(I work at a  clothing store that puts plastic sensor tags on many of our items in order to deter theft. They’re taken off by a special magnetic machine at the cash registers, and beep cause the alarms at the door to beep loudly if they cross the doors. I’m ringing at the registers when a woman approaches my till. I greet her and she throws a bagged item at me and glares at me with a look of utmost hatred.)

Customer: The damn sensor tag got left on.

Me: Oh, I’m so sorry about that! Let me just take a look at your receipt and we’ll get that take off right away.

(I pull the item out and see that it’s a denim jacket, then quickly go over the receipt and spot the item. I then go to remove the sensor tag and apologize again.)

Customer: Every f****ing time! I don’t understand why it’s so hard.

Me: Sorry, ma’am. We try really hard to take sensor tags off, but sometimes they get missed. But here, the sensor tag is off now! It’s all yours.

Customer: I need to check for holes! Last time this happened the sensor tag left a big hole in the clothes.

(She then snatches the jacket and goes over it carefully. She  finally spots a tiny scuff in the denim fabric and throws the jacket back at me.)

Customer: See! It’s ruined. I want another one.

Me: Okay… sorry about that. I don’t think that scuff was caused by the sensor tag, but let me see if we can find out another one.

(I have a coworker check the floor and, sure enough, we’re out of the denim jacket she has. I apologize and offer to check another store for her, but she cuts me off.)

Customer: Just give me my damn money back! I want to return it, is that such a hard concept to understand?

Me: I’m sorry, ma’am. You haven’t said anything until now about wanting to return it. But sure, I’ll return it for you.

(I finish up the return, and the woman finally leaves in a huff, much to my relief. I later talked to my manager about it, and it turns out the customer comes in every few weeks, always with a snotty attitude and some huge problem, and nobody is every able to do anything to please her. Glad I’m not the only one!)

(We’re in year 2000 or close. As a teenager, I’m slim and “nicely built” (or so I heard), yet I am VERY modest, especially on the chest area, and my family know it and respect it. I don’t mind girls who wear low-cut clothes, I think it’s really great if they enjoy it and I HATE slut-shaming, yet I’d rather get slapped or punched than showing the slightest part of my “parts”. Up to now most girls and women used to wear swimmer one-pieces on the beach, and I loved it. However, bikinis are coming back into fashion and my mom wants to buy me one of those. I accept, thinking she’ll find me a modestly cut two-pieces or anything that’ll cover everything I want to cover. She makes me try a dozen bikinis on. All of them are too low-cut for my tastes, and the shop assistant (he’s male) is staring.)

Me: “Mom, I don’t feel good in any of those.”

Shop assistant: “Are you sure? Because you look great in ALL of those!”

Me: “I don’t feel good. I’d like to try something more modest, please.”

(The shop assistant comes back with a swimsuit that is even more low-cut than the previous one. I’m running out of patience).

Me: “I’d like to try a one-piece on!”

Mom: “But you look so much better in a bikini!

Me: “Mom, EVERYONE looks good in one-pieces! They hide all the flaws!”

Shop assistant: “Which flaws? Your mom’s right, you have a bikini body!”

Me: “It’s MY body and I want to try a one-piece. I just prefer stuff I can swim with without ever losing the straps.”

Mom: “Try this one on before.”

(I try it. It’s still too low-cut for my tastes.)

Me: “I’d prefer a one-piece.”

Shop assistant: “One-pieces are for grandmothers. Is that what you want to do, looking like a granny? That would be a waste!”

Me: “I’d like something that’s not THAT low-cut, please.”

Shop assistant: “Why? You have beautiful breasts.”

(He’s staring at my cleavage and I’m just a girl. I feel dirty. To all shop assistants who read this, if a customer ever tells you she wants something more modest, just give her something more modest. Don’t make her try sexy things on “for her own good” if she doesn’t want to, especially if she’s a teenager. Prude-shaming is just as wrong as slut-shaming.)

(I am in the middle of a closing shift. It’s already been a long day and I’m exhausted, but it’s the day before Easter and I’m trying to be as cheerful and accommodating as possible. A man comes up to my register with a large transaction, including three fairly expensive dresses; one is half off, but the other two are full price, and different styles and colors. This happens as the receipt is printing.)

Customer: (on his phone) Uh, Miss, my wife says these two dresses are supposed to be fifty percent off.

Me: (inwardly I am groaning, because the transaction is already complete and I think I know what’s going on, but I ask for a price check anyway) No, sir, these prices are correct. Those dresses are full price.

Customer: Then how come this one is half off?

Me: It’s a different style and brand than the other two, so it’s on a different sale.

Customer: My wife says that when she put these on hold last night, they were half price. You guys didn’t even keep the hold, I had to find them all again myself!

Me: (it is clear the customer is becoming agitated, but at this point I am feeling sorry for his wife because it seems like he is directing his anger at her) Oh, I think that might be because they were on our Power Hour special, which ended at 1 this afternoon.

Customer: My wife was told that the sale would be good today.

Me: Well, it was. But it was the power hour. I apologize if the associate she talked with didn’t make that clear, but-

Customer: (interrupts me, glaring) Whatever. We don’t want these dresses then.

Me: Ok, I am sorry about that. Unfortunately, the transaction was already completed and I can’t process returns at the register, but if you’ll just go back to Customer Service, they’ll-

Customer: (now visibly angry) Whatever, we’re keeping this f****** dresses! (ends his phone call) I hope you have a f***** up night! (grabs the dresses and receipt and storms out of the store)

(I am frozen for several moments, but the customer isn’t even out of the building before my face crumples and I start to cry. It is late and I am tired and not at all emotionally ready to handle being treated like that)

Next customer in line: Why, if I was ten years younger, I’d punch that sucker in the mouth!

(My manager sent me to my break then. Later I find out that the wife called back, and evidently my manager found the hold itself at customer service. I still don’t know what that customer’s deal was, let alone where he’d been looking for the hold!)

(I work at a very popular maternity store. It has numerous stores across North America.)

Me: “How can I help you today?”

Customer: “I would like to make a return.”

Me: “Sure, let me see what you have.”

(I pull out an obviously-worn pair of underwear.)

Me: “Umm, there are no tags on these and they are obviously worn. Unfortunately, I will not be able to refund you for these.”

Customer: “Why not? I only wore them for one day and I don’t like how they feel.”

Me: “Ma’am, it is a serious health violation for me to accept this return. I can show you some different options, though.”

Customer: *screams and starts yelling* “Fine! I will never shop here again, and I hope you rot in h***!”

(The customer storms out, and the manager comes out.)

Manager: “What just happened?”

Me: “She tried to return dirty underwear!”

Manager: “Ugh, that’s the fourth this week.”

(I’m in a clothing store at the checkout counter when I overhear this gem of a conversation.)

Cashier: “And did you want to save an extra 25% by signing up for a [Brand] credit card today?”

Customer: *airheaded giggle* “Oh, my husband would kill me if I did that.”

Cashier: *sweetly* “Well, if you put him as an authorized user, he’ll have a [Brand] credit card to use when he gets out of prison!”

(I actually had to duck out of line because I was giggling so hard.)