Tomorrow is July 4^th, so we are closed. We have had signs up for a few weeks stating this.

Customer: “What time do you open tomorrow?”

Me: “Oh, we’re closed tomorrow because of the holiday.”

Customer: “What! But then where am I going to get my breakfast!”

Me: “I don’t know what to tell you; we’ve had signs up for weeks.”

Customer: “You shouldn’t even be celebrating tomorrow! You can have that ‘Cinco No Mayo’ thing off instead!”

Me: “First of all, I’m not Mexican, not that many Mexicans celebrate it anyway, secondly, it’s ‘Cinco De Mayo,’ and most importantly, I am native, not Mexican.”

Customer: “Well, it’s still not your holiday, then!”

Me: “Oh, on that we actually agree! We don’t have an Independence Day…”

I narrow my eyes and stare at him coldly.

Me: “…yet.”

He hurried out, and funnily enough hasn’t been back for breakfast in a few days…

I am checking out a customer at my register. Our store is relatively high-end, and each lane has a bagger.

Customer: “Can I get a different bagger, please?”

Me: “Uh… may I ask why?”

I look over to my bagger, who is in turn looking at the customer.

Customer: “I just don’t want her getting… anything… on my groceries.”

My bagger is a young Indian woman, and due to attending a recent wedding, she has some beautiful and intricate henna designs on her hands.

Bagger: “Oh! This is just henna, ma’am. It’s like a tattoo, it won’t transfer over to your groceries.”

Customer: *Still to me, ignoring my bagger.* “I’d like a different bagger, please. I don’t want to get home and have my groceries smelling all… ethnic.”

My bagger and I lock eyes, both amazed and appalled that we just heard what we heard.

Me: “There are no other baggers available, ma’am. Would you like to bag your items yourself?”

Customer: *Tuts.* “I guess I am going to have to, aren’t I?”

The customer bags her groceries, pays, and is about to leave.

Customer: “I shall be writing in to complain about this poor service.”

Bagger: “Please don’t forget the part where you refused the services of the bagger available because you were scared I was going to get my “ethnic” all over your racism.”

The customer stared at the bagger, shocked that she had spoken up. She seemed like she was about to say something, but saw the whole line behind her also staring back, thought better of it, and left. We heard nothing back about any complaints.

I work at the customer service desk in a big box store in a conservative, religious, and mostly white part of the country. We have signs up all over the store about a huge coupon book you can claim if you fill out a customer survey.

Customer: “So how do I get one of them coupon book things?”

Me: “Just fill out this form and you can pick up a coupon book today!”

Customer: “I hate forms, are you sure I have to?”

Me: “I’m afraid you do need to complete the survey to be entitled to the book.”

Customer: “I suppose I don’t get nothin’ for nothin’.”

The customer takes the form and fills it out on the side of the desk. They bring it back, with almost all the diversity information missing.

Me: “Sir, I’m afraid you do need to fill out the diversity section. You left it blank.”

Customer: “But I’m white! I don’t have an ethnicity!”

Me: “That’s fine, sir, I’ll just put down ‘Caucasian’ for you.”

Customer: “I ain’t no Asian, but if it means I get the coupons that’s fine… I guess.”

I am working the checkout at my grocery store, and I am wearing a pride pin. It is a relatively quiet time of day so things are relaxed. The customer I am checking out has her son with her, who I would guess is about four or five years old. He is staring at me, and I wave back.

Boy: “Don’t look at me, f****ot!”

I stop out of shock. I was not expecting such a horrible homophobic slur to come out of such a cute-looking little child. I look at the mother to confirm I had just heard what I thought I heard, seriously hoping she could explain it as some form of mispronounced yet innocent word.

Customer: “Well, he’s right ain’t he?”

Without any scolding from the mother, the boy continues.

Boy: “My daddy told me that gay people are the devil and you’re all going to Hell. It’s true because God said so.”

I lock my eyes directly with the child:

Me: “God is something parents make up to make kids do what they want.”

This kid’s eyes go so big! The mother immediately starts shouting at me.

Customer: “Stop spreading your lies to my child!”

Me: “Pretty sure you lied to him first. Oh, poop! It looks like my register has locked and I can no longer continue with your transaction. Please take your items and proceed to an alternative checkout.”

The customer scowls at me and asks for a manager. I call the manager over and I explain that my “malfunction” happening roughly the same time the customer was throwing homophobic abuse my way was pure coincidence.

The manager, sadly, still served the customer at the customer service desk, but I was fortunate enough to never have to see them again. I really hope that poor child grew out of that hate-filled household.

A couple has ordered a cake decorated with “rainbow colors.” I make them a tie-dye-esque beauty. The next day, they come for the cake. I hand it to them, but they look at the cake, at me, and at the cake again.

Customer: “We can’t buy this cake.”

Me: “I’m so sorry. Is something wrong?”

I am thinking that maybe it isn’t up to par, even though my manager loved it.

Customer: “This cake has a rainbow. Rainbows support the gays.”

I stare at them, thinking it’s a joke because there are NO RAINBOWS on the cake. I didn’t even put the whole spectrum on the cake because it blended horribly! It is red, yellow, green, and blue. But that’s not the worst thing, because they ORDERED… RAINBOW… COLORS.

I laugh and shrug it off. This has to be a joke.

Me: “Well, have a lovely day!”

Customer: “Well, are you going to replace the cake?”

They aren’t kidding.

I’m a calm person. I’ve been jumped, mugged, and insulted. That didn’t upset me in the slightest. But guess what? I’m gay! So, I’m insulted, angry, and generally not a happy camper.

Me: *With my best fake smile* “I’ll get my manager.”

I get my manager and explain the situation.

Manager: “What you ordered is what you get.”

Customer: “We want to speak to the store manager.”

We got the store manager and explained the situation. He told us, for the sake of his sanity, to redo the cake. The manager dolled up another cake, and the family grabbed it and left.

Twenty feet away, the mother decided to whip out her phone and started texting while holding the cake in one hand. Splat went the cake. Even better? The family was done up in their Sunday best. The cake was in a plastic container, not a box, so it popped right open when it hit the ground and got icing all over their fancy clothes.

They came back to the counter begging for a freebie. We didn’t make them another.