My well-to-do aunt has ended up in the hospital. I’m the only family member who lives in the same city as her, so I step in to help her in every way I can. She has given me $500 to buy anything she needs, so I’m in a high-end clothing store holding a pair of men’s pyjamas pants — the only thing that will fit over the cast she has on her foot.

There is a man at the counter being served with a very complicated order. The woman helping him has to open a mountain of packages individually and scan the contents. Another man is standing in line and a woman comes off the floor to help him. He pays quickly and leaves, but so does the woman who helped him. I had taken his spot next in line, and it’s late at night so the man at the counter and I are the only two customers in the store, so it’s obvious that I’m ready to pay and go.

The floor woman floats back and forth from the floor to behind the counter, very careful to not make eye contact with me. I wait for far too long, and the sixth time she goes behind the counter and walks away again, I drop the pyjamas, making her look over at the sudden movement. When she looks over at me, I scoop up my planned purchase, lock eyes with her, and take two big steps to stand in front of the counter where she’d helped the other man.

With a rather discreet eye roll, she steps back behind the counter and takes the pants to scan them, but I walk away — past the first woman still working on the complicated order, who looks so apologetic, even though none of the events were her fault.

I go across the road to a lower-end store and buy a similar pair, pulling off the tagging and “losing” the receipt so my aunt doesn’t know it is a cheaper brand.

To be honest, I came from work, so I wasn’t dressed to the level that might be expected in that store, but I make some decent cash myself and have been known to shop there for my needs. I find it amusing to Pretty Woman them sometimes, standing in jeans and a band shirt and dropping $5,000 for some stuff I want, but I was stressed with my aunt’s injuries and wasn’t going to put up with their attitude this time.

We have a live chat message come through from America with the following question.

Customer: “Hi, I’m a size thirty-six-inch waist… but that’s US size. Can you tell me what size in English inches I need?”

Related:
A Stupid Call By Any Metric, Part 2
A Stupid Call By Any Metric

I work at a ladies plus-size clothing retailer. A man suddenly runs up behind my counter.

Man: “Where’s your till?”

Me: “I’m sorry, what?”

Man: “Where’s your till? Gimme your money!”

I’m slowly approaching but I’m too derp to register what’s happening.

Me: “My till? But we’ve not made any money today.”

Man: “Oh… Well, really?”

I’m beginning to realise what’s happening.

Me: “Er, yup, bad day for sales today.”

Man: “Oh, but it’s my hood.”

Me: “Yup… still, no money. Sorry.”

Man: “Oh, all right, sis. I’ll let you off this time.”

He fist-bumps me.

Man: “What about this week? Any sales?”

Me: “Yup, but that money’s already in the bank.”

Man: *Nodding sympathetically* “Oh, yeah, rent’s not cheap these days.”

He looks up.

Man: “I like that dress for my mum… How much?”

I tell him the price, and he enquires about the price of four more dresses. Finally, he’s walking out the door.

Man: “All right, sis, I’ll let you off this time. Bye!” 

Me: “Bye!”

I dove on the phone to call security!

I’m ringing a customer’s items up when she hands me a [High-End Designer] shirt.

Customer: “This shirt doesn’t have a tag but it’s $10.99.”

Me: “I highly doubt that since it’s a [High-End Designer] shirt, but I can look it up for you in the system.”

I look up the item via a generic list of codes we have at the register and it says it’s $20.99.

Customer: “I’m not going to pay that much; that isn’t the correct price.”

Me: “That’s fine. I will look on the floor for something similar.”

Customer: “I looked already; you’re not going to find anything!”

I go onto the floor, and sure enough, I find the same item in a different color. While heading back to the register, I watch as the customer takes a tag from her hoodie pocket and places it between the clothes like it was there this whole time.

Me: “The shirt is $24.99.”

Customer: “No, it’s not.”

To humor her, I take her random tag and scan it to show her it isn’t the real tag and continue to ring up her items. She looks confused at the total.

Customer: “I thought the shirt was $20.99? You looked it up in the computer.”

Me: “No, ma’am, it is $24.99. That’s a generic code to use if I cannot find the item. I wanted to make sure you got the right price.”

She sighed, paid for her items, and left.

Related:
Shirty With The Truth, Part 2
Shirty With The Truth

I work as a supervisor at a used clothing store. I process items being brought in and I am a cashier, as well, being in charge in lieu of a manager.

I’m ringing through an older man in his fifties.

Me: “Just to let you know, this item is included in our 70%-off clearance and will be final sale. The return policy is on your receipt, as well! Have a great night.”

He thanks me and leaves. About forty-five seconds after he walks out the door, I hear it chime to let someone in and greet them.

Me: “Hey, good evening. Just so you know we close in twenty—”

Customer: “I need to return this jacket you sold me; it’s destroyed.” 

Me: “Oh, well, actually, sir, that was the item that was discounted. If you see the marked tag, we aren’t able to return those, sorry.”

Customer: “But it’s ripped under the arm and I don’t want it.”

Me: “I do apologize, but that is most likely why it ended up in our clearance section.”

It was discounted down to $7, it’s name brand, and it could be fixed at a tailor.

Customer: “This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. This is fraud. You didn’t tell me I couldn’t return this! You’re ripping me off!”

Me: “I’m really sorry if you feel that way, but if you look at the receipt, it does say that the return policy is only on regular-priced items and not on things on sale. Since it’s been paid for, there really isn’t anything I can do to give you any money back. I can give you the email for the store owners if you’d like to discuss it with them further.”

Customer: “What do you mean, on sale? Isn’t everything on sale if I can f****** buy it? Where’s the manager? You’re obviously too stupid to be a manager. I want to talk to a man. Where is he?”

My very female manager, who is only in her twenties, walks over and interjects.

Manager: “Hi, I’m the store manager, actually. I couldn’t help but overhear, and, unfortunately, as my coworker told you just now, we aren’t able to give you a refund.”

She hands him a paper with the business email address.

Manager: “Thanks for coming in tonight. I hope your next experience is better. Sorry we can’t be of more assistance but maybe you should come back when you’re calmer.”

The customer’s face turns noticeably red.

Customer: “Well, I’ll guess I’ll be leaving you a Facebook review when I get home! This is unbelievable.”

He leaves and my manager just looks at me, laughs, and says:

Manager: “I only came over because I knew it would make him uncomfortable enough to leave. You handled that well. He was mean.”

He also never left a review and never emailed the owner.