his groceries on the conveyor. I stay within protocol and bag colds with colds, as I simply bag frozen peas and a quart of milk together. He comes up to pay for his stuff.)

Customer: “Are you an idiot? You aren’t supposed to bag frozen with refrigerated things!”

(He grabs the bag out of his cart and slams it onto my bagging station. Then, he stares at me and says:)

Customer: “Rebag it.”

Me: “I apologize, sir. Let me bag those separately.”

Customer: “You’d better.”

(I do it. Then, I bag a box of cereal with a plastic coffee mug, WHICH IS FINE. That is the worst thing in the world for him.)

Customer: “Just get out of my way and go bag horribly for someone else.”

Me: *smiling as I begin to walk away* “Have a great day, sir!”

(I wanted to sock him in the throat so badly.)

Your Card Is Bad And So Are You

, , , , , , , | Right | August 20, 2018

(I am working as a cashier at a popular superstore.)

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, your card declined. Do you have another form of payment?”

Customer: “What the h*** did you do? Try it again and this time, don’t touch it!”

Me: “Of course. Slide your card again, please.”

Customer: *slides card*

Me: *presses button to process card*

Customer: “I said don’t touch it!”

Me: “Ma’am, I have to press the button, or the transaction will not process. I’m sorry, the card is still declined. Do you have another card you want to try?”

Customer: “My card is good! You are doing this on purpose! Run it again, and this time don’t you dare press that f****** button, you dumb b****!”

Me: “Please, there’s no need for that; there are children here. We can try again if you’d like, but I will need to press the button, and I don’t think the outcome will change.”

Customer: *slides card while grumbling under her breath*

Me: *presses button to process card*

Customer: *screaming now* “I told you not to press that d*** button. Are you deaf or just stupid?! Get me a manager now! I will have your job!”

(My manager is nearby and has heard most of the exchange.)

Manager: “What seems to be the problem here?”

Customer: “This b**** keeps pressing her little button and making my card decline! I want her fired immediately!”

Manager: “Ma’am, I hate to inform you of this, but there is no button she can press to make your order decline. There must be a problem with the card or with your bank; you will need to use another card, or I can set your items aside if you want to come back at another time. ”

Customer: “F*** all of you! You’re a bunch of liars! My card is good! MY CARD IS GOOD!”

(The customer continues screaming, cursing, and destroying displays until security removes her from the store.)

Manager: *to me*  “Go ahead and take your break a little early tonight.”

Don’t Lose Your Shirt Over It

, , , , | Right | August 19, 2018

(I work in a thrift store. Our policy is that we have a set price on all items within their category. For example: all children’s shirts are $2, all men’s shirt’s are $3.50, all women’s jeans are $4, etc. A man and his son come up my register with several kid’s shirts in a size large, and one shirt that is from a company that sells only adult clothing and is a size small.)

Me: “Your total today is $11.50.”

Customer: “Wait, you overcharged me for of those shirts! They’re supposed to be $2 each.”

Me: “Yes, sir, all of our children’s shirts are $2, but this one—” *removing shirt from the bag to show him* “—is an adult’s shirt, and costs $3.50.”

Customer: *starting to raise his voice* “That is not an adult shirt! Look at it! It is the exact same size as all the kid’s shirts there. My son tried it on, and it fit him, and he doesn’t wear adult sizes!”

Me: “Well, sir—” *checking labels* “—your other shirts are a size large and this is a size small, which is why they are pretty close in size. I can show you what a children’s size small looks like, for reference. Plus, the label here says [Store] and they only make adult’s clothing. I apologize for the confusion, but this does fall under our $3.50 pricing.”

Customer: “You are not going to scam me! There is no way that shirt is for an adult. I wear a size small. Do you think that shirt would fit me?!”

Me: “I’m not sure, but sizes do vary from company to company, and [Store]’s clothing does run on the smaller side.”

Customer: “It fits my kid, so it’s a kid’s size! You will not f****** lie to me and tell me that this is supposed to be for people my size!”

(The customer takes off the shirt he is wearing, gestures to his own torso, and then angrily throws his shirt at me. My manager sees this and rushes over.)

Manager: *to me* “What’s going on?”

Customer: “Your cashier is trying to scam me and sell me kid’s clothes for jacked-up prices!” *picks up the shirt in question* “Does this look like it would fit me?!”

Manager: “Sir, I cannot comment on what size clothing you wear, but that shirt is from a company that does not manufacture kid’s clothing. Also, we have a strict no shirt, no shoes, no service policy, and since you are no longer wearing a shirt, I will have to ask you to leave.”

Customer: “This is ridiculous! You’re all f****** idiots!”

(He stormed out shirtless, mumbling to himself. His son was clearly embarrassed.)

Didn’t Have Anxiety, Until Now

, , , , , , | Healthy | August 18, 2018

(I am working the register at my store. My coworkers are all busy elsewhere, and it is a slow part of the day, when an old man walks up and purchases a small item. Things are going normally until I hand him his change. It should be noted that I have a mild form of adult acne.)

Customer: “Do you know you have a red thing on your face?”

(He points toward a small flare up of acne on my cheek. I blink for a moment, because while part of me knows what he’s pointing at, no one has ever said anything directly to me about it before.)

Me: “What do you mean?”

Customer: “You have a red thing on your face. I know what that is. It’s caused by anxiety.”

(I have never had anxiety issues, and now that I have confirmed what he’s talking about, I speak with a deadpan tone.)

Me: “Sir, I have acne.”

(I’ve never really been self-conscious about my acne, but I don’t like the way he’s talking about it. He takes his receipt and starts heading for the door while still talking to me.)

Customer: “Yes, and that is caused by anxiety. I have seen this before.”

(My tone has gone cold, and in my head I’m wondering why my personal health is his business.)

Me: “Sir… my mother is a nurse.”

(What I’m hoping he’ll pick up on is the implication that, “if something were seriously wrong with my face, she would know,” but he doesn’t get the hint.)

Customer: “I worked fifty-five years in medical technology maintenance.”

Me: “So, you never actually practiced medicine, then.”

Customer: “I have seen this before. It’s anxiety.”

(He then starts rambling something I don’t quite follow, but he makes it sound like he’s had bugs grow out of his own acne in the past. Or seen them grow out of acne in other people. Or maybe even caused them to grow out of other people’s skin infections. The main thing I key in on is his use of the words “grow out of,” which does not give me mental images of bacteria. It genuinely sounds like he’s talking about live insects growing out of people’s faces, which is incredibly creepy.)

Me: “Are you a doctor?”

(I ask this bluntly, trying to convey with my tone and expression that if he is not a licensed medical professional, I do NOT want his opinion on my face, and he needs to stop talking.)

Customer: “I work with medical equipment. But I have seen this before. It’s anxiety. It is.”

(Thankfully, after that the customer just kind of nodded and walked out the door. To date, he’s the creepiest customer I’ve had to serve.)

Book Driving To A Good Place… Eventually

, , , , , | Hopeless | August 17, 2018

Me: “And would you like to purchase a book to donate to our holiday book drive?”

Customer #1: “Who’s getting them?”

Me: “The heart unit of [Local Children’s Hospital].”

Customer #1: “Oh, no, thanks. I mean, if it were [Cancer], I’d donate, but not just for that.”

Me: “Um… Okay. Have a nice day!”

([Customer #2] comes up.)

Me: “And would you like to–”

Customer #2: “GOD, NO! I just want to buy my stuff and get out of here, and not have you people trying to swindle me!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I am required to ask these questions, and the books are going to the [Children’s Hospital]…”

Customer #2: “Not my problem. Just give me my receipt.”

Me: “Here you are. Have a nice day.”

Customer #2: “Shut up.”

(I just kind of stand there in shock for a minute until my next customer comes up. They have a basket full of books, and two giant deluxe-edition board games. I start ringing them up.)

Me: *kind of anxiously* “And would you be interested in donating?”

Customer #3: “Absolutely. I’d like to donate these books, and if you’d like to pick out five or six more from the display behind you, since I don’t really know what the kids are reading these days?”

Me: “Thank you; that’s very generous!”

Customer #3: “I heard those other two. Who thinks like that at Christmas? I want to donate these games, too, if you’re allowed to take them.”

Me: “That shouldn’t be a problem. Again, thank you!”

(Years later, I still remember that customer. Thank you for being the anti-Grinch!)

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