(A customer comes up to the counter. He’s a man in his twenties, kind of rugged-looking, and is wearing a t-shirt with a popular sports logo on it. He puts a pink shirt, a star-shaped stencil, a can of yellow fabric spray paint, and a huge pink plastic gem on the counter. Being a massive fan of the cartoon “Steven Universe,” I immediately recognize these items as key components for making a cosplay of the main character. Since it’s rare to find fellow Steven Universe fans in my age group, especially fellow guys, I decide to strike up a conversation regarding the show.)

Me: “So, are you excited for the new Steven Universe episode tonight?”

Customer: *looks startled and a bit embarrassed* “Wh-what? No, no way, man. That show’s for kids. This is for, uh, my little sister.”

(Note that the shirt is an adult large. I don’t want to embarrass the guy, so I go along with it.)

Me: “Oh, okay.”

(As I finish ringing him up, his cell phone goes off… and his ringtone is the “Steven Universe” theme song. The guy’s face goes scarlet, and he scrambles to power his phone off.)

Me: *smiles in what I hope is a reassuring way* “No judgement, dude. I’m as big a fan as your ‘sister.’ Enjoy!”

(I’m in the stockroom with my coworker, opening boxes. It’s not going as quickly as I hoped it would, with only two of us working most of the day. It’s also been raining all day, and he only has maybe 30 minutes left of his shift, whereas I still have over an hour.)

Me: “Are we done yet?”

Coworker: “No.”

Me: “Ugh, I’m not going to be able to finish these by myself.”

Coworker: “Nah, you can do it.”

Me: “Not unless I get struck by lightning and become The Flash. I’d finish in, like, 30 seconds.”

Coworker: “Well, there are a bunch of metal rods over there. You could go stand outside for a while.”

Me: *makes a face* “I forgot; there was also a particle accelerator explosion. I can’t be Flash.”

(No matter how many times I’ve wished I were The Flash, it just doesn’t seem possible — let alone safe. Sigh.)

(I work at a large national chain craft store at the cutting counter, which is at the back of the store. I’m cutting some fabric for a customer when another woman storms up to the counter.)

Customer: “Excuse me!”

Me: “Can I—”

Customer: “Is there anyone else who can ring?! There’s a huge line and one cashier!”

(I’m well aware that two of our three cashiers are up front at the registers. One is on break, for which she was about an hour overdue. Our manager, who would have jumped on, is helping a very needy customer elsewhere. I call over the radio anyway, and, as suspected, they’re both currently at their tills.)

Me: “Ma’am, two of our cashiers are up there right now.”

Customer: “No! There’s only one!”

Me: *sighing and reaching for my radio* “I have a lady back here who’s adamant that there’s only one of you.”

Coworker: “No, [Coworker] and I are both up here. I’m looking at her.”

Me: “Ma’am, they’re saying they’re both—”

Customer: “THERE. IS. ONLY. ONE. CASHIER.”

Me: “Be that as it may, they’re both saying that they’re there, and our only other cashier is on her break at the moment, so no one else is available.”

Customer: *yelling* “Then take her off break!”

Me: “Ma’am, that’s illegal.”

(She stormed back towards the front and apparently out of the store, according to one of the TWO cashiers. I know it’s not necessarily illegal to work through a mandated 15-minute break, but it’s certainly rude to demand someone leave theirs when the line isn’t even all that long!)

(I have worked at the fabric counter in a fabric and craft store for about four months. This conversation happens in May:)

Customer: “Is that two yards?”

Me: “Yes.”

Customer: “Okay. It’s just that you’re new—”

Me: “I’ve been working back here since February.”

Customer: “Oh. I don’t come in that often.”

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(We are the customers in this story. My husband and I are rushing to pick up some last minute props for our maternity photoshoot. We are next in line behind an older lady with a very unhappy look on her face.)

Cashier: *politely* “Receipt in the bag okay for you, ma’am?”

Customer: *abruptly* “NO! It is absolutely not okay!”

(She then goes on to mumble into her purse as she slowly folds the receipt, about how everything in the store was horrible; it was too crowded, and the music was too loud. It is 10:30 am on a Saturday, there is barely anyone in the store, and you can barely hear the soft music.)

Cashier: “Have a nice day!”

(The customer waves her off and stomped away.)

Me: “Well, that was different.”

Husband: “And you stayed smiling the entire time! How did you manage that?”

Cashier: “Oh, you wouldn’t believe the things we see in here sometimes.”

(There are some individually-wrapped chocolates at the cash register. I pick one up and add it to the pile, intending to surprise the cashier with it. My husband then picks it up and makes like he’s unwrapping it.)

Me: “NO! Put that back. It’s not for you; it’s for this nice girl for dealing with that horrible lady and keeping a smile on her face.”

Cashier: “Oh, thank you so much!”

(She brightened considerably and looked a little happier as we leave. Hubby still couldn’t believe how rude the lady was. Sadly, having been a bartender, I can totally believe it.)