(A woman comes to the registers with an opened wireless mouse. Note that most wireless mice at the time keep the USB attachment inside the mouse’s battery case to prevent loss.)

Customer: “I need to return this.”

Me: “Certainly. Might I ask why?”

(It’s our standard question; we’ll take back almost anything, but I need to know why so I can mark it as saleable or damaged.)

Customer: “It didn’t have the little USB thing.”

(The customer points to the already opened and thoroughly inspected packaging.)

Me: “Woah, really?”

Customer: “Yeah, I looked everywhere.”

Me: “Huh, not even on the inside?”

Customer: “Not even… inside?”

(I open up the mouse’s battery pack and sure enough, there’s the USB.)

Customer: “I don’t need to return this.”

(I manage a small art supply store in a college town. One day early in the semester, a young man comes in and asks for help in putting together a set of oil painting supplies as cheaply as possible. I go around the store with him for several minutes, adding things to his basket.)

Customer: *asking out of the blue* “Do you have security cameras?”

(I look around at the many “You’re on camera!” signs around the store, figuring he must be joking.)

Me: *chirpy voice* “That would be telling!”

Customer: “Oh.”

(He set down the basket and left the store. Nice to know some thieves are easily discouraged!)

I’m working at a counter in the children’s department, reading a lengthy memo about sales from corporate. I’ve been looking down reading for perhaps two minutes and when I look up there’s a man standing there, fuming. I’m startled since he hasn’t said anything and has been standing out of my line of sight.

I ask him if he needs help and he continues to rant and rave to me about how awful I am at my job. He looks at my name tag and keeps repeating my name and saying how I need to “get it together.” I explain to him that he was out of my line of sight and that I’m visually impaired.

That shuts him up.

He then, of course, goes and complains to my manager saying that if I’m so visually impaired I should have a bell he could have pressed. He could have just said something to me while I was reading, but he was silent. Idiot.

(The store’s policy states that everyone who looks under forty gets ID’d for tobacco or alcohol. No exceptions, and once the cashier has asked for ID you must produce one to purchase the product. One day, a very young-looking woman approaches my till. I also look very young; no one has ever been able to guess my age correctly, so I’m a bit more careful when ID’ing women.)

Customer: “Can I get two packs of cigarettes?”

Me: “Sure! Do you have your ID on you?”

Customer: *immediately gets irritated* “Seriously? You know I’m over eighteen!”

Me: “Yes, I’m sorry, but it’s company policy to ID anyone who looks to be under forty. I don’t want to get in trouble.”

Customer: “I’m way older than you, that’s for sure! I’m over forty-two!”

Me: “Be that as it may, I need an ID before I can process a transaction. I’d get in trouble if I just handed over the cigarettes.”

Customer: “This is ridiculous!”

(She stomps towards the door, not indicating if she’s coming back, so I set the cigarettes aside and wait a few moments to see if she comes back, and she does. She almost throws her ID at me.)

Me: “Thank you, ma’am. Your total is [price].”

Customer: “Whatever, just finish ringing me up.”

Me: “Okay, here’s your receipt and your bag. Have a good day!”

Customer: “Whatever.”

(This story has a somewhat satisfying ending. Because I set the cigarettes aside, they never made it into her bag. She ended up having to come back about fifteen minutes later with a pissy, self-absorbed look on her face. I just handed them to her without a word.)

(I’m six months pregnant and don’t have many maternity clothes, so I throw on a dress and tights before going to work.)

Husband: “You look really nice today.”

Me: “I ran out of pants that fit.”

Husband: “You’re carrying our child. You are the hottest woman in the world, even more so without pants.”