After getting a new batch of employees for our convenience store/gas station kitchen a few months ago, the Food Service Manager started putting up signs for the new hires — things like “Make sure the warming cabinet is empty at the end of the night.” Among these signs:

Sign: “If you s*** in the mop station, you get to clean it up.”

I did not ask about that.

I’m in line at a convenience store that is known in my town to have an extremely slow cash register, and they have only one cashier, no matter how busy they are. Processing any transaction takes several minutes. If it weren’t right next door to my work, I would never go there because of the wait times, even when the store is empty.

I’m third in line one day, buying something for lunch, and I overhear the woman at the front say she needs to pay for her items in three transactions. I’m filled with dread because this will cause the ten minutes I expected to wait to take twenty.

Lady: “I need these items [which include some sort of alcohol] in the first transaction.”

Cashier: “Sure. I just need to see ID.”

Lady: “I’m seventy-eight years old! Why do you need to see ID?”

Cashier: “Our system requires me to scan the ID for every restricted purchase. I can not continue the transaction without it.”

Lady: “Oh, okay. Let me look.”

She begins rummaging through her giant purse for her ID. It takes her almost five minutes to find her ID so the cashier can process the transaction. When her order is finished, she throws the card, receipt, and ID into her purse.

Lady: “For the next transaction, I need two packs of [Brand #1] cigarettes and these items.”

The cashier rings everything up.

Cashier: “Okay, I just need to scan your ID again.”

Lady: “But you just saw it. I’m seventy-eight years old. Why do you need it again?”

Cashier: “Because our system requires I scan the ID for every purchase. It doesn’t know that you’re the same person.”

Lady: “Oh, okay, just give me a minute to pull it back out.”

She again starts rummaging through her purse to find the ID she just had. Fortunately, it only takes her about three minutes this time. The cashier finalizes that transaction and gives her her change. The lady slowly counts her change before dumping it into her purse. Then, she decides to organize her shopping bags in the cart before looking over the items around the till.

The man in front of me dumps his items on the floor and storms out. The woman in front of him politely asks if there is another cashier available. The lady checking out doesn’t seem fazed at all by this as she continues to hem and haw over the candy and snacks around the counter.

Eventually…

Lady: “Okay. For the third order, I guess I just need one pack of [Brand #2] cigarettes. None of the snacks are appealing to me right now.”

Cashier: “Sure. I just need to see your ID.”

Lady: “Why do you need to see my ID? I’m seventy-eight years old. We just went over this.”

At this, the woman behind me drops her items onto the unused cash stand and also storms out while the cashier gives the same explanation.

Lady: “Oh, that’s right. You said that, but I’m seventy-eight; I forget things. Just give me a minute to find my ID again.”

After another two minutes of searching for the vanishing ID, she finally pulls it out and the cashier finishes the transaction. The woman does not move after its done but instead begins organizing her purse on the counter.

Cashier: “Is there anything else you need?” 

Lady: “Oh, no, I just thought I should probably put things where I can find them.”

Cashier: “Okay, well, will you move aside so I can help the next customer?”

She motions to the woman in front of me, who holds up her basket but cannot put it on the counter without pushing the old lady out of the way.

Lady: “I’m seventy-eight years old. I don’t do anything fast. You all need to learn to be more patient.” 

The woman that was behind the old lady and has been very polite up to this point loses it.

Lady #2: “Because not everyone is retired and bored. I have a few other errands to run before picking up my kids, and the poor girl behind me is just trying to get something to eat. She is obviously on her lunch break, she looks like she is about to cry, and thanks to you, she probably won’t have time to actually enjoy her food. Now move.”

The lady did move her purse from the counter to her cart and took a few steps before continuing to organize her purse, partially blocking the narrow aisle, but at least we could move around her. The cashier checked out both [Lady #2] and me as quickly as their system allowed.

As I left, after almost forty-five minutes in line, the lady was still organizing her purse.

Our small convenience store’s automatic doors are broken, so we’ve put up signs to inform customers to push the doors open. It’s very cold right now, so having them open all the time is out of the question.

A customer comes up to the door and almost hits it when it doesn’t open automatically. They stare at it for what seems like a long time, and then their eyes finally find the sign. After reading it, they do not make any attempt to open the door, but instead, they start peering through the glass, calling for help.

Me: *Opening the door manually* “Are you all right?”

Customer: “Finally! I’m freezing out here! Why are your doors locked?!”

Me: “They’re… not? The automatic doors aren’t operational right now, so you have to push to enter, but they’re not locked.”

Customer: “You mean I have to—” *sniffs in disgust* “—touch the store?”

They said, “Touch the store,” not, “the door”. I remember that very clearly.

Me: “Yes, you will have to touch the door… that’s part of the store.”

Customer: “No, no, no. I don’t touch the store. Stores are not for touching. You should have an employee manning the door! The employees can touch the store.”

Me: “I will pass that suggestion over to management.”

Customer: “Good. Good. I make too much money to touch the same things you people touch.”

And with that, they marched into the store as if they had just said something totally normal. I totally ignored them when it was time for them to exit through the same door.

I was the store manager at an upscale convenience store. The place was one of the worst I had ever worked for: I hadn’t had a day off in five months due to short staffing issues caused by their ridiculous hiring practices. It also wasn’t uncommon for me to work eighteen-hour days.

My boss, the district manager, was horrible and never helped me. We had a robbery, and he didn’t even bother to ask if I was okay. In fact, I was dragged in for a disciplinary meeting because the robbery happened.

The store’s policy in stated black and white text that we were not to confront robbers and just to comply for our safety — perfectly reasonable. But, of course, [District Manager] decided I needed to be punished for the theft, some way, somehow. As he was ranting about this, that, and the other, something in my head just… clicked. 

He was threatening all sorts of disciplinary actions, from pay cuts to mandatory retraining to loss of raises for the next umpteen years. If you listened to his ranting, you would think I was going to be fired out of a cannon into the sun. As he piled on more and more actions that I would face, I realized that he was very carefully avoiding saying that I would be terminated.

I realized in that second that I had him over a barrel. If he fired me — or if I quit — no one within fifty miles could take over my job. Except him. If I was gone, he would have no choice but to handle all this nonsense by himself.

I had never quit a job in my life before, but this time, I did. I smiled at him. It was not a nice smile. He actually stumbled to a stop at that smile. I stood up, still smiling, dropped my nametag and keys on the desk in front of him, told him very explicitly where he could shove his disciplinary actions and this job, and walked out.

[District Manager] was speechless for several minutes, long enough for me to log out and gather up my things. I closed the door on him yelling my name in the most panicked voice I had ever heard out of anyone, anywhere. My phone was blowing up before I had even closed my car door; he made three frantic calls that I hit “Ignore” on, and he kept calling back the instant it went to voicemail. I paused just long enough to block the store number, and then I left.

Two days after I quit, I got a call at 1:00 am from the alarm company. It was so satisfying to say, “Sorry, I don’t work there anymore. You’ll have to get a new store contact number!” 

I went to visit some of my old coworkers sometime later and they told me stories about how hard it was for [District Manager] to try and do everything I had been — and now he was — doing alone.

[District Manager] had to respond to every alarm for over two months until they got a replacement for me. The staff told me he had been trying to get a hold of me to see if he could negotiate to get me back part-time, with a significant pay raise.

I’ve never laughed so hard in all my life!

I used to work overnights in a middle-of-nowhere convenience store in east Tennessee hill country. People often asked me if I, a woman, was ever worried about being on my own all night. I wasn’t, and this helps to illustrate why.

My significant other (now my wife, but at that time presenting as male) sometimes came to see me during my shift, just to keep me company and pick up a soda or a snack. One night at about 1:30 am, just as my SO arrived, I got hit with one of those inexplicable mini-rushes. Several customers came in, one right after the other. My SO moved to the back of the store to stay out of the way while I was serving them.

The last customer was a middle-aged man, a semi-regular who at least knew me by face if not by name, and vice versa. He was slow during his checkout and frequently looked over his shoulder at my SO, but he didn’t say anything. Finally, he walked out, slowly.

Once he was clear of the door, my SO came back up front, moving quickly out of habit more than anything else. (Some people just don’t move slowly, and my SO is one of them.) Only halfway across the parking lot, my customer stopped, turned around, and started to speed-walk back to the store. He only stopped and actually entered his car to leave when I came around the counter to give my SO a hug.

It was then that I realized what was happening. He was concerned for my safety and thought that this man (as he thought) might be a danger to me, and he was coming back to make sure I was okay!

One thing is true about rural folk: they tend to look out for one another. I never worried about being alone all night, because I knew that my customers (as well as the local sheriff’s deputies) would always look out for me. There’s a lot I don’t miss about that job, but it was always heartwarming to see how much people could care.