A semi-regular customer comes to the counter to buy cigarettes. He has three portion cups of ranch dressing from our condiment station. He doesn’t have any food, so I put in a fifty-cent charge for the dressing and he immediately becomes hostile.

Customer: “You’re charging me for ranch? They never charge me for ranch!”

Me: “Condiments are provided with food from the deli. Unfortunately, prices are high these days and we can’t just give them away for free.”

Customer: “Oh, really? I spend thousands of f****** dollars here, dumb f***!”

It’s possible that he’s racked up $500 in purchases over the past couple of years.

Me: “Okay, I think you need to leave now.”

Customer: “I need my f****** cigarettes first!”

Me: “This dumb f*** isn’t serving you. Please leave.”

Customer: “Fine! And you can have your f****** ranch.”

He sweeps the cups off the counter and they splatter on the floor.

Me: “Uh… yeah, don’t come back in here again.”

Customer: “Oh, I will be back. I’m coming back in the morning to talk to your boss about this, you dumb f****** skank!”

Me: “Don’t worry; I’ll let her know.”

When I filled my boss in, she said she really hopes he does come to talk to her, so she can tell him he can find another place to get free stuff and abuse the staff. So far, we haven’t heard from him, but there is now a sign next to the condiments with a price of fifty cents per cup without a food item.

I’m filling in at a sister store in a neighboring college town. The staff has gotten lax with following certain laws, which is actually the reason why it is necessary for me to fill in. I go through variations on this theme all night, but this is one of the weirdest encounters.

Customer: “Hey, can I get a pack of cigars?”

Me: “Sure. ID, please?”

Customer: “I left it at home. Maaan, you’re gonna make me walk all the way home to get my ID?”

Me: “Unfortunately, yes. But we’re open twenty-four hours, so we’ll be here.”

Customer: “Man, what? I come here like three times a day!”

Me: “Have you ever seen me before?”

Customer: “No, you must be new. Get me somebody else who knows what they’re doing.”

Me: “Sorry, I’m the only person here right now. And if you’ve never seen me before, then how would I know who you are?”

The customer is silent for a split second, and he then makes a fist and raises it… to show me his forearm.

Customer: “But look at my tattoo! It says 1999!”

Me: “That’s very nice, but it’s not a valid ID. I’ll see you in a bit!”

His extra walk gave him time to cool off, and he was almost pleasant when he actually did return later with his ID.

Prices of cigarettes have gone up, and one particular chain-smoking customer isn’t having it.

Customer: “Why did you put the prices up?!”

Me: “It wasn’t me, sir! I just work here.”

Customer: “You’re a useless whore, and I hope you die alone!”

Wow, this guy really needs his cigarettes.

Customer: “Well?! What do you have to say to that?!“

Me: “Sir, I refuse to enter a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent. Either buy your cigarettes or f*** off.”

He f***ed off.

Related:
Tobacco-No-No

I used to work in a convenience store in the middle of the high street. The self-checkouts were often too complicated for the customers. The most common conundrum was the fact that the machine told people to put the item they just scanned “in the bag”. By this, it meant the bagging area, which used a pressure sensor to confirm the items, and where there was a little hook we used to hang the plastic bags from until the 5p charge came along and people kept taking them but not paying for them.

I was always surprised by the sheer number of times a customer would be standing there yelling, “I did put it in the bag!” while holding the bag in their hand. People, the machine isn’t sentient and it can’t see you!

The coin and cash slots confused people, too. The slot for notes was as you’d imagine, but for the coins, there was a kind of well next to the screen with a little conveyor where you were supposed to drop the coins. The belt dragged them into the machine and change was dispensed into a tray underneath.

Some genius let their kid try and push a £1 coin into the cash slot, which I then had to pry out with a pen and a pair of tweezers.

Not many of these idiots were ever appreciative, or apologetic. The worst was this woman, who stood there holding her items instead of putting them in the bagging area as I fixed the issue. I finished up and turned to get back to work, as it was the lunch rush.

Customer: “No, don’t go anywhere. You might need to help me again!”

I work an overnight shift at a convenience store. In my state, the lottery terminals shut themselves down at midnight and aren’t accessible for anywhere between one and three hours. Retailers have no control over it.

A would-be customer comes in shortly after midnight with a scratch ticket to be checked.

Me: “I’m sorry, but the lottery system isn’t available right now, so I can’t check any tickets yet.”

Customer: “What? Are you f****** serious? Just scan it.”

Me: “I can’t sign into the lottery machine until it lets me.”

Customer: “So I drove all this way, and I can’t even get my money?”

Me: “I can try it and see if it’s finished with its nightly update yet.”

I do so, and it gives me an error message.

Me: “It’s not working yet. All I can tell you is to come back in an hour or so and I can try again.”

Customer: “What the f***? I just want to buy a pack of cigarettes!”

They stomp out the door muttering.

Half an hour later, the person returns and tosses their scratch ticket across the counter at me.

Customer: “Now can you check this?”

Me: “I can try, but I’m not making any promises.”

I step over to the machine and start the login process. While I’m doing this, the customer continues.

Customer: *In a snotty, sarcastic tone* “Yeah, you’d better. I’d appreciate it if you could make an effort to do your job and just f****** scan the d*** ticket.”

I log into the machine and, hey, what do you know, it’s allowing me to cash tickets. However, at this point, I am not willing to do so.

Me: “D***, sorry. It’s not going to be ready for a couple of hours. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

Another theatrical stomp-out ensued. I did not see them again. I was not sorry.