Me: “Hello there, ma’am, welcome to [store]. Is there anything I can do to assist you?”

Customer: “EXCUSE me, but I have a BOYFRIEND, b****!”

(One day, an older gentleman has a medical issue causing him to lose control of his vehicle. After he loses control, his truck jumps the sidewalk, barrels through our parking lot, and crashes through one of our large windows. There is now gasoline leaking from his car throughout the store, and the crash knocked out the electricity and knocked over a large section of shelving. This conversation happens while they are pulling his truck out of the building.)

Regular: “Are you guys open?”

Me: *looks over at the ambulances, fire truck, and large tow truck, and then at the large truck jutting out from the store* “No, we can’t even enter the store to get our personal items.”

Regular: “Are you sure? I really need my lottery.”

(The older gentlemen was fine besides getting a broken ring and pinky finger, and no customers were in the store besides, luckily, an off-duty EMT.)

(I work alone at the customer service counter, which is on the same elevated platform as the pharmacy. There is a sign with giant letters well over 12 inches tall and wide with the customer service department name over my head, and an identical one over the pharmacy windows. My counter is closer to the middle of the store, while the pharmacy’s main window is on the far right wall, since they have a drive-thru. The pharmacy always has at least two people working, several computers, and shelves upon shelves of prescription medicine, along with the higher strength cold and allergy medicine they hold behind the counter. The customer service counter is only big enough for one person, and it has a lottery machine, scratch-off tickets, a terminal for sending and receiving money, and a postal scale. There’s nothing behind me but a single computer and shelves filled with binders and store supplies. But people don’t pay attention to my surroundings, or the three places it says, “Customer Service,” and they just assume I’m the pharmacy since it’s elevated.)

Customer #1: “I need [OTC Medicine].”

Me: “Oh, sorry, you want the pharmacy. It’s—”

Customer #1: *suddenly pissed* “Isn’t this the pharmacy!?”

Me: *looks over at my lottery machine, postal calculator, and bookkeeping binders* “No. No, it’s not.”

Customer #1: *stalks down to the next window*

(Later that day:)

Customer #2: “Hi, I have this rash, and I’m wondering what you’d recommend—”

Me: “Wait, you want the pharmacy; it’s the far window.”

Customer #2: “I know, but the line is long; can’t you just tell me what I should take?”

Me: “I can’t recommend treatment. I’m sorry.”

Customer #2: “Can’t or won’t? It’s not that hard!”

Me: “So, when you go to a bank, do you ask the security guard to manage your account if the tellers have lines?”

(And the next day I work:)

Customer #3: *says absolutely nothing, just puts down a small scrap of notebook paper with some barely legible numbers on it*

Me: “What is this?”

Customer #3: *stares at me, confused, and just silently points to the scrap paper*

Me: “Sir, what is this for?”

Customer #3: *even more confused, silently puts his finger on the paper again, nudging it closer*

Me: *trying to figure it out, noticing the numbers seem to be in groups of five* “Is this lottery? Money orders?”

Customer #3: *in a barely audible voice* “…prescriptions.”

Me: *a little exasperated* “The pharmacy is the far window; this is customer service.”

Customer #3: *steps back, reads the sign with the twelve-inch letters that say, “Customer Service,” takes his shred of notebook paper, and drifts down the aisle*

(My manager walked in some time during that exchange, and he steps up after the customer has left.)

Manager: “So… this isn’t the pharmacy?”

(I’m currently working at a convenience store and restaurant hybrid. A young woman comes up to the front counter.)

Woman: “Hi. I have an interview at 3:30. I was wondering if they could do it now?”

(It’s currently 12:30, and we’re very obviously in the middle of the lunch rush.)

Me: “I don’t think they’ll be able to, since it’s the lunch rush.”

Woman: “Well, can you check?”

(I go back, leaving a line of people, and ask my manager. She then goes up to the front.)

Manager: “Hello, miss. I’m sorry, but it’s the middle of the lunch rush. If you can come back at 3:30, I can do the interview then.”

Woman: “Can’t you do it sooner than that?”

Manager: “I can do 2:00 pm.”

Woman: “Well, that’s very inconvenient. I’ll be in the dining room when you make time for me.”

(My manager and I shared a look and went back to handling the lunch rush. The woman didn’t get interviewed until after 2:30.)

(I am working third shift in a convenience store. A guy walks in. He looks about 14. He brings a six-pack of beer to the counter.)

Me: “Uh, I need to see your ID.”

(The guy hands me his driver’s license, but he’s shaking so hard from nervousness it’s hard to take it from him. It turns out he’s 16.)

Me: “Sorry, you’re not old enough to purchase this product. Is there anything else I can get for you?”

(I hand him back his ID. The guy slinks out of the store but returns a minute later.)

Guy: “Man, did you keep my ID? Please don’t call the cops! My parents will kill me!”

(I assure him I gave the ID back to him but he is panicking and starts to cry:)

Guy: “Please, man, just give me back my ID.”

(I spent the next five minutes with this sobbing dude looking around the parking lot and inside his car trying to find his ID, trying all along to convince him that I had not confiscated it and called the cops on him. Finally, he reached into his underwear and retrieved the ID. He was so nervous he had missed his pocket and slipped the ID into his waistband. He fled, and I never saw him again.)