I’m at the store buying groceries and a cider.

Clerk: “That will be [total].”

Me: “Oh, rats, I forgot my pocketbook on my desk. With all my cards in it. Well, that’s okay; I can pay cash,”

Clerk: “In that case, can I see some ID?”

The policy is to card people who look under twenty-five. I’m forty-one. But okay, it’s your job.

Me: “Well, obviously not. I forgot all my cards.”

Clerk: “In that case, I cannot sell you this.” *Points to the cider*

Me: “Yes, I understand. Would you put it aside for me? I work on the other side of the same building; I can go get my pocketbook in a minute.”

Clerk: “I cannot sell you this without ID.”

Me: “I understand; I wasn’t arguing. Could you please put it aside for me for five minutes while I go get my ID?”

Clerk: “But I cannot sell that to you without ID.”

Me: “We established that. Could you please put it aside for me? I can get my ID in under five minutes.”

Clerk: “But I cannot sell this to you without ID.”

Me: “Yes. I know. Which is why I am now going to go and get my ID.”

Clerk: “But I cannot sell this to you without ID!”

Me: “Yes. I forgot my ID on my desk. I will go get it now. I am merely asking you to put my cider aside, so I don’t have to look for it again.”

Clerk: *Agitated* “But I cannot sell it to you without ID!”

Various versions of this go on for a good while; I don’t want my cider returned to the shelf as it is a rare sort and hard to find. Eventually, I just leave — literally to the other side of the building — fetch my pocketbook, and hope my cider will still be there. It is in the stack of “return to shelf” items.

Clerk: “But you have ID? Why?”

Me: *Sigh*

I am the third customer in the queue. The first customers are a middle-aged couple and their kid who looks like he could be anywhere between sixteen and twenty. There are two bottles of beer among their other items, which I only pay attention to because the cashier is refusing to scan them.

Cashier: “The problem is he looks legal age, but I can’t sell it to you if he can’t show ID.”

Mum: “But it’s not for him; it’s for us.”

Cashier: “But he’s with you, so I can’t sell it to you.”

Mum: “I don’t see why I can’t buy my beer just because I have my son with me.”

Cashier: “Look, he looks old enough to drink, but he also looks under twenty-five. I have to ID him.”

Mum: “This is ridiculous!”

Cashier: “I can’t sell it to you. I don’t know that it’s not a proxy sale.”

Mum: “But I am telling you that I’m not going to give it to him!”

Cashier: “If I am caught selling this to you, whether or not your son drinks any, I could lose my job. I could be facing jail time. I will not sell this to you.”

Dad: “Well, how about this. I’ll just pick up those—” *points at the beer* “—and head to the back of the queue, yeah?”

Cashier: “I can’t. I already know that you’re together. I can’t take that risk.”

Dad: “But it would be just me buying beer.”

Cashier: “No. If my supervisor catches me. If he saw on the security footage, I would be in a serious amount of trouble. You are not buying this beer.”

There’s a bit more back and forth, but eventually, the family buys the rest of their things (without the beer) and leaves. The cashier calls over for another employee to put the beer away, and the next customer addresses him.

Customer #2: “Some people…”

Cashier: “For all I knew, that kid could have been sixteen, or he could hate the taste of beer, but it’s not a risk I can take.”

Customer #2: “Oh, I know, sweetie. I just can’t believe their nerve!”

I worked in a store during a big console launch. Our store had only gotten enough to fulfill preorders, so they were all locked in the office, bagged, with the customer’s details taped to them so that the customers’ copies of the paperwork could be matched up to their orders. All staff attended a training where this was made very clear, and they were reminded about it afterward.

A customer asked for a console.

Cashier: “I’ll go grab you one.”

I stopped them and turned to the customer.

Me: “Can I see your preorder slip?”

Customer: “Oh, I didn’t preorder it.”

Cashier: “It’s fine; we’ve got plenty.”

Me: “No, we don’t.”

Cashier: “Yeah, there’s loads in the office. I’ve already sold six!”

They’d been asking other managers for access to the office. Those managers were assuming no one could be that stupid. They assumed wrong; the cashier was tearing the paperwork off and binning it.

When I was fourteen, I went into our local, very small-town gas station with my dad. He was buying beer.

Cashier: “Do you have any ID?”

Dad: “I have three kids.”

He said it like that was a valid form of ID. Apparently, to the cashier, it was, because she looked at me and said:

Cashier: “Are they yours, too?”

I was at the checkout at a grocery store, and the poor cashier kept trying and trying to get a small package of turkey breast to scan. She then tried multiple times to key in the SKU number. Then, she called for her supervisor or someone of elevated rank, who also couldn’t make it work.

Then, THAT person called for a Customer Service Representative, who also couldn’t make it work. The machine kept saying the item didn’t exist.

Cashier: “Dude, it’s right here in my hands!”

I kept struggling to resist the urge to make that “Oh, I guess it’s free” joke. Finally, she threw up her hands.

Cashier: “I give up!”

I cracked.

Me: “Well, I guess you could just make it ‘on the house’!”

She laughed as she entered the name and price manually, and I was finally able to check out.