I’ve worked in retail for fifteen years. One day, a twenty-something Black guy comes to my register. His total is around $20. He hands me a wad of ones, so I immediately start counting the stack.

Customer: “You’re counting my money ‘cause I’m Black, huh?”

I don’t stop counting, even after he turns to face the store and lets everyone within earshot know that I’m a racist.

Once he has finished his speech, he turns back to me.

Me: “Sir, I count the money to make sure no mistakes are made. Here is the extra dollar you gave to me by accident.”

The people nearby start snickering as he sheepishly takes back the dollar. He stays entirely silent until I hand him the receipt.

Customer: *Mumbling* “I’mverysorry.”

And then, he ran out.

Our grocery store has a hot deli that sells fried chicken wings. After 7:00 pm, they go on sale for half-price to reduce leftover stock. A woman comes in and is eyeing up the remaining wings, about twenty or so.

She’s a problem regular: always rude and condescending. According to one of our older coworkers who goes to the same church as her, she’s just an awful lady who thinks because she married a rich banking type, she’s better than everyone else. It doesn’t explain her relentless cheapness, however.

Customer: “I want all these chicken wings for [half-price].”

Me: “They only go to that price after 7:00 pm, ma’am.”

Customer: “No, let’s do this again but the correct way. I tell you how much I want them for, and you stay in your lane and get me — the customer who pays your wages — what I want, for how much I want.”

Me: “Ma’am, there’s no need to be so condescending. It is currently 6:25 pm. Please come back at 7:00 pm, and the chicken wings will be at the price you’re asking for.”

Customer: “Get me your manager, and now. I don’t have time to be debating this with an uneducated little trollop like yourself.”

I’m halfway through college, but whatever. I call over my manager and the situation is explained.

Customer: “I don’t see why I should be inconvenienced to wait for half an hour to do you all a favor by freeing you of unwanted inventory. If you hired half-intelligent staff, then maybe you’d realize that.”

She makes this last comment while staring at me.

Manager: “I’m afraid that my currently-in-the-middle-of-getting-a-degree deli worker is correct, ma’am. The computer system won’t allow us to put in the post-7:00 pm price until after 7:00 pm.”

Customer: *Sniffs* “Fine. I have better things to do instead of arguing with the help. I shall be back at 7:00 pm sharp, and I will be buying every chicken wing remaining!”

She trots off and my manager turns to me.

Manager: “The computer system, however, will let the manager override the delay until 7:00 pm, which I am doing right now, as well as adding a staff discount. I’m buying all of these wings right now. Today, I am the Oprah of chicken wings. Everyone gets chicken wings!”

The manager then follows through and purchases every chicken wing for practically pennies, puts them in some takeout boxes, and places them in the staff kitchen for anyone to help themselves. He then returns to the deli.

Me: “What happens when she comes back and there’s none left?”

Manager: “Why do you think I came back? I can’t wait to be the one to tell her that they ‘sold out’!”

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In my town, there’s this run-down grocery store that has a hole-in-the-wall restaurant in it, but holy moly, the food is knee-slappin’ good.

One day, I’m sitting down there eating my food, and a woman with three small kids all under the age of five or so stops at my table.

Woman: “Could you help me pay for my groceries?”

She proceeds to give me her sob story of how she’s a single mom, has no money, needs to feed her kids, etc. I don’t care about her, but with anything involving children or animals, I will oblige and help whenever I can. I wouldn’t say I’m super rich, but I make pretty good money and cand spare $100.

Me: “Sure. I can spare $100. I’ll finish my meal, and when you’re done shopping, just grab me so I can pay it at the register for you.”

She thanks me generously, and her kids look timid for whatever reason.

The woman comes back in about thirty minutes, and she has a ton of stuff like T-bone steaks, shrimp, and lobster. I’m guessing there’s a sale!

The cashier rings up the items, and the total is $346!

Me: “Lady, I told you $100. If you need to feed your family, you can grab essential food items for $100.”

She then proceeds to embarrass me and say:

Woman: “You entitled Asian privileged b****, stealing American jobs because you have good stereotypes! You can’t help us?”

Me: “Okay, fine. F*** this, See ya, lady.”

But she then apologized profusely and started to remove the expensive items, keeping the essentials — pasta, rice, chicken, veggies, juice, snacks, etc. I still paid for it; I just wanted to make sure the kids were fed.

Was I scammed? Probably.

I have just started work at a grocery store. My manager is training me on shelf stocking. My first impression of him is that he’s a really laid-back character. That is until this happens.

Manager: “So, after you empty a box of product, I usually like to have a shopping cart to break them down flat into.”

A woman, who I assume to be a customer, walks up to us.

Woman: *Very politely* “Excuse me?”

Manager: *Instant personality shift* “Oh, don’t you f****** come up in here with that s***! I thought I told you never to show your nasty a** in my store again!”

Woman: “Excuse me?!”

Manager: *Mockingly imitating* “EXCUSE ME?! You f****** heard me! Now go on, GET!” 

He then takes his work hat off and begins “towel whipping” her out of the store with it. Once she is out, he storms back over to me in my complete state of shock.

Manager: “G**d*** crazy-a** b****!” *Suddenly calm again* “Anyway, as I was saying. The cart will make it easier for taking the cardboard to the bailer…”

Me: “Um… dude?!”

Manager: “What? Oh, that? Psh, don’t worry about that. That was just my wife.”

You could hear the impact of my jaw hitting the f****** floor.

One of my friends has the nickname “Tifa” — from “Final Fantasy VII” — for the fact that she owns a bar, works the bar, and knows how to throw one h*** of a punch when the need arises.

One Halloween, she hosts a cosplay night at her bar. Some other friends and I come by, garbed in cosplay for ourselves, and find Tifa dressed up in the leather suit of her namesake.

That is all well and good for decent people. The problem — at least as far as the a**hole in the Goku (“Dragon Ball”) cosplay is concerned — is that Tifa is as Black as Black gets. There’s also my male friend in a Samus (“Metroid”) cosplay — not the androgynous Power Suit, but the skin-tight Zero Suit — and me in a Team Galactic uniform (“Pokémon”) WITHOUT the grunt hairstyle.

Goku: “What the f*** is wrong with this place? I thought it was supposed to be cosplay night.”

Samus: “You’re surrounded by cosplay right now.”

Goku: “The f*** I am, you [transphobic slur]. Why didn’t you pick an actual guy to dress up as instead of pulling this bulls***?”

Tifa: “Okay, I’m refusing you service. Varma!”

At this bar, “Varma” is the staff’s code word for an abusive customer — a signal to the bouncers that someone needs to be thrown out.

Goku: “F*** is your problem, b****? You’re the [racist slur] who thinks you’ve got any business wearing—”

It’s at this point that the bouncer — a giant mountain of dude who’s done up to look like a Goron from “The Legend Of Zelda” — grabs “Goku’s” shoulder and turns him around.

Goron: “You have about one minute to get out of here before I put a boulder up your a** and call the knights. Er, cops.”

Part of me almost wishes “Goku” had chosen to resist, if only because he had the musculature to make the cosplay work. But faced with someone who looked like he could lift something large enough to be called a boulder, “Goku” decided to book it. 

The Goron got a drink on the house before he got back to work. The rest of cosplay night was thankfully issue-free.