(I am working late night overtime for inventory preparation after the store where I work closes. I volunteer to go on a food run to a nearby family-owned and -staffed burger restaurant that recently opened. None of the three of us working has been there but we’ve heard from others that their food is really good. The lobby has closed for the day but the drive-thru is still open, so I drive up to the order board and speaker. There are no other cars in the line, and no others pull into the drive-thru while I am there, so it is not busy.)

Cashier: “Please order when you’re ready.”

Me: “I have three orders that will be paid separately, please.”

Cashier: “But you are only one car.”

Me: “I’m ordering for three people, and each of us will be paying separately.”

Cashier: “I can’t do that! You’ll need to put it all on one order!”

Me: “So, can you put it in as if there are people ordering in three cars, like I was driving through three separate times?”

Cashier: “Oh, I guess I can do that.”

(I place the orders without incident and am given the totals for each, then pull forward to the window as instructed.)

Cashier: “Okay, the first order is [total].”

Me: *handing the cashier $20* “Okay, here’s the money for that order.”

(The cashier takes the money, puts in the till but doesn’t give me any change.)

Cashier: “Now, the second order is [total].”

Me: “You didn’t give me the change for the first order.”

Cashier: “Oh, I am going to pay for the second order with that.”

Me: “No, I have separate money for the second and third orders. I’ll need the change for the first, and the receipt, please.”

Cashier: “You said there were three of you, but I count only one person in the car. One. Only you. You gave me more than enough money to cover the second. I’m using that money, and I didn’t print a receipt. Okay, the second order is paid for. Now, for the third order, I’ll need you to pay some more. The total is [total], and the remaining amount is only [amount].”

Me: “Wait! I asked to pay each of these orders separately; I am buying food for myself and two other people, who are at my work waiting for their food! Please give me back the change for the first and I’ll give you money for the second. Then I’ll take care of the third order.”

Cashier: “But you already gave me too much money for the first order, and I’ve already used money from that for the second order. Now you only owe [amount] more.”

Me: *giving up, just trying to get the food to get back to work* “Okay, fine.” *hands her another $20.00*

Cashier: “Don’t you have anything smaller?”

Me: “I’ll need to make change for the other two people. Please just give me the change and the food.”

Cashier: “Fine, but you don’t have to be so snippy about it!”

(I jotted down the totals for each order on a napkin so we could figure out the change when I got back to the store, took the change and the food — which I carefully checked for accuracy — and left. It would probably HAVE been easier to have actually driven through and ordered three separate times. The food was really good, and the cashier was good with her math skills, because the final change was spot on, but not so much her understanding of “three separate orders.” The next week the restaurant was advertising to hire a cashier to work the late shift.)

(I’m at a fast food burger place that’s offering a two-for-[price] special on various sandwiches at various prices. My friend and I decide to split lunch since that’s cheaper than the combo meals.)

Me: “Can I get two [burgers], one with no pickles and one with no onions, two small fries, and two small drinks?”

Cashier: *frowning at her till and taking a LONG time to type this in, then angrily* “Anything else?”

Me: “No… Can you read that back, please?”

Cashier: *like she’s doing me a favor* “Two [burgers], two fries, two drinks. Total’s [way too much].”

Me: “Um… I thought those were currently two for five?”

Cashier: “Yeah.”

Me: “What size drink and fries did you put in?”

Cashier: “Well, you didn’t say so I put in large.”

Me: “I said, ‘two small fries and two small drinks.’”

Cashier: “Whatever.” *takes even longer to undo it and put it back in* “That’s [correct total].”

Me: “Thank you.”

(I pay, and pretty soon we get our food. They don’t mark which burger is which, so my friend checks since he’s a germaphobe and I’m not.)

Friend: “Uh…” *opens and checks the other one* “SERIOUSLY?!”

Me: “What?”

Friend: *points at one* “Pickles and onions.” *points at the other* “Pickles and onions.”

(I’m normally not the type to make a scene, but I am still steamed from the snotty attitude before. We head back up and thankfully catch the manager, who immediately has them remake our burgers. The cashier comes up and — before we even say anything to her so she MUST know she screwed up — starts yelling at us.)

Cashier: “Oh, what’s wrong now?!”

Me: “I said, ‘one with no pickles, and one with no onions’!”

Cashier: “You can’t do that!”

Me: “Yes, you can!”

Manager: “Of course he can!”

Cashier: “You can’t customize things when you’re hitting the special!”

Manager: “Yes, you can. I already showed you how earlier because this happened before.”

Cashier: “Whatever. I’m going on my break.”

(With that, she just walked off. The manager apologized and got us our burgers, along with a new set of fries to make sure they were still hot. Thankfully, we got the right toppings this time!)

(In Slovenia we have student coupons; the government gives 2,63€ toward your meal as many times a month as there are working days in a month, up to twice a day, with a four-hour cooldown, between eight am and nine pm. The coupons are tied to your identity and phone number, which are confirmed by devices, kind of like the ones for paying with mobile phones, hence the term ”calling” for coupons. Since eating out with a coupon is often cheaper than cooking at home, students end up being the majority of customers in a lot of places. One day after work I go to a kebab place just down the street. It’s already 20:50, so I’m in a hurry to use my coupon since the price difference can be more than 5€ for a full meal.)

Me: *in Slovene* “Hi. I’d like to order with student coupons.”

Cashier: *English* “Huh? I don’t understand?”

Me: *English* “Student coupons?”

Cashier: “I don’t know how to do that. The guy who knows just stepped out. Would you mind waiting?”

Me: “No problem, but could I just call for coupons? It only works until nine pm.”

Cashier: “Sure. So, what do I do?”

Me: “I call—“ *pointing to the machine* “—and then you confirm my identity.”

Cashier: “Okay, do that.”

(I try but I see that it’s turned off. He has no idea how to turn it on, so I do it. When it comes to confirming my identity, however…)

Cashier: “So, what now?”

Me: “You look at my ID and hit confirm.”

Cashier: “Can’t you do it?”

Me: “Not really; it has to be you. I can’t confirm my own identity, can I?”

Cashier: “I guess that makes sense.” *hits confirm* “So, what would you like?”

Me: “Menu five, please.”

Cashier: “What comes with menu five?”

Me: “Kebab and fries, and since it’s a student meal it should have soup and salad, too.”

Cashier: “We don’t have any soup or salad.”

(They do; offering a menu with soup and salad is. a requirement for entering the program.)

Cashier: “But I guess I could make something. Uh, it looks like the other guy is not coming back. How much do you owe me?”

Me: *already regretting my decision to eat at this place* “3,30€.”

(Note that without student coupons a combo would cost 7,50€, so I could easily be trying to fleece him, but he doesn’t even question it.)

Cashier: “So, you give me 3.30€?”

Me: “Yes, and you give me a receipt.”

Cashier: “I only know how to do receipts for normal orders. Do you really need it?”

Me: “It’s the law that you have to give me a receipt and I have to take it. I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

Cashier: “Oh, right. But I don’t know how to do that for student coupons.”

Me: *trying to remember how these terminals worked from my old job* “There should be a button saying, ‘student meal,’ or something like that. They’re all the same price regardless of what is being ordered.”

Cashier: “I think I found it. It says 5,93€ for a student meal, but you said 3,30€. Am I doing this right?”

Me: “The government gives 2,63€, so I give you the rest. You should apply the student discount to the meal.”

Cashier: “I see. Sorry about. I’m new here, and I have no idea how the system works. I’m not from Slovenia; I just moved here a month ago.”

Me: “It’s all right. I’m just happy I got my food.”

(The food was all right, but I still don’t understand why would they leave an untrained worker to work alone without even an explanation of how the student coupon system works, especially when that is where most of your revenue comes from!)

Related:
The Couponator 10: Expiration Day
The Couponator 9: The Passive Aggression
The Couponator 8: The Fabric Of Reality

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.)