It’s been a long day, and I have decided to visit my local supermarket one evening after work to grab a few essentials, and as I have had a stressful day, I decide to also purchase a small generic birthday cake.

This exchange occurs at the till whilst I am being served.

Cashier: “Ooh, is someone’s birthday coming up?”

Me: “Nah, just had a long day and felt like something nice for dessert. It’s a strange choice but I do like birthday cake.”

Cashier: “Bit out of order buying that if you don’t need it?”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Cashier: “Well, I don’t think you should be taking food out of kids’ mouths is all.”

I was baffled. I ignored her for the rest of the transaction as she wittered on about starving kids. The shelves had plenty of birthday cakes. I hadn’t taken the last one either way!

I was in my early teens and on a school trip to Stockholm with my class. We had visited the museums and gone on the tour we were there for, so our teachers let us loose for an hour to shop for souvenirs before it was time to head back home to our small city in the countryside. This was in the early nineties and kids had a lot more freedom then than they have now.

My family didn’t have a lot of money when I was growing up, but I had saved up for months for this trip so I would be able to buy myself something special. I have always been interested in fashion, and there is a very well-known fancy department store in Stockholm that I was dying to visit. My friends and I spent some time walking through the different areas, ahh-ing and ooh-ing at all the things we couldn’t afford. 

I still wanted a souvenir from my visit, so we went to the accessories department where I picked out a beautiful scarf that was pretty pricey but still within my budget.  

There was a line to the register, and I took my place in it, clutching the scarf in one hand and my little wallet in the other, while feeling very grown-up and fancy. 

When it was my turn, the lady behind the counter looked at my fourteen-year-old self, my mail-order clothes, and my mended backpack, and instantly turned to the next person in line and started serving them instead.

Me: “I’m sorry, I think it was my turn. I would like to buy this scarf, please.”

Cashier: “Go put that back where you found it, kid. We’re very busy right now.”

Me: “But we have to meet our teacher in fifteen minutes. Can I just pay for this, please?”

Cashier: “So, you found something on the clearance rack and you just want the [Department Store] bag. I get it. You’ll have to wait your turn while I serve the real customers.”

I was close to tears, but I was too intimidated to stand up to an adult in a place where it had been made clear to me that I didn’t belong. I also really wanted the scarf, so I dutifully stood aside, waiting for the line to clear. 

Eventually, the last customer in the line had paid, and I stepped up to the counter again.

Cashier: “Are you still here? All right, put that scarf back and you can have a bag for two crowns.”

Me: “I would like to pay for the scarf, please. I don’t need a bag; I’ve got room in my backpack.”

We were late back to meet with our teacher, and while it was a beautiful scarf, I rarely wore it because every time I looked at it, it brought the entire humiliating experience up again. 

Now, as an adult, I can actually afford to shop at that department store, but I have never been back because of the way they treated me back then.

I’m picking up a few things for my daughter’s birthday. I’ve made an order and I’m collecting it.

Cashier: “Will that be all?”

Me: “Oh, yes. [Owner] said there was some of stock being thrown out and I could help myself.”

Cashier: “There is no [Owner] that works here.”

Me: “Yes, there is. [Owner], the owner.”

Cashier: “The owner is [Woman]. You can’t have stuff for free.”

Me: “Why don’t I call him?”

I get my phone and dial the number right there.

Me: “Oh, hi, [Owner]. I’m in the shop and they don’t know anything about the stuff you said.” *Pauses* “Her name is… [Cashier]. She said she doesn’t even know you.” *Pauses* “Okay, great. See you in a second.”

Cashier: “You know what? I’ve really had it with customers trying to rip us off. I will call the owner and they will ban you from the store.”

Just then, [Owner] arrives from the back.

Owner: “I don’t think that will be necessary. Sorry about her, [My Name]. She’s been here six months and I’m here all the time. You would think she would know who I am by now.”

Cashier: “But [Woman] said—”

Owner: “[Woman] is the manager. I am the owner. I did explain this.” *Sighs* “Why don’t you restock the shelves while I serve this gentleman?”

He did, and he gave me a bit of a discount, too. When I left, I saw the cashier outside instead of stacking the shelves, smoking a cigarette. I wonder how long she stayed.

Related:
Getting Owned By The Owner, Part 17
Getting Owned By The Owner, Part 16
Getting Owned By The Owner, Part 15
Getting Owned By The Owner, Part 14
Getting Owned By The Owner, Part 13

I stop for gas during a road trip, and after paying for my gas at the pump, I decide to run inside to use the restroom and get some snacks and drinks. The restroom is out of paper towels but otherwise in good shape, so I just wave my hands around a bit, wipe them on my pants, and head back out.

After choosing my snacks and drinks, I head to the cash register. The cashier starts scanning my items without saying anything.

Me: “Just to let you know, the men’s restroom is out of paper towels.”

Cashier: *Annoyed, almost angry* “Well, what do you want me to do about it?”

Me: “I wasn’t sure if anybody reported it yet, so I just wanted you to be aware.”

Cashier: “Yeah, but you said the men’s restroom, so what do you want me—” *gesturing to her own body* “—to do about it?”

I chose to bite my tongue, pay for my stuff, and leave. I hope SOMEBODY replaced those paper towels eventually.

It’s very warm out and I just got off work, so I decide to get a small treat for myself and my family and stop by a local fast food place.

Me: “Hi! Could I get three [specialty flavour] milkshakes?”

Cashier: “Sure! Would you like to have a drink with that?”

Half a second passes, in which both of us process what she just said, before she turns beet red.

Cashier: “I’m so sorry, I was on autopilot. It just popped out!”

Luckily, she was able to laugh about it with me when I cracked up!