A mother drops off six under-twelves to watch a movie. After she leaves, they start causing tons of noise in the screen and running around the cinema like it is a playground. I have to throw them out after half an hour and call the mother.

Mother: *Complaining* “Why didn’t you control my kids? I paid for tickets for them to be supervised!”

Me: “We are not a daycare.”

Mother: “But where else can I leave my kids during the holidays?”

I’m a seventeen-year-old girl working for a chain craft store. I’m on my lunch break shopping as a normal customer, with no uniform or identification that says I work there. This man comes running up to me.

Man #1: “Do you work here?”

Me: “Yes, but technically not right now, since I’m on my lunch and not being paid.”

He proceeds to ignore my entire sentence. He grabs me by the arm. This man is probably in his early thirties, and as I stated before, I am seventeen and I’m a very small female. He begins to drag me to the register.

Man #1: “Your cashier needs help, and I’ve been waiting for my change for five minutes now!”

Me: “Please remove your hand from me before I drop these candles.”

To his benefit, he does. We make it up to the front, and there is a long line with one cashier working. I proceed to just page over the PA system for backup and go back to my lunch break.

The next thing I know, the man’s friend comes up to me and also grabs me by the arm to drag me to the registers.

Me: “What is with you and your friend and your need to put your hands on me?! Now please remove them before I get someone to escort you out!”

My manager then approaches me.

Manager: “Can you please hop on a register for just a couple of minutes? You’ll get an extra five for your lunch.”

Annoyed, I do what they ask and hop on a register. I start ringing up the guy who grabbed me. He has a $3,000 basket of sewing lights and Visa gift cards, and he pulls out a wad of cash. I take the cash from him, and it definitely doesn’t feel right, so I put it through our bill readers and mark the bills with the counterfeit marker. Both indicate that these are fake bills.

I hand back all the money he gave me.

Me: “This money is fake. You need to leave the store, and you are not welcome back. I will be informing my manager, and they will decide whether a police report needs to be filed.”

The guy fast-walked out the door. l told my manager everything and told them I’d be needing fifteen minutes more lunch time since the guy took up eighteen minutes of my time and wasted them. I didn’t get the extra lunch time.

I went to a restaurant. As I was at the counter ordering, a girl looking to be in her teens appeared from the back and snapped at the cashier.

Girl: “Get off my station, you d****ebag! If you put me in a minus again, I swear, I’m gonna ram that till down your throat!”

The cashier flipped her off and stepped off to the side.

Me: “Excuse me, both of you are acting unprofessionally, and you, madam, owe him an apology for that unnecessary outburst!”

Girl: “An apology for what? He is a d****ebag! Counting money is a skill he can’t seem to master at the age of seventeen despite being taught in, what, second grade?”

The two of them exchanged insults briefly before the girl turned back to me.

Girl: “Your order, please!”

Although I was tempted to turn around and leave, I went ahead and gave her my order. As they put my order together, I couldn’t help but notice the two of them constantly exchanging insults and obscene gestures the entire time.

Upon taking my food to a table and opening it, I discovered an error with the food that had to have been done in the prep kitchen, despite the receipt reflecting exactly what I’d asked for.

I returned to the counter, asked for a manager, and calmly pointed out the mistake to her.

Me: “It’s really not a big deal. I just like two extra slices of cheese on my burger. I’m like a mouse; I love cheese!”

Manager: “No, you don’t have to justify making a legitimate complaint. You asked for it; it’s right here on the ticket, plain as day!” *Screams* “[COOK]!”

The manager then proceeded to ram the swinging doors to the kitchen open and rain an apocalyptic level of Hell on the poor cook in the kitchen. And all I could hear him saying was:

Cook: “Yes, [Manager]… Yeeessss, [Manager]! Are you done yet?”

Again, I was tempted to ask for my money back and leave, but I didn’t want the cook to get yelled at worse for that. I received the meal corrected and ate it in the dining room with no further incident.

I was so appalled by what I’d seen that I looked up the owner of the restaurant and wrote him a letter. I gave an account of the blatant disrespect the two cashiers were showing each other in the workplace and expressed my shock and disgust with how rudely the manager treated the prep cook for a simple mistake. I suggested that some serious training be given on respect in the workplace and that the behavior and language of the cashiers be monitored more closely. I received the following letter in response.

Letter: “Dear [My Name]: Thank you for your concern, and I apologize that your experience was an unpleasant one. However, considering that the ‘poor cook,’ as you put it, just so happened to be me, and I just so happen to be married to the screaming ‘manager’ who berated me over some cheese, and considering that the cashiers you mentioned are my son and my daughter, the most I’m at liberty to do is comp your next meal and ask you to pray along with me that this place burns to the ground someday. Bring in this letter as proof in case I’m not there. Sincerely, [Owner], (An Exhausted And Fed Up) Restaurant Owner.”

Thanks for the kind gesture, but I hope you’ll understand when I ask for that comped meal to go!

I work graveyard while working on my degree. I work for an accessible van company. My position — like all our positions — is remote. We aren’t a huge company but not small by any means. All of our calls are recorded, so it makes me laugh when people try to pull their bulls*** and I remind them these calls are recorded. The company’s owner and my supervisor have a huge policy that people can’t bully us, and let me tell you, they try!

We offer roadside assistance for our customers. Keep that in mind: FOR OUR CUSTOMERS. We can unlock a vehicle, dispatch a mechanic, or do anything that might require roadside assistance.

A man calls us at 4:00 am on behalf of his neighbor.

Me: “Thank you for calling [Company]. My name is [My Name]. How may I help you?”

Man: “My neighbor’s van won’t start and she needs to get her son to the hospital!”

I’m thinking, “Hospital? It’s 4:00 am. Oh, no! I hope it’s not an emergency!”

Me: “Okay, what are her license plate number and name?”

Man: “Her name is [Woman] and the plate is [State] plates, [number].”

Me: “Sir, that’s not a plate of any of our vehicles.”

I hear the woman in the background tell the neighbor something.

Man: “She owns the vehicle!”

Once the van is sold, it’s no longer our responsibility, like any used vehicle place, unless it’s an agreed-upon warranty.

Me: “Sir, I honestly don’t know what I can do for her except look on GPS and see if we still have that van on there. I need to look her up first to figure out what van she had.”

I click around for a bit and try to find the woman.”

Me: “Umm, sir, we don’t have a customer by that name. Is it under someone else possibly?”

The man relates this to the woman.

Man: “She said no, it’s under her name.”

Me: “Sir, I can assure you that her name is not in here and we didn’t sell her any van.”

The woman takes the phone.

Woman: “Ma’am, I did get my van from you. From [Competitor]. I need to get my son to the VA.”

I’m a veteran, so of course, I understand that Veterans Affairs appointments are a pain to get if missed. I am thinking of different ways as she’s going off about how I can help her.

Me: “Ma’am, we are not that company, but I know on our vans we have a disable switch under the dash by the e-brake. Maybe they do, too?”

I’m assuming she looks as she pauses for a few moments before saying, “No!”

Me: “Okay, then, ma’am, you need to contact wherever you got the van.”

Woman: “I did! They’re not open and don’t have a roadside assistance department! I don’t understand. You are roadside assistance for accessible vans, and I need to get my son to his VA appointment! YOU WOULDN’T UNDERSTAND!”

Me: “Actually, ma’am, I understand all too well as I am a disabled veteran myself! I know it’s hard to sometimes get another appointment in a timely manner with the VA.”

Woman: “My son’s an injured combat veteran and you’re a woman. You wouldn’t understand what he’s going through!”

Me: “Ma’am, I am also an injured combat veteran. I do understand, and I want to help in any way I can within my power.”

Woman: “You can get someone out here to fix my vehicle.”

Me: “I can’t do that, unfortunately, as you did not get your van from us!”

Woman: “Then what good are you?! This is bulls***.”

She hangs up. I think, “Oh, well, I tried.”

I take my headset off and go back to painting. Then, I see another call coming through, and who does my caller ID show? The same number as before. I answer and give my “thank you for calling” spiel.

Woman: “Ugh, not you again! You’re incompetent! I want a manager!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but seeing as it is 4:10, there is no one else available.”

Woman: “Get me someone now!”

Me: “No, I will not be doing that, and actually, I am going to be disconnecting this call.”

I promptly hang up. She calls back eight more times, getting me all eight times.

On the eighth call:

Woman: “I’m going to complain to the Better Business Bureau about you!”

Me: “Please do so. I can’t do something for you that is literally out of my control.”

Woman: “You’re a real b****, you know that?”

Me: “You, too, ma’am, and considering all the time you have spent insulting me on the phone, you could have called someone to help out. Have a great morning!” *Click*

I forwarded a recording of the call to my boss, who listened to it when they got in.

Of course, the woman called when we were open and said she wanted me fired. My awesome boss told her she was out of line as well as crazy!

Then, the woman made good on the call to the Better Business Bureau. They sent an inquiry. And nothing came of it!

Every day, we open at six and close at midnight. At 11:30 pm, the store makes an announcement that tells customers they have a half-hour before the store closes. At 11:45, there’s another announcement.

At 11:50, I get called because they need another cashier (I work in the back), so I oblige. When I head up, I can’t believe what I see: two ladies have four completely-full shopping carts. With only ten minutes left, I am furious, but it’s my job.

They put everything on the belt and I get it through in about eight minutes, which is pretty good. Their total is $545, and they proceed to hand me a stack of coupons. There are 447, to be exact — I counted. Out of those 447 coupons, 112 work; the others don’t. I told the ladies why the coupons don’t work — they’re expired, they had multiples of the same coupon for one item, or they didn’t get the item that the coupon was for — but, oh, they are not going to have that.

They demand to see my manager. My manager comes over and I tell her what happened. My manager looks through every item and then gives up and overrides every coupon. That means that the three coupons they have for one box of cereal, they get it.

When they go to pay, all they owe is $25, which they paid with food stamps. Then, they get upset because their food stamps do not cover the tax that they charge for using coupons, which is $5.

Related:
The Couponator 36: The Counter-Coupon Cashier
The Couponator 35: Dog Food Day Afternoon
The Couponator 34: Blast From The Past
The Couponator 33: The Double Cross
The Couponator 32: Attack Of The Rulebreaker