For reasons, I am wearing a fancy jacket, shirt, and tie today. I’m grabbing something in a department store when a woman nearby starts tapping her credit card on the counter loudly. 

I continue browsing at the counter and find the item I need behind the glass. Meanwhile, the tapping from the woman intensifies in both rhythm and intensity.

Customer: “Young Man! I need service here!”

Me: “So do l, babe! If you see someone who works here, will you send them my way?”

That shut THAT down nice and quick! When an employee did turn up at the counter, that customer was still so shell-shocked that I was able to be served first without argument!

I’m called to the customer service desk to deal with a complaint.

Me: “Hello, ma’am, I’m the manager. I understand you have a complaint.”

Customer: “Yes, one of your cashiers is either drunk or [slur for disabled people]!”

Me: “Ma’am, please do not use that word.”

Customer: *Eye rolls.* “Fine, the ‘r-word’, then!”

Me: “Can you describe what you saw, please?”

Customer: “It’s that young man on the checkout counter in the books section! He keeps making weird movements and tapping the counter!”

She’s referring to an autistic member of staff who occasionally needs to stim.

Me: “He’s not drunk, ma’am, and we are aware of that behavior. It does not impede his ability to serve customers or complete his tasks. Thank you for your concern.”

Customer: “So you know!? This store is prestigious with prices to match! We shouldn’t have to deal with… [disabled slurs], when we shop here.”

Me: “Ma’am, that word.”

Customer: “Ugh! Fine, the lesser-brain-developed, or whatever the PC term is these days!”

Me: “Ma’am, if you’re so adamant that the store contains fewer people with lesser-developed brains, the exit is right there.”

Customer: “What… what did you just say to me?!”

Me: “Do I need to say it slower or use simpler words?”

Customer: “That’s it! I’ll be writing to your corporate offices about this!”

Me: “Please mention my name, the exact date, and time, and mention it’s the ground floor service desk. That way they can check the camera feed—” *Points at the camera.* “—so they can confirm your complaint matches with reality, which I’m sure it will.”

Cue the storming out. I really do hope she writes in. My friend in the main office who gets such complaints really knows how to say “F*** off” in the most beautiful corporate speak…

A customer hands me some silk sheets.

Customer: “I need to return these.”

Me: “Of course, sir. Were they the wrong size or color?”

Customer: “No. I found out how silk is made.”

Me: “Oh…?”

Customer: “It’s insect poop!”

Me: “Actually, it’s not, silk comes from the cocoon of—”

Customer: “Insect poop. I looked it up.”

Me: “It’s a fiber produced by silkworms when they spin their cocoons. It’s not—”

Customer: “If it comes out of a worm, it’s poop! I’m not sleeping in bug droppings!”

Before I can respond, a woman approaches.

Wife: “Honey, what’s taking so long?” *Looks at the counter.* “Wait, why are you returning the sheets? They’re comfortable!”

Customer: “They’re made from insect poop!”

Wife: “Oh, for crying out loud, Gordon! That’s not poop, that’s spit!”

Customer: “That’s just as bad!”

Wife: *Picking up the sheets, looking at me.* “We won’t be returning these, thank you.” *To her husband.* “Gordon, if I put your brains in a duck, it’d fly backwards.”

I take my eighty-year-old grandmother to a large department store. We’re picking out some baby toys for a family gift. The store seems well-staffed, with two greeters at the door, three employees watching the self-serve section, and at least four cashiers on the registers. 

My grandmother, who’s one of the kindest, most cheerful people you’ll ever meet, always makes small talk with the staff. We head to the self-checkout and scan the first toy, but it’s missing the tag.

Grandma: “Oh dear, there’s no tag on this one. Excuse me, could you help us, please?”

One of the three women by the self-checkouts sighs loudly, rolls her eyes, and practically snatches the toy out of my grandmother’s hand.

Employee: “Ugh.” *Storms off without another word.*

We exchange a look. If I’d known we had to swap it, I’d have done it myself. Usually, they can just punch in a code.

A moment later, the employee storms back, slams the toy on the scanner so hard it nearly bounces, and it finally rings up.

Employee: “Next time, make sure it has a tag, so I don’t have to fetch it for you like a little slave.”

My grandmother goes pale. I’m fuming but bite my tongue; I don’t want to make a scene in front of her. We pay quietly and start walking toward the exit.

Just before we leave, I turn back to the employee and say:

Me: “I forgot the tag; you forgot your manners. I hope what you forgot was as easy to find as my thing.”

Not the most savage comeback, but I had to say something!

A customer wants to return an item of clothing.

Me: “Can I see the receipt, please, ma’am?”

Customer: “What, you don’t believe I bought it?”

Me: “It has nothing to do with what I believe, ma’am.”

Customer: “You just don’t think I bought it because I’m [race]!”

Me: “Ma’am, it has to do with the fact that the computer requires a receipt to be scanned in order to know how much you paid.”

Customer: “I think that’s bull-s*** and you’re just racist.”

Me: “I ask everyone who does a return for a receipt. I have to. The computer doesn’t know if you’re black or white or purple and green, it just needs the d*** numbers. If you don’t want to get back the full amount you paid, if you want the lowest price in the last six months, assuming it’s even still returnable, then fine, I can do a no proof of purchase return. But if you paid full price, you’re not gonna get that amount back.”

Of course, she had a d*** receipt. I guess she just wanted a fight?