We just returned from the hospital after the birth of our son. The birth itself started at 5:00 pm and took over 24 hours. Naturally, even after one week in the hospital my wife is merely holding on, trying to get as much sleep at a time and generally moving like a robot with a near-dead battery.

Nevertheless, we decide to go grocery shopping; after a week in the hospital we have almost nothing fresh left at home.

The baby is not very content with the first drive in the stroller and decides that he definitely needs to be held in someone’s arms — otherwise he screams his head off — so I carry him through the store, which, of course, means my wife needs to handle all the produce.

Due to our lack of mobility we decide to use a traditional register as opposed to the self-scanning we regularly use. While my wife is very slowly putting the products on the conveyor belt, an old couple behind us simply starts to load their items on the belt, which means we can no longer place our remaining items, as the belt moves much faster than my wife. Luckily, she manages to put most of it on the belt and simply tells the cashier what’s left in the cart so she can ring it up manually.

After she manages to grab the wallet out of my pocket and pay for our stuff, we start loading the items into our stroller, which is empty due to the baby in my arms.

Naturally, the old man behind us decides it’s now his turn to bag his items, as well, and he literally pushes past my wife while mumbling, “I need to get my groceries, too, you know!”

The cashier, an older woman I never perceived as very friendly before, sternly looks at my wife and tells her to go home and sit down for a while. She literally leaves the old guy’s wife standing there waiting to pay for her items, exits her booth, and helps my wife to load the remaining items into our cart.

I have never ever seen any cashier bagging items in this country where the customer is expected to do this himself. Thank you very much for the support in our difficult situation. The longer I am a parent, the more I feel that only people who have kids themselves know how tough certain situations are.

(I go into an off-licence close to my house. I am twenty years old. I pick up a bottle of alcohol and go towards the counter.)

Cashier: “ID?”

(I hand my driver’s licence over and she takes one look at it, smirks, and then flings it onto the floor with her fingers.)

Cashier: “You’re too young to buy alcohol. Get out.”

(I look at my driver’s licence incredulously, trying to work out what it was that made her think it was a fake.)

Me: “But I’m twenty. This licence is genuine.”

(The cashier puts her hand on her hip.)

Cashier: “Kid, you’d better get out before I call the cops.”

Me: “I want to see your manager.”

Cashier: “Get out.”

Me: “Please!”

Cashier: “He’ll tell you the same thing.”

(She opens the door and calls for the manager. When he comes down, I tell him my side of the story.)

Manager: “Is this true?”

Cashier: *snickering* “He’s underage, [Manager]! And he didn’t even bother to get a fake ID; he just handed over his driver’s licence!”

Manager: “[Cashier], you’re not in New Jersey anymore; you’re in England. In England, the legal age to drink alcohol is eighteen.”

(The cashier looks taken aback for a moment.)

Cashier: *sneering* “No wonder the city folk are all [alcoholic slurs]!”

(She went upstairs. The manager apologized, saying that his niece was studying in Britain for a year. She was moved to the back after that.)

(My husband and I are customers in this story.)

Cashier: “Crisps or cookie with your sandwich?”

Me: “A white chocolate and macadamia cookie, please.”

Cashier: “Okay, but just to make sure, you are aware that it has nuts right?”

Husband: “Yes? How many people don’t know that the cookie with macadamia nuts in it contains nuts?”

Cashier: “You’d be surprised.”

(I am originally from Connecticut, but I’m attending college in New York State. Since I have no plans to live there after graduation and return home every summer, I have no New York documentation; my drivers’ license and plates are all Connecticut. I’m on a date with a guy who is a NY native, and we stop at a gas station to fill up his bike and buy smokes.)

Me: “A pack of [Brand], please.”

Cashier: “I’ll need to see your ID.”

(Obviously, this is expected, and I am well over the legal age to purchase cigarettes, so I happily hand it over)

Cashier: *handing it back* “No, I need your New York ID.”

Me: “What? I’m not from New York ,though. This is the only ID I have.”

Cashier: “We can’t take out-of-state IDs. It’s the law.”

Me: *by now completely baffled* “Um… I’m pretty sure it’s not. I’ve bought cigarettes in plenty of New York locations before; my ID being out of state doesn’t stop it being valid. Are you seriously telling me that someone, say, on a road-trip through the area, couldn’t buy cigarettes until they returned home?”

Cashier: *snottily* “I’m not getting arrested over this, ma’am. If you can’t show me a valid license, then I can’t sell you cigarettes.”

(By now I’m very annoyed, but my date cuts in.)

Date: “It’s okay, babe. Just go back out to the bike.”

(I resign myself to nicotine cravings and do as he says. When he joins me a minute later, he hands me the very pack I’ve just been attempting to purchase, while pocketing his own, different brand.)

Me: “Seriously?!”

Date: “Yeah. Idiot didn’t even blink when I asked for your brand.”

(So, to sum it up: accepting a perfectly valid license is illegal, but letting someone else buy cigarettes for someone you believe is legally unable to purchase them is okay!)

(I’m at a big box store that sells just about everything. I’m on a tight budget, as I’m not currently working, so I have to be very careful about what I buy. I’ve picked up the items I plan to buy, but can’t help wandering around a bit, looking at all the things for sale. Finally, I get into a checkout lane. As I reach the cashier, we begin to chat.)

Cashier: “How are you today?”

Me: *laughing* “I’m pretty good. I just wish that you guys would stop selling things I want to buy when I have no money.”

Cashier: “Do you want me to page a manager?”

Me: “…”