I work in a small independent sweet shop. We can stay open but have restrictions in place for health reasons. The owner is quick to put in a “no mask, no service” policy and hand sanitiser for customers. His wife is pregnant and one of my coworkers has a relative who’s already poorly, so it just makes sense.

Owner: *To us* “I don’t care what they say, what they claim or who they know; they wear a mask. We’re not an essential shop, so they don’t need to be here, and I’m sure as h*** not risking anyone’s life over a pound of dolly mixtures.”

We stick to this, and we get the expected tantrums from adults, threats of being sued, and a surprising number of people lying about not being able to wear a mask, only to pull one out of their pocket when refused entry.

The strangest is “the old guy.” He’s around eighty and very smartly dressed, and he seems to be fully with it. He comes into the shop with no mask and walks straight past the hand sanitiser.

Me: “Sorry, but we’re asking all of our guests to wash their hands on arrival.”

Old Man: “Oh, it’s okay. I won’t be touching anything.”

Me: “Okay. But please, we have to insist.”

Old Man: *Shouting* “But I have dermatitis; it’s a real condition!”

Me: “I’m sorry to hear that, but we cannot let you in without it.”

He grumbles something offensive under his breath and washes his hands, turning back to me with an “Are you happy now?” look.

Me: “Thank you, and now your mask?”

Old Man: “What? But I’m exempt!”

Me: “And we retain the right to not serve for any reason.”

Old Man: “You can’t do this!”

Me: “It’s store policy.”

He stares at me for a while and then slowly takes out a mask from his pocket, puts it under his nose, looks at me again, and wears it properly.

Me: “Thank you. Please let me know if you need any help.”

Old Man: “What, because I’m old I need help?”

Me: *Ignoring the remark* “Okay, sir, you let me know if you need help.”

He grumbled, poked a lot of the packaging, and wandered back out. I doubt he wanted to buy anything in the first place. I told the owner just in case I overstepped the line, but he was fine and thanked me.

We are all waiting to see if we have a job after all this. I can’t help but think that if there were fewer people like the old man we would all be back to normal so much more quickly.

Related:
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 15
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 14
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 13
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 12
An Ugly Side Of Society Has Been Unmasked, Part 11

When our daughter was young, we were at a candy store in a huge mall around Easter time. [Daughter] was looking at the huge chocolate-covered eggs — the size of your fist — and noticed that one of the pretty candy flowers had fallen off. We brought the box with the chocolate egg over to an employee and showed her the flower.

The lady looked at my daughter.

Lady: “Oh, don’t worry, honey. We’ll just lick it and stick it back on,”

And she gave my daughter a wink. Then, just in case anyone overheard our conversation and actually believed what she had said, she looked around the room at the other customers and said, in a much louder voice:

Lady: “We’re not going to actually lick it; we have icing in the back to stick it back on!”

It’s funny that you have to actually tell people that you’re joking, just in case they think you’re serious!

We have a sign stating our price for bulk candy: $6.48 for half of a pound. Naturally, no one reads it.

A customer has three bags, full to the brim, of little stuff like jellybeans and sour strips. I already know this is going to be bad by the pompous expression on her face.

Me: “That is going to be [roughly $78 plus tax].”

Customer: “For candy?!”

Me: “Yes Ma’am, it is $6.48 for half a pound. $12.96 for one pound. Your bags weighed slightly over six pounds.”

Customer: “Give me the employee discount!”

Me: “Are you a team member?”

Customer: “Yes, now give me my discount!”

Me: *Doubting it but playing along* “Please provide your company ID.”

Customer: “I don’t have it!”

Me: *Shrugging* “Then I can’t help you.”

Customer: “GIVE ME MY DISCOUNT!”

Me: *Firmly* “Not unless you provide ID.”

At this point, I am done. For an employee discount, you have to provide proof of employment, no exceptions, and have to sign a paper. This is drilled into us all the time.

Customer: “Let me talk to your manager!”

Grateful that she said the magic words, I call the manager and tell him what’s going on, away from the screaming customer. Blessedly, though our manager is newly appointed, he has a spine of steel.

Manager: “Ma’am, my employee told you that she can’t give you the discount without proof of employment. Either provide it or get out.”

Customer: *Losing it completely* “YOU SHOULDN’T CHARGE SO MUCH FOR SOME STUPID F****** CANDY YOU CAN GET ANYWHERE! IT IS ROBBERY! IT IS SIN!”

Manager: *With a bored expression* “Okay, now I am calling mall security.”

The manager’s indifference turns the customer up to 100; it’s kind of glorious to watch. He picks up the phone and dials, giving our store name. That is as far as he can get before the woman explodes so loud that security can hear it over the phone.

Customer: “GIVE ME MY G**D*** MOTHERF****** DISCOUNT, YOU SON OF A B****! I AM HIGH UP IN THE COMPANY! I KNOW THE PRESIDENT! I GET FIFTY PERCENT OFF!”

Manager: “If you can’t prove it, you can’t get the discount. But as an ’employee,’ you already knew this, didn’t you?! So, I don’t know why you’re throwing a tantrum.”

Of course, he was now goading her on, but this was simply to distract her for long enough to let security arrive.

We were treated to a delightful rant about how she was high up enough that the rules and policies didn’t apply to her. She told us that if she wanted to shut this store down permanently, she could. She threatened that once she called the president, he was going to get us all fired and then sent to jail for refusing her.

Security came at a run and this finally cut her tirade short. Apparently, she didn’t think my manager had actually called and was speechless to find that people in uniform were telling her to come with them. She meekly allowed them to escort her off mall property.

Sadly, because she had mixed multiple kinds of candy in a single bag, we couldn’t just put it back, so I had to damage all of it.

I spent the evening pondering how pride could have kept her from admitting she was wrong, but somehow didn’t prevent her from making a complete fool of herself with blatantly obvious lies.

I am sixteen, working at my first ever job. A middle-aged dude with his son keeps hitting on me and trying to buy me chocolate and get my number.

Me: “Sir, I am sixteen.”

Customer: “Who cares?”

I excused myself and hid in the back until he was gone. Ew!

I’m working at a chocolate shop. A young man has come in and asked me to put together a truffle box for him; it is clear he is buying it for his girlfriend. 

Man: “…I’ll have one of the raspberry, one of the cinnamon, and one of the bittersweet… It’s kind of appropriate for where our relationship is right now.”