I’ve worked a lot of retail jobs and therefore have had a lot of last days where I could have potentially gotten away with saying something to a deserving customer that I normally would have held back because ‘customer service.’ Sadly, every last day I have had hasn’t presented that opportunity to me… until now. 

I’m folding shirts near the fitting rooms on my last day at the clothing shop when a man comes out wearing a dress shirt from our rack, clearly annoyed.

Customer: “This says ‘slim fit,’ but it’s tight through the chest.”

Me: “Slim fit tends to taper more through the torso. We’ve got a regular fit version of that same style if you’d like to compare.”

Customer: “No, the label’s wrong. This is mislabelled. I’ve worn a large for twenty years.”

Me: “Yes, sir, but sizing can vary a bit depending on brand and cut.”

Customer: “No, I know my size. Shirts don’t just stop fitting.”

Me: “Actually, they can, especially if the brand updated their sizing chart.”

Customer: “Or maybe your company just doesn’t know how to make clothes properly! Then again, I don’t know what else to expect from your brain-rot generation these days… you’re running once-proud companies into the ground!”

He says this while clearly straining the buttons on the shirt.

Me: “Sir, I can assure you the label’s accurate; the question is whether it still applies.”

Customer: “Are you calling me fat?!”

Me: “No, sir, but maybe you’ve moved up a generation?”

Manager was called, an XL was suggested (fit him just fine), and I got a slap on the wrist before we all drank at my leaving party that night.

Customer: “This flag shirt doesn’t have a discount tag, but it should be half off! It’s for Independence Day!”

Me: “Ma’am, I respect your patriotism, but the holiday apparel is not part of the sale.”

Customer: “I’m doing my country a service by wearing this!”

She tries to walk out with it! It takes me a moment to register the audacity before I shout to the security guy at the entrance. She’s stopped just past the door.

Security: “Ma’am, you need to pay for that.”

Customer: “No! I am doing my patriotic duty! Americans should not have to pay to wear the flag!”

Security: “Ma’am, freedom doesn’t come free. Give me the shirt, or pay for it.”

Customer: *Throwing the shirt on the ground and stomping off.* “You’re all un-American!”

Security: “Says the person throwing the ‘flag’ on to the ground.”

Customer: “I need to return this.”

I scan the item and check the receipt.

Me: “Madam, this purchase is from three years ago. Our return policy is thirty days.”

Customer: “I couldn’t bring them back! I had surgery on my hand!”

I lean over the counter and look down at her feet.

Me: “Were your feet broken, too?”

The customer huffs and turns heel, but gives me the middle finger on the way out.

Me: “Your hands seem fine, too!”

I’m working the register when a well-dressed guy and three women walk in, each takes a cart, and starts walking around and picking things out.

I was known for my no BS attitude on the register; you throw money at me, give me attitude, I’ll do it right back to you. When a coordinator comes to me thirty minutes later and asks me to take the dude and his girls on my register, I already know we’re in for a fun time.

They rolled up with these three carts FULL of clothes and not just any stuff, we’re talking shoes and boots that cost $300-$800, expensive handbags, coats, and more. So they walk up, I start scanning, all the while these ladies are being unpleasant. Finally, I get through it all, and the total comes up to about $3,000. The dude reaches into his fly-a** coat and pulls out a wad of cash, all crisp $100 bills. 

Immediately, I know something is off, so I take the money and go to the machine to check it: First bill, doesn’t pass, neither does the second, so I turn back around and tell the dude I can’t take the money. Before I even get a chance to fully explain, one of the women cuts me off and tells me:

Customer: “Take the f****** money and do your d*** job!”

Me: “You know what? You got it, let me get the manager so he can help.”

At our discretion, we can decline a form of payment, say, if two of your cards get declined? Gotta use cash, your cash doesn’t pass? Gotta use a card or we can just tell you to f*** off, but if we suspect you’re using fake money, we have to try and keep you there while we get the cops.

I went to my manager, cash in hand, and told him what’s up. He goes to the office and checks the money. Now the dude is nervous, but just imagine his pants when two cops walk in and head straight for us, his horrified face made my day.

The cops take my statement, and next thing you know, all four of them are getting arrested, while one of the ladies is screaming and cursing at me, while I tell her in the most innocent voice I can pull off:

Me: “You told me to do my job!”

I worked in a shoe repair store that was part of a much larger shoe store back in the 90s. I’m tucked way in the back, in the basement, but I can also work sales and sell new shoes. I’m behind the counter when a customer walks in holding a very worn-out pair of loafers.

Customer: “Hi, I was wondering if these can be, well, brought back to life.”

I examine the shoes.

Me: “Well… the soles are separating, the stitching’s blown out, and the heel’s worn down to the metal. How long have you had them?”

Customer: “About ten years. I walk a lot.”

Me: “They’ve definitely seen some miles.”

Customer: “Be honest, is this fixable?”

Me: “Have you ever read Frankenstein?”

Customer: *Excited.* “I saw the movie! Oh…” *Getting it.* “Oh… wait… oh no.”

Me: “Yeah…”

I helped him pick out a new and hardy pair of shoes ideal for his active walking lifestyle.

Me: “If you want two pairs, we’re doing buy-one-get-one-half-price on this particular brand at the moment.”

Customer: “Could I get one for my wife?”

Me: “Yes! This style comes in women’s sizing, too.”

Customer: “Cool! I’ll get one for her, too!”

His eyes light up.

Customer: “I’ll call them Bride of Frankenstein!”

I gave him a little extra discount for that.