A woman came to the customer service desk on an electric scooter. She threw two romance novels on the counter.

Customer: “Refund these.”

Me: “Do you have the receipt?”

Customer: “No! Just give me my money back!”

Me: “I’ll have to get a manager. I’m not sure we can return books.”

Customer: “And why not? I’m a paying customer!”

Me: “Because people like to buy them, read them, and return them.”

Customer: *Turning red.* “I have never been accused of such disgusting behavior! Get your manager!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am.”

The manager arrives and rolls her eyes.

Manager: “Returning more books?”

Customer: “Not you!” *To me.* “She hates disabled people!”

Manager: “I don’t hate anyone. I do dislike liars and thieves, though, and you have returned every book in this series only to turn around, buy the next one, and return it again.”

Customer: “I can’t walk, I don’t have a TV. My only entertainment is reading, and now you’re calling me a thief?!”

Manager: “The library is open 7 am to 7 pm every day.”

Customer: “This is discrimination!”

Manager: “Call corporate. You’re not getting a refund from me.”

The woman glared at my manager before turning her cart and leaving. She grabbed a display on her way out and knocked it over. My manager told me she tries this refund scam every few weeks, picking new cashiers.

Many years ago, I worked in a bookstore in a mall, one of the entrances to which was facing a Dairy Queen across the street. One particularly blazing summer day, [Coworker #1] disappears from the premises for his lunch break and comes back with two empty Blizzard cups.

Me: “That hungry, huh?”

Coworker #1: “Hey, there’s nothing better for a hot day than ice cream.”

Coworker #2: *Literally looking down his nose from the next shelf over.* “Um, that’s NOT ice cream.”

Coworker #1: “So I’ve heard. But being as I am neither a regulation-enforcing agency nor a pretentious judgmental jack-a**, I don’t really see how I would gain anything from refusing to call it ice cream.”

I laughed. [Coworker #2] later tried to complain to our manager about us both. [Manager] laughed in his face.

Related:
Dairy Drama Queen

I have been collecting a specific book series that originally came out in the 1930s since I was a kid, not in the 1930s. My local library’s used bookstore has a warehouse where they keep all their books, and on Saturdays, you can go and have a gander while the volunteers sort the books.

On the off chance, I ask if they have any of the series I collect, and they do! Mostly modern versions and stuff I already have. They do have one thing I’m interested in. In the 1990s, they made reprints of the books with the original dust cover illustrations. They are not perfectly like the originals. The board colors are different, the spine has the 90s publisher name, and the inside explains that it is a special reprint edition. I don’t have this particular edition of this book, so I brought it up to purchase it.

It is important to note that to some people, I look very young, and they will treat me as such.

Warehouse Volunteer: “Oh. I’m not sure I can sell you this.”

Me: “Why not?”

Warehouse Volunteer: *In a tone like she’s talking to a child.* “Well, sweetie, this book is very, very old. We need to research it first to know what it is worth before we sell it.”

Me: “This version is only about thirty-four years old. It isn’t an original.”

Warehouse Volunteer: “No, honey. Like I said, these books are very, very old.”

Me: “Actually, this is a [Edition] reprint. Probably from 1991 or so.”

Warehouse Volunteer: *With the same patronizing tone.* “Honey, you may think you know, but we really need to research it before we can sell it to just anyone.”

I pick the book up, point to the publisher’s name on the spine, then open it to the publishing info and show her the date, then show her the page that explains it is a reprint.

Warehouse Volunteer: “Oh. Uh. I guess you’re right! It’s from the 90s.”

She sells it to me for five dollars, which is a fair price, and I turn to leave.

Me: “And by the way, I’m as old as this book.”

The lady started to try to make excuses, but I just politely said goodbye and left.

A mom and her young son walk into the store.

Customer: “I’m going on a trip, and I won’t have access to my data. I’ll need maps of the rural regions of [countries].”

Me: “Let me show you the map section.”

I take them over there, and we start going through the detailed survey maps of the countries she is visiting. Her son pulls a few more books out and starts flipping through them.

Son: “Hey, Mom, look! They printed Google Maps!”

Mom: “You know they printed maps before Google, right?”

Son: *Confused.* “Before… Google?”

Mom: *To me.* “Now you know why we need a family trip to a place without data!”

Customer: “You got any books about the human body, but for kids? My youngest is going through a ‘doctor’ phase.”

Me: “Yeah, we do! Follow me!”

I show the customer some age-appropriate biology books. One colorful example he picks up straight away is all about ‘amazing facts’ about the human body.

Me: “That’s a popular range. Your kid will be quoting amazing facts all day!”

He turns to a random page and reads one out loud.

Customer: “Did you know that your brain actively deletes things that are constantly in your field of vision so you don’t stay distracted? Hmm, that seems a bit fishy.”

Me: “Oh, I heard about that one. Like how you’re always seeing parts of your face, but your brain blocks it.”

Customer: “Yeah, like you can see your own face.”

Me: “Well, just your nose, I think.”

Customer: “Your nose is on your face, dumb-a**. How can you see it?”

Me: “Uh… close one eye, and then look to the side.”

Customer: “Whatev—” *He does this anyway.* “…holy s***!”

He got the book.