Due to the current health crisis, it is required that customers wear a face covering when entering any shop. I’ve just finished my shopping and am heading back to my car when I suddenly remember I need to buy a birthday card. I dash back to the local independent card shop, and seeing that there is only one other customer, I head straight inside, forgetting I have removed my mask.

Cashier: “Hey! You need to wear a mask!”

Me: “Oh! I’m so sorry!”

I go back outside, get my mask out, and pop it on, and I head back in.

Cashier: *Glaring at me* “You can’t just come in without a mask!”

Me: “I’m really sorry. I totally forgot. I was just—”

Cashier: “You have to wear one! It’s against the law if you don’t!”

Me: “I know. I’ve been wearing one all day. I’d just taken it off—”

Cashier: “We could call the police, you know! People think they’re above the law. You could infect people!”

Me: “Okay, look. I made a mistake and I apologised. I’m wearing a mask now. Can I shop here or not?”

Cashier: “Hmph. Made a mistake. Right. Are you one of those conspiracy theory people? I bet you’re against vaccines, too, aren’t you? You think the government’s lying and—”

I stare at her in complete disbelief as she starts to go on about anti-vaxxers and other weird conspiracies, and eventually, she realises that both I and the other customer are just standing there staring, and trails off.

Me: “Are you done?”

Cashier: “All I’m saying—”

Me: “No. I don’t care. I made a simple mistake, I’ve got my mask on now, you have stood there and spouted ridiculous accusations, and you’ve guaranteed I’ll never shop here again. Great customer service. Congratulations.”

The cashier stutters as I walk out.

Cashier: “But— Er— I didn’t— Um—”

The other customer dumps a handful of cards on the counter.

Customer: “You know what? I’d rather buy these somewhere else now.”

That customer walked out right behind me.

The Swedish word for “donut” is “munk”. For the last ten to twenty years or so, the English word has become increasingly common to use, especially for the variety with holes.

I am at the supermarket and see that they have a deal for four donuts at half-price, so I pick them up. Normally, I never buy donuts, since I find them a little pricey for what you get; also, they are rather unhealthy but good.

After paying, I look at the receipt and see that I did not receive the discount, and I inquire about this. The cashier points to the filled donut.

Cashier: “That is a munk, not a donut.”

Me: “Oh, are the filled donuts not included in the deal?”

Cashier: “The deal only applies to the donuts.”

Me: “Well, ‘donut’ and ‘munk’ are synonyms. But do you mean the discount only applies to the ones with holes?”

Cashier: “Only the donuts are in the deal. Why would there be two different words if they are the same thing?”

Me: “The words are synonyms. Many things have two different words for them.”

Cashier: “There wouldn’t be two different words if they were the same thing.”

The cashier had clearly stopped listening and kept repeating himself. I didn’t feel like paying double just because of his lacking vocabulary, so I gave up and just exchanged the filled donut.

My fiancee and I are doing some shopping at a local mall, and before we head home, we decide to head through the drive-thru since I haven’t eaten all day. We come up to the menu board where I select a meal, and my fiancee opts for just a small cup of water.

Me: “I’ll have the number two meal, extra-large, with a Coke… and a small water.”

Cashier: “Uh…” *Long pause* “We don’t have small drinks. We only carry medium, large, and extra-large.”

I check the menu; their drink sizes DO only range from medium to extra-large. 

Me: “Okay, give me the smallest size you have.”

Cashier: “But we don’t have small… only medium.”

My fiancee is blinking audibly by this point. 

Fiancee: “They have three sizes. One of them has to be the smallest by default regardless of what they call it.”

Me: “Okay. Is the medium the smallest size you have available?”

Cashier: “Let me check.” *Long pause* “Yessss.”

Me: “Then give me the medium water.” 

Cashier: “Oh. Okay, please pull around.”

We got to the window, mildly confused. The window person handed us a medium cup of water… and not the rest of the meal that was ordered. We accepted it and opted not to point out that they had skipped the rest; they hadn’t charged us for the water or anything else. We decided not to confuse them anymore, and went somewhere else to get my food.

I’m visiting my cousin and his wife for the first time since they moved out of state. I stop by a small sandwich shop on the way to my cousin’s house to get lunch.

Cashier: “Okay, that’ll be $11 plus tax.”

Me: “And how much is that altogether?”

Cashier: “It’s $11 plus tax.”

Me: “I know, but how much is it altogether?”

Cashier: “$11 plus tax.”

Me: “I know there’s tax, but how much? I’m from Minnesota, and I’m not familiar with the tax rate in Pennsylvania.”

Cashier: “It’s $11… Plus. Tax.”

Me: “How much with tax included?”

Cashier: “Eleven. Dollars. Plus! Tax!”

Me: “How much tax?”

Cashier: “What part about ‘$11 plus tax’ don’t you understand? Stop wasting my time and get the f*** out!”

Just then, the owner comes to the counter from the kitchen.

Owner: “Again? Really? Go to the office. Wait for me there.” *To me* “I’m sorry about that, hon. Your total is $11.66.”

She also gave me a free cookie as an apology for the cashier’s behavior. I stopped at that sandwich shop again for another sandwich on the way back to the airport. The cashier wasn’t there.

Related:
Taxing Taxing, Part 6
Taxing Taxing, Part 5
Taxing Taxing, Part 4
Taxing Taxing, Part 3
Taxing Taxing, Part 2

I take my whole family out for lunch every weekend. For some reason, there’s always a wait for cheeseburgers.

Cashier: “Your total is [total] and your cheeseburgers will be ready in a minute.”

Me: “Okay.” 

A tall, white-haired man silently comes up, picks up my tray — complete with fries, drinks, etc. — and walks away. I continue to wait for the cheeseburgers.

I don’t say anything, but the wide-eyed cashier is stunned.  

Cashier: “Your order!”

Me: “What about it?”

Cashier: “That man took your order!”

Me: “He’s my stepfather!”