This happened back in 2014 when I managed a small, locally-owned vape shop.

It’s been a long day, and my employee and I are cleaning up to close when the door opens. In walks this guy with a swagger the likes of which I will never forget. He’s clutching a brown paper bag and a small pair of pruning shears, holding these tight to his chest as if his life depends on their safety. As soon as he approaches the glass display cases, my employee and I both look at each other. We know that swagger: meth.

It’s hard to describe to someone who hasn’t been face-to-face with someone like this, but there’s this specific crab-walk they do when looking at things lower than torso height — dramatically bent knees, legs out to the sides, bouncing from side to side like a crustacean on a lethal dose of caffeine. [Guy] is looking through our product cases, crab-walking across them, pointing at random items, and repeating, “WAZZAT?! WAZZAT?! HOWMUCHIZZAT?! GIMMEDAT!”

I know better than to confront these people; they’re volatile and unpredictable. I keep my business face on and try to get through this ordeal as professionally as possible. He chooses a lanyard (for an old-style vape pen, clearly useless for him), and we go to the register. We’re watching this guy’s every little movement. My employee (relatively recently released from prison for, of all things, drug charges) is tense; he’s ready to fight.

And then, the reason for the visit was revealed. I know the hundred-dollar bill is a fake as soon as he pulls it out of the brown paper bag, but I play along and don’t immediately call him out. I do my normal big bill check, holding it up against the light to see a missing watermark and security strip. (We didn’t use counterfeit pens; that’s another story). Of course, it’s a fake.

Me: “Sorry, I can’t take this.” *Hands back the bill*

Guy: “WHY NOT?!”

Me: “It’s a fake.”

Guy: *Visibly enraged* “HOW DO YOU KNOW?!”

Me: “No security features; it’s fake.”

The guy points the pruning shears at me like a knife.

Guy: “YOU WANNA SHOW ME A REAL ONE?!“

And that’s when I drop the mask. I break; this is too absurd. I can’t help but laugh in the face of this clearly deranged person. What is he going to do? Trim me and enter me into his neighborhood’s prettiest lawn contest?

Me: *Snorting with laughter* “No?”

He waves the pruning shears around… threateningly? 

Guy: “WELL, YOU’RE A F****** LIAR, THEN!”

He stomped away like a petulant child, kicking over an innocent trash can on his way out the door. We never saw him again, but legends say he’s still trying to get change for that fake Benjamin.

I work in a store that sells electronics and tech. I had a woman come in who tried to return an opened box of software. We didn’t allow returns on those because of the ease of copying them and just getting your money back after.

I tried to explain the policy to her, but she wasn’t having it. 

Customer: “It’s not my fault that my computer can’t run the software!”

Me: “Ma’am, on every program we sell, it says what operating system the program is compatible with, as well as what components your computer needs to have to be able to handle it. It is your job to check those and not buy programs that don’t fit with your system.”

Customer: “I would like to speak to a manager.”

That, of course, failed. The manager told her the exact same thing I had.

Customer: “Fine, I guess I’ll call my lawyer.”

Me: *Shrugging* “That’s your choice, ma’am.”

She pushed maybe two buttons on her phone. Within three seconds, she had the “receptionist” in the line and asked for her “lawyer” by first name. Within a few seconds, he was on the line. She told him that she had opened software that had not been installed and she wanted to return it and asked what the law said. 

Looking at me, she quoted him:

Customer: “‘The law says they have to take it back.'”

She thanked him, hung up, looked and me, and said:

Customer: “Well?”

Me: “That is completely untrue, and you should fire your lawyer for lying to you. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do.”

She sure didn’t like that! She threw the box, which hit me. I had to put my arm up so it hit my arm instead of my face.

Me: “And that’s assault. Do be a dear and call your lawyer back to ask them about what happens next.”

She just walked off, swearing a blue streak and yelling the usual promises to never come back.

She REALLY didn’t like being stopped by security for throwing things at employees. Or having the police called on her. OR being charged. It was a very unfunny situation… for her!

What’s funny about this her call to the “lawyer” was…

1) I don’t know of any lawyer that will, off the cuff, state that stores have to take back a product regardless of their openly stated and printed policies. (Such things would have to be carefully researched before a lawyer would tell a client anything of the sort.)

2) I certainly don’t know of a lawyer that would answer a call like that…

2a) at lunchtime…

2b) on Labor Day!

Related:
Just Lawyered Yourself, Part 4
Just Lawyered Yourself, Part 3
Just Lawyered Yourself, Part 2
Just Lawyered Yourself

A few years after smoking in taxis in Denmark became illegal, I picked up a young woman aged about eighteen. She told me where she was going, and I set off.

Passenger: “Is it okay if I smoke?”

Me: “No. I’m sorry, but it’s been illegal for a few years by now.”

Passenger: “What if I roll down the window?”

Me: “No. It’s still illegal and it does leave a stench afterward.”

Passenger: “What if I smoke weed, then? When you smoke weed, there’s no smell afterward.”

Me: *In disbelief* “Sorry, but no. It is still illegal.”

Her claim that the smell of weed doesn’t linger was weird. Also, I got to her destination in less than ten minutes.

Related:
Weeding Out The Bad Customers

I work in retail at my boyfriend’s gun store. This was the first phone call of the day. The phone rang and I picked up. This had to be a male in his mid- to late twenties, by the sound of his voice, so a grown man.

Me: “[Shop], how can I help you?”

Customer: “Yes, miss, hello. You guys sell and know about guns, yes? Different calibers and all.”

Me: “Yes, we do. Is there something I can answer for you?”

Customer: “Yes, what caliber would I shoot a dog with? A small one.”

I froze for a moment, shocked. It crossed my mind that MAYBE he meant his own dog, an old one, maybe a terminally ill one, one that he couldn’t afford to put down — that type of deal.

Me: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “Would a .22 do? My neighbor’s d*** dog never shuts up. It’s always barking.”

Me: “Sir, you can’t d—”

Customer: “Or would a different one do better? I want it down in one shot. Two if need be, but nothing more, and I want to do it soon.”

Me: “You can’t shoot your neighbor’s dog.”

Customer: “Why the h*** not? It never shuts up. And it’s so tiny that its bark sounds like loud squeaking. I want it gone.”

Me: “That doesn’t matter. You can’t do that. And I can’t help with that.”

This type of conversation continued for about five minutes.

Customer: “Fine! I want to talk with someone else!”

I handed the phone over to a coworker. I later found out the man threw a fit and wasn’t very pleasant but caved and hung up.

The small grocery store where I work is usually open from 7:00 am to 10:00 pm, and there is a sister store in the same town, about twenty minutes away, that is open twenty-four hours a day. However, this story takes place on Christmas Eve, which changes things slightly. Holiday opening hours have been posted for around a month. 

I am a supervisor and operating as the duty manager tonight. We closed at 9:00 pm, and I’m walking out at around 9:15 pm with my single cashier. We’re both females.

I have locked the door, and a man rushes up, clearly annoyed to see us closed.

Man: “I just need cigarettes and beer.”

Me: *Politely* “We have closed early for Christmas, sir.”

I indicate the sign in the window with opening hours.

Man: *Irritated* “Fine, I’ll just go to your twenty-four-hour location.”

In a foolish act of Christmas spirit and not wanting him to waste his time, I informed him that the twenty-four-hour location had also closed for the night. I was about to add that they would be open for several hours the next day when the man turned to me, shoved me backward into the wall, and grabbed my bag, where I had put the keys to the store.

My cashier tried to stop him, but he managed to push her away while operating the shutter and unlocking the door; it wasn’t a complicated key. The alarm was triggered, which spooked the man, and he dropped the key and ran away.

Or at least, so I’m told; my head had hit the wall and I’d lost consciousness. My cashier called 999, and the police and paramedics arrived soon after, followed by the store manager responding to the alarm. 

I spent Christmas in hospital with a minor skull fracture and concussion. Luckily, we had CCTV of the incident, and my boss knew the man, so he spent Christmas in a police cell and eventually pleaded guilty to assault and battery.

The following year, even though Christmas eve fell on a shift I’d normally work again, I was given the night off and they scheduled one of the burly men instead.