(I work at the photo department and am checking out a customer with a “Happy Birthday, Grandson!” birthday card.)

Customer: “Hello… I only have this one birthday card.”

Me: “Okay, that’ll be $3.15. I just need your signature on the line, please.”

(The customer begins to sign her receipt, then pauses. She looks closely at the slip, then looks up at me, angry.)

Customer: “Now how does this know who I am?!”

Me: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “It has my name on it! Right here, below the line! I have never shopped here before. Where did you get my information?”

Me: “Ma’am, the information comes from your credit card.”

Customer: “Well!”

(She signs the slip and gives it to me. I put the slip in the register drawer.)

Customer: “And what are you doing with that? It has my information on it. You can’t just keep it!”

Me: “Umm, we have to keep it. That’s how you pay for things…” *register prompts for a zip code* “… and may I get your zip code, please?”

Customer: “Why do you need my address?!”

Me: “Well, American Express needs it. It’s a security measure, and it doesn’t need your whole address, just the zip code.”

Customer: “This is identity theft! Give me back my signature!”

Me: “Um, I promise you, I am not. I can’t open the drawer mid-transaction, but I can call a manager to cancel your transaction.”

Customer: “You aren’t a cashier! How do I even know you work here?!””

Me: “Well, here’s my name tag. And my picture is on the wall.”

Customer: “If you work in the photo department, that could be Photoshopped! You do not work here! I want a manager!”

Me: “Umm, okay…” *calls the manager*

Manager: “What can I help you with today?”

Customer: “This thief is stealing my personal identity!”

Manager: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “I want my signature back! She is asking too many questions!”

Manager: “Okay, I will take it from here. So what is your zip code?”

(My manager takes care of the rest of the transaction. The receipt then prints out…)

Manager: “Here you go! Tell your grandson to have a happy birthday!”

Customer: “AND HOW DO YOU KNOW MY GRANDSON!? YOU PEOPLE STOP AT NOTHING! I AM REPORTING YOU! THIS IS ILLEGAL!” *continues yelling all the way out the door*

This story is part of our Identity Theft roundup!

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Me: “Hello, how may I help you?”

(The client looks at name on desk; my name’s Hattie.)

Client: “Your name is so stupid.”

Me: “Sorry, sir. I can’t help that. It’s not so bad. ”

Client: “Your parents must really hate you.”

Me: “No, I’m sure they don’t. How can I help?”

Client: “I want to check my registration. Name’s Horace Gumptin.”

Me: *stifles giggle*

Client: “Are you laughing at me? Your name rhymes with fattie!”

Customer: “Hey, can you tell me where the rope is? I’ve been looking all over for it, but can’t seem to find it.”

Me: “Oh, yeah, it’s just over this way.”

(I lead him to the hardware aisle, and halfway down there’s a big sign that says “Ropes” with a picture of a rope on it.)

Me: “Right down there. There’s actually a sign there that says ‘Ropes.'”

Customer: “You’re f***ing douche bag, you know that?!”

Me: *laughs, thinking he’s joking*

Customer: “That was intentional, and I WILL talk to your manager!”

Me: “I apologize–”

Customer: “Anytime you wanna come to my house, you just lemme know, Dingleballs!”

(And from that day forward, my nickname at work was “Dingleballs.”)

This story is part of the Customers-Ignoring-Signs roundup!

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Me: “Can I help you, sir?”

Customer: “Yeah, I need to know what you can do for my dog. He’s really aggressive and tries to bite me and everyone. Do you train dogs here or something?”

Me: “No, sir, but I can refer you to a trainer.”

Customer: “I don’t have time for that! I need advice now. What do you think I should do?”

Me: “Well, sir, is he a show dog?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “Are you going to use him for breeding?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “I would suggest that you have him neutered as a first step; it will help calm him down. Also, enroll him in an obedience class. That will–”

Customer: “Neuter him? You mean cut his balls off!?”

Me: “Well…”

Customer: “G**d***it, that’s so typical! All you feminist Nazis all just wanna cut off all us men’s balls!”

(Just then, the main veterinarian comes out from the back to see what the yelling is about.)

Veterinarian: “What seems to be the problem?”

Customer: “I’ll tell you what! That girl there suggested I get his balls whacked off!”

Veterinarian: “Now, [My Name], I’ve told you before we don’t treat exotic animals here, haven’t I?”

Me: “Yes, sir?”

Veterinarian: “Well, let’s not have this happen again…” *turns back to the customer* “I am sorry, sir. We normally do not treat large apes, but since my person here already told you we do, I’ll honor it. When would you like to make the appointment?”

Customer: *storms out*

This story is part of our Take Your Dog To The Vet roundup!

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(I was standing in line behind a group of girls who had bought a pack of pencils.)

First Girl: “Can we get a bag?”

Cashier: “I’m sorry, I’ve already given you one. I’m afraid I can’t give you another.”

Second Girl: “Why not? The woman ahead of us got three bags!”

Cashier: “Yes, and all three of them were full. I can’t give you another bag.”

First Girl: “That is bull-s***! You gave her all those bags and can’t fork over one more for me?! ”

Cashier: “I’m sorry… no, I can’t. She needed the bags for the items she purchased. ”

(The third girl grabs a pack of gum and throws it on the counter.)

Third Girl: “Fine. If we get this, can we get another bag?”

Cashier: “No, you can fit that in your first bag. There are other customers wait–”

First Girl: “F*** you! You’re just doin’ this ‘cuz we’re teenagers! This is age discrimination!”

Cashier: “I’m sorry, but–”

Second Girl: “We want to see your manager!”

Cashier: “I need to help other customers in line. I’m sorry I can’t–”

First Girl: “You need to help me, b****! I’m asking you for a bag!”

Cashier: “Store policy is–”

Second Girl: “We don’t give a s*** about your store policy! Just give us a d***ed bag!”

(I was in a hurry and by this time I just wanted to get out. Figuring any plastic bag would do, I emptied one that I had already.)

Me: *to the girls* “Here, you can have this one. I don’t need it.”

Third Girl: “Excuse me? Did I ask YOU for help?”

Me: “No, but if it’s a plastic bag you want, I honestly don’t need it.”

Second Girl: “Would you mind your own business?”

Elderly Woman Behind Me: “Jumping Jesus, young lady, it’s a plastic bag! You could find one in a garbage can if you wanted it that badly!”