Customer: “Can I change this ten and two fives for a twenty?”

Me: “Sure.”

He hands me the bills, I check that they’re good, and I hand him back a twenty.

Customer: “Also, can I get a cold Coke?”

Me: “That’s $2.”

I get a cold can from the cooler behind me, and he hands over the twenty to pay. I look at him for a moment before I hand him back the same ten, one of his fives, and then three dollar bills.

Customer: *Taking the can, and the change.* “Thanks!” *Walks away happily.*

CORRECTION: The first sentence has been re-ordered for clarity.

Customer: “Don’t you have any Evian water?!”

Me: “There’s some right there, ma’am.”

She makes an exasperated sigh.

Customer: “Those are the big ones! I wanted the small ones!”

Ah… obviously!

Me: “Let me go check the back. If I can’t find any back there, shall I substitute it for another brand?”

Customer: “I don’t drink anything but Evian because other bottled waters give you cancer.”

Me: “Riiiight. Well, I will try to find the safest hydrogen-oxygen blend we carry.”

I go to check, but unfortunately:

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but it seems we don’t have any of the small Evian bottles left.”

Customer: “What am I supposed to drink?!”

Me: “As you noted, we do have the bigger bottles—”

Customer: “—No! The bigger bottles are where the cancer grows! They have room to move around in the bigger bottles!

She leaves, upset, and I am left there wishing I knew what kinds of YouTube channels she has been watching, as I am in need of some new comedy recommendations!

I walk into a corner shop just in time to hear a manager shouting at the young guy working behind the counter:

Manager: “You must like being on the bottom in the bedroom because the only thing you can do is f*** up!” 

The young guy swore back and stormed out, and I totally forgot what I went in there for in the first place…

I work in a small corner shop in a rural village (nearest big city is Glasgow). Our stock is usually just for the essentials. A guy who has moved to the village in the last few months (and complained every time) comes in and asks:

Customer: “I want ten [Lottery scratchcard games].”

Me: “Sorry, but we don’t have any of that particular game. We haven’t received any deliveries from the lottery guys in a while.”

Customer: “That’s f****** typical! This shop never has anything I need!”

Me: “We’re just a small rural shop, sir, so our stock doesn’t really match the bigger stores in town. We do have [other scratchcards], just not that particular one.”

Customer: “No, I’m fed up with this. Get your manager from the back. I know she’s back there! I’ve had issues like this for weeks, and I’m done with it!”

My manager was indeed in the back, but she was already walking out to the front after hearing this guy’s familiar shouting.

Customer: “You! Why do you even manage this useless shop! It never has—”

Manager: “—then drive twenty miles into town and shop there! We’re not f****** Costco, and we don’t pretend to be. Next time, come in with reasonable expectations, you f****** white crayon!”

Customer: *Confused.* “White… crayon?”

An older lady customer, who had been standing to the side of the shop looking at the small selection of birthday cards, chimes in:

Other Customer: “She’s callin’ you useless, you f****** tube.”

Customer: “This… f******… place!” 

He slams his fists on the counter and storms out. The other customer calmly selects her birthday card, and my manager checks her out, having a chat.

Other Customer: “I’d have called him a third nostril myself.”

Manager: “A waterproof teabag.”

Other Customer: “A paper umbrella.”

They got progressively cruder and more savage as they went (too crude to repeat), but whatever they did worked, as maybe he did start going to the Costco in Glasgow, as he’s never darkened our doors since.

Related:
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 10
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 9
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 8
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 7
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 6

I work at a chain convenience store.

A few years ago, it was Mother’s Day, and my grandparents had a reservation for a buffet at an event hall. It’s a holiday, so everybody works for four hours. Despite our reservation being at 1 PM, my grandpa is insistent about leaving early and is in my store’s parking lot fifteen minutes before my shift is set to end at 12:30.

After trying to bide my time to finish my shift and a few texts and a phone call, I decide I’d better go. I am with a pretty new coworker.

Me: “Hey, I’m going to check the cups and counter, and then I have to leave. [Coworker #2] comes in at 12:30. Do you think you can handle a few minutes by yourself?”

Coworker #1: “Yeah, sure. Go ahead. I should be fine.”

I fixed the cups and left at 12:20 PM. I go back into the store later that afternoon. [Coworker #2] is still working.

Coworker #2: “Well. You have some gall showing up around here after what you did to that poor girl.”

Me: *Confused.* “What?”

Coworker #2: “Yeah, when I came in, the place was a mess, cups were empty, nothing was done.”

Me: “That makes no sense. She was here by herself for less than ten minutes. What time did you come in?”

Coworker #2: “12:55.”