I am a customer waiting for the cashier. A middle-aged man is currently being checkout by a young woman. He pays with credit, and as soon as he puts the card in, he pulls it out.

Customer: “Oops! I got an error! I pulled it out too fast!”

Cashier: “That’s okay; let me reset this.”

Customer: “I’m sorry, I pulled it out too fast.”

Cashier: “Okay, please try again.”

Customer: *Stares at the cashier* “I pulled it out too fast.”

Cashier: “It happens a lot.”

The man chuckles, pays, and begins to bag his stuff.

Me: “…”

One of my first jobs is at a local bakery department inside a supermarket. After a couple of months, the manager is badly injured on the job in a way that winds up needing surgery and rehab, so she is out for a very long time.

None of the other women in the department want the extra responsibility, so I end up handling schedules, sales, orders, etc. It’s very stressful and it means I’m always on the 5:00 am shift doing extra work, and the assistant store manager makes a big deal of saying how much she appreciates it, and how much of a lifesaver I allegedly am, every day. 

After a few months of this, one of the other department heads pulls me aside and tells me that, per company policy, I am actually entitled to an extra dollar-fifty every hour I am performing the duties of a manager. Looking it up, I see he’s right. Like most young people making minimum wage, that extra buck-fifty means a lot to me, so I go to the assistant manager about it. 

Contrary to how she’s acted — as if I’m a hero — to date, suddenly she becomes cold and combative. First, she insists I’m wrong, even when I show her the employee handbook, and then tries to argue that I don’t qualify, which I very much do. Naively, I am shocked by her abrupt 180 from how supportive and appreciative she’s been.

Finally, she angrily says, “It’s not even a big deal! It’s just a dollar-fifty! That’s nothing!” 

“That’s an extra twelve dollars a day for me,” I reply, “and almost fifty dollars a week. Nearly two hundred dollars a month. That’s my heating and my telephone bill, easy.” 

She scoffs but relents, and she makes a big deal out of making me fill out paperwork requesting the extra money I am owed, acting as if I am being greedy and unreasonable the whole time. Thereafter, she was very chilly and snide to me. It really opened up my eyes to how too many managers regard their employees as valuable until they know their worth, though I have been fortunate in the years since to work with some great managers and senior staff elsewhere. 

When I left the company to move away a few years later, still “temporary acting management,” I learned that they were just planning to have one of my coworkers fill in as manager rather than hiring someone, so I made sure to tell her about the extra money. She was very surprised and said nobody had mentioned anything to her. Hopefully, she followed through. 

Let this be a lesson, folks; always stand firm and don’t let yourself be guilted out of what is rightfully yours. You deserve it.

Having just spent Christmas in British Columbia with my family, I am waiting for my flight back to the UK and decide to buy a British Columbia keyring as a tacky souvenir. There are two old ladies behind me in the queue.

Me: “Would you like to go ahead of me? Looks like you’re stocking up on souvenirs!”

They are carrying loads of stuff.

Ladies: “Oooooh, that’s very kind of you, dear; we always get carried away!”

Me: “No problem at all!”

We engage in minor chit chat while we wait about Christmas and our families, etc. At this point, my flight is called.

Me: “Oh, d***, that’s my flight! Oh, well, my keys are heavy enough as it is; I’ll leave it.”

Ladies: “Safe flight, dear. Nice talking to you.”

Off I run to catch my flight. I’m sitting in my seat on the plane and there’s a tap on my shoulder.

Lady: “After our little exchange, we thought you deserved a souvenir.”

She handed me the keyring they had bought for me! I thanked her profusely; it made my day! I can’t work out how two old ladies managed to get on the plane before me, though.

Customer: “Hi, can you tell me how to get to the bridge to Vancouver?”

Me: “I’m sorry, but there is no bridge to Vancouver.”

Customer: “Well, that’s impossible; I came over on a bridge!”

Me: “The only way to get on the island is to travel by ferry or plane. I promise there is no bridge to Vancouver.”

Customer: “This is terrible service!”

She hasn’t purchased anything.

Customer: “I can’t believe someone that lives here doesn’t know where the bridge is!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I don’t know about a bridge to Vancouver.”

The customer storms out. A few minutes later, the guy working in the store next door comes in on his break and starts telling me about this unbelievable idiot he just had. I interrupt, asking if it was the bridge lady. Sure was!

Customer: “How do I get to the bridge to Vancouver?”

Coworker: “There is no bridge to Vancouver, ma’am.”

Customer: “YES. THERE. IS! I swear I came over on a bridge! How does no one know about it? It was called the Johnson bridge?”

Coworker: “OH! Do you mean the Johnson Street bridge? That’s close to here, but it doesn’t go to Vancouver, just to a suburb of Victoria.”

Customer: “YES! That’s the bridge to Vancouver! The Johnson Street Bridge! How do I get there?”

Coworker: *Gives up* “Turn left at the next lights and stay left; you can’t miss it.”

The customer leaves.

Coworker: “Have a great time in Esquimalt!”

(This happened not long after I started working at the local grocery store. We’re experiencing an unexpected rush, and are so busy that my manager had to help out on a till. Since he had other work to do, I am told to let him out as soon as I get back from my break. Less than a minute after I start checking out my first customer, a women runs up to my till.)

Woman: “Where did you put my ham?”

Me: “Pardon?”

Woman: “Where. Did. You. Put. My. Ham?”

Me: “Ma’am, I don’t know what you-”

Woman: “What do you mean you don’t know? I went through here less than five minutes ago!”

Me: “Ma’am, you might have been here five minutes ago, but I wasn’t.”

(At this point the woman seems to realize that I (a caucasian teenage girl wearing the store’s uniform) am not my manager (a middle aged black man wearing a suit and tie). Luckily, my manager hadn’t gone far, and he was able to answer the woman’s question before she turned too red. This was my first experience with customer stupidity, and I’ll never forget it.)