(I work in a small convenience store that is family-owned. We’re located out in the country, so most of our customers also live in the country or are families traveling. We get a lot of teenagers that think that, since we’re out of town, we don’t hold up rules as in-town stores would. A very young-looking man comes up to the counter with a case of beer.)

Customer #1: “I need this and [Snuff Brand].”

Me: “Sure thing. May I see an ID?”

Customer #1: *looking shocked* “What? Don’t I look 21?”

Me: “I’ll be honest; you look 15. But either way, I have to ID everyone that looks under 40.”

Customer #1: “Well… uh… I don’t have my ID on me, but it doesn’t matter. It’s not for me. It’s for my grandpa. He’s in a wheelchair and can’t drive.”

Me: “Well, I’m sorry, but even if it’s not for you, I can’t sell to you.” *I take the case of beer and put it behind me to restock later* “Again, sorry. Have a good night.”

(He stammers, trying to find an excuse, but walks back out to his truck and just sits there, talking to anyone that passes by him. Then, a regular of mine comes in after the boy stops him. He grabs the same type of beer and comes to the counter.)

Customer #2: “Can I also get [Snuff Brand]?”

Me: “Sorry, I saw that boy talk to you after failing to show ID for these same things, so I’m going to have to refuse today. I don’t think either of us want to go to jail.”

Customer #2: “All right, no problem. See you later.”

(A couple hours go by and another young man comes in and walks straight to my counter.)

Customer #3: “Can I get [Cigarette Brand]?”

Me: “Do you have an ID?”

Customer #3: *with a confident smile* “Oh, it’s not for me. It’s for my grandpa back home.”

Me: *jokingly* “Let me guess. He’s in a wheelchair and can’t drive.”

Customer #3: “Yeah! How’d you know?”

Me: *long pause* “Without a legal ID, I can’t sell to you. Sorry, have a good night.”

(He leaves, looking defeated, but I notice he is in the same truck as [Customer #1]. It’s now an hour before closing. A police officer is chatting with me and just hanging out to make sure I’m all right as I shut everything down. He generally stands off around the side to stay out of the way, which in turn means he’s not usually noticed right away. A truck pulls in. It’s the one the boys were in earlier. I quickly give the officer an overview of what’s been going on. Then, yet another young man exits the truck, comes in, and walks to my counter.)

Customer #4: “I need a [Snuff Brand] and a case of [Beer]. It’s for my grandpa; he can’t drive himself here.”

Me: *mentally beating him already* ” Do… you… have… an ID?”

Customer #4: “Yup. Here you go.”

(I take the ID. And he looks similar to the picture, but enough to look like a brother. But it’s also law to have the person state their age aloud as a precaution when checking ID. According to the year on the ID, he should be 25.)

Me: “All right, can you state your age?”

Customer #4: “…23?”

Me: “All right… Obviously you and your friends think I’m stupid. All of you have come in here trying to buy alcohol or tobacco, and to make it worse, I keep getting the same story of a sick grandfather. Now you bring me a fake ID. I can’t confiscate this, but you or your friends come in here again tonight, I’m sure a police officer would love to hear about how badly an old man in a wheelchair needs a beer. Have a good night.”

Customer #4: “I don’t know what you’re talking about! That’s not a fake ID! You just can’t do math! That’s probably why you work here and not at a real job, you dumb b****! Now sell it to me or I’ll get you fired!”

(The police officer now steps around the corner to be clearly seen.)

Officer: “Hi. Maybe I can help?”

(He bolted out so quickly he hit his face on the door because he was running faster than it would open. The officer told me later that he was arrested after he tried the same thing at a different store, became unruly, and refused to leave without his beer. Nights like that make me so happy that I’m about to finish school and that my job field will not include entitled con ”artists.”)

Related:
No ID, No Idea, Part 34
No ID, No Idea, Part 33
No ID, No Idea, Part 32

(My twin sister and I are working at our father’s store along with our aunt who just started working there. We’re talking about customers and dumb “twin questions.”)

Me: “The worst ones are the over-dramatic questions. Like, ‘Whoa, I thought I was seeing double!'”

Twin: “Yeah, and they’ll add, ‘And I haven’t even started drinking today!’ They all think they’re so original.”

Aunt: “I can see how that can get very annoying.”

(As if on cue, as customer enters the store and sees my twin and me.)

Customer: “Oh, my God, are you guys twins?”

Me & Twin: *nods*

Customer: “And I thought I was seeing double! Wow, I haven’t even started drinking yet! Haha!”

Twin and Aunt: “…”

Me: “Oh, come on. He had to have heard us from outside… Right?”

(I don’t smoke, but I’m heading over to the home of an adult friend who does. They ask me to pick up a couple packs of cigarettes on the way. They tell me exactly what type they want, but I unfortunately forget almost as soon as I hang up the phone. No matter; I know what the cigarettes LOOK like, and the brand, so I figure I won’t have any issues getting them.)

Me: “I’d like two packs of [Brand] 100s, long.”

Cashier: *picks up two packs of cigarettes in a red package*

Me: “Oh, no, I’m sorry. I meant the ones in the gold package.”

Cashier: “Lights?”

Me: “Uh… Sure?”

(The cashier picks up two packs that are blue instead of red.)

Me: “No, I’m sorry, the gold ones.”

(I point at the clearly visible gold ones, just under the red and blue. The cashier puts back the blue ones, and picks up the red ones again; he seems to be laughing at me not knowing what to call them.)

Me: “No, no, the gold ones, there.” *points again*

Cashier: “Oh, you mean the Turkish ones.” *finally picks up gold pack*

(I’m walking by a small corner store not far from where I live. I see someone get kicked out for not wearing shoes or socks, as it “breaks the health code.” This upsets me, as there is no health code violation for being barefoot absolutely anywhere. I talk to the person and bring them back in, as there is no sign forbidding it, and there is no health code entry for it. I take my shoes off, as well, to help defend the argument.)

Employee: “Didn’t I just tell you to leave?! And now you brought another one?! Get out of this store!”

Me: “Actually, I came to inform you that you are discriminating. There is no health code violation anywhere in all 50 states saying you can’t be barefoot in a store, and there is no sign stating that there is a dress code violation. I’d like to see your manager on behalf of [Person].”

(The manager comes out and we explain what happened.)

Manager: “I’m having trouble seeing the big deal here.”

Employee: “It’s simple! You can’t just walk around outside without shoes! Your feet get all dirty, and its bad!”

Manager: “That’s not true at all. I barely ever wear shoes outside of work, and the only reason I wear them here is that there could be sharp things on the floor, since you don’t do your job at keeping the floors clean!”

(The employee gets flustered, and started looking embarrassed.)

Manager: “As long as you guys promise not to hold us accountable for any foot-related injuries you may obtain, I’m fine with it.”

Employee: “God, you people are a sin!” *runs out of store*

Manager: “God, I hope he quits. I do not want to send him a severance check.”

(I am a clerk at a local mom-and-pop gas station and convenience store. A couple with a young child walks into the store after I’ve already cleaned out our warmer of prepared food items, as we do when it’s late in the shift.)

Man: “So, no food?”

Me: “Not in the warmer, no, but we do have sandwiches in the cooler.”

Man: “Aw, but I wanted something hot!”

Me: “Well, we have a microwave you are welcome to use to heat up any of the sandwiches.”

Man: “Don’t you know those things give you cancer?”

Me: *under my breath* “So, just stand back, then.”

Man: “Never mind.” *turns to woman* “Do we need any cigarettes today?”

Me: “…” *blinks*