(I work in a convenience store. A guy comes in and starts putting on a spare uniform.)

Me: “Sir, that’s for employees only.”

Guy: “I’m the manager here; who the h*** are you?”

Me: “Sir, I’m the manager here.”

Guy: “LISTEN HERE, YOU LITTLE S***! DON’T TRY TO BE SOMETHING YOU’RE NOT!”

Me: “Sir, calm down. Where do you work?”

Guy: *goes outside to check*

Me: *sighs* “Idiot…”

(Years ago, I played in church orchestra with a guy who occasionally packed a gun. His wife said he’d sometimes plop down on a metal folding chair with a clank from the gun. This guy was also pretty small — maybe 5’4″, 163 cm, tall. One day he is going into a convenience store and the clerk is locking the door as he goes in.)

Friend: “What’s going on?”

Clerk: “Dude back there has been shoplifting. I’ve already called the police.”

(My friend pays for his gas, and about that time the crook has found himself locked in. The shouting with the clerk quickly escalates into a knock-down, drag-out fight. My friend just stands next to the popcorn machine in the store and nibbles a little popcorn and watches the fight like it is a show. In the end, the clerk manages to wallop the guy over the head with a bottle and he goes down. The clerk came to my friend:)

Clerk: “Why didn’t you help me?”

Friend: “Why? You looked like you were doing pretty good.”

Clerk: “Yeah, but if I wasn’t, he was coming after you next.”

Friend: *pulling the pistol from his pocket* “No, he wasn’t.”

Clerk: *shocked* “You got a license for that thing?”

Friend: “Nope.”

Clerk: *unlocking the door* “Get out of here before the cops get here!”

(I love crazy people.)

(It is the early nineties when landlines in phone books are still a thing. A young man approaches my register with several cases of beer. I ask for his ID. He opens his wallet and I see that he has more than one ID. He hands me the driver’s license that says that he is 17.)

Me: “Sorry, sweetie, you have about four years before I can sell you this.”

Kid: “Oh, my bad. I gave you the wrong one.”

(He hands me a really bad fake ID that says he’s 22, but he forgets to take his real one back. I take note of his last name and address. After congratulating him on a nice try, I refuse the sale and he goes on his way. I look him up in the phone book and call his mother. I tell her that her son was attempting to buy alcohol with a fake ID. She assures me it will be dealt with. Fast forward thirty minutes: my little con artist’s dad is dragging him into the building by his ear.)

Dad: “Show me what you were trying to buy. And don’t lie, because I’m going to ask the cashier. And you’re going to get a beating for every can you tried to buy.”

(I had never felt so horrible for tattling in my whole life. I lied to the dad and said it was only a single 40-oz. This young man needed to be taught a lesson about underage drinking, but I was afraid he wouldn’t make it out alive if I told the truth.)

(This happens on my way to work. I work in a call center where the dress code is business formal. I normally do a pair of black slacks and a cute but nice shirt. Today I am a bit extra and I am in my tan khakis and a red button-up shirt. I top it with my tan deck shoes and even wear an extra shirt to avoid a panty line showing. I stop at a convenience store for a drink before work, the same cashier that always helps me is there he smiles as I approach, and this happens.)

Cashier: “Hey! You look nice today.”

Me: “Oh, thank you. Yeah, decided to be a bit extra today.”

Cashier: *smirks at me* “So, who are you trying to impress, someone in the office?”

Me: “Pardon? Oh, no, I just wanted to look nice; that is all.”

Cashier: “Oh, well, I was about to say, you spent so much time on the outfit and hair but you didn’t apply any makeup; not going to go far.”

Me: *after handing him the drink* “Can you please ring me up? I need to get to work.”

(I don’t know if it was the tone of my voice, but the rest of the transaction was in silence.)

(I am working third-shift in a convenience store. One night, a somewhat intoxicated woman comes in carrying a handful of sunglasses.)

Woman: “Hi. I need to return these sunglasses.”

Me: “Hello. I can help you with that; I just need to see your receipt to process your refund.”

Woman: “They didn’t give me no receipt! Just give me my money back.”

Me: “No problem; I can reprint your receipt. When did you purchase these items?”

Woman: “Um, Tuesday?”

Me: “Okay, and about what time on Tuesday?”

Woman: “I don’t know; my sister actually bought them… from [another location]. Just give me my money!”

(At this point the customer staggers and knocks over a jerky display.)

Me: *having lost all patience* “Lady, you stole these sunglasses, didn’t you?”

Woman: “Please, just give me my money! I need some money, please!”

Me: *taking the sunglasses and putting them on the back counter* “No, I think I’ll call the police, instead.”

(The woman cussed me out and fled the store. The next day the district manager sent out an email warning about a woman who stole some sunglasses from [other location]. I called him and told him I had them right here with me.)