(My father and I are on holiday visiting family. We stop into a home department store to pick up a few items to fix up my grandparents’ back garden. Two salesmen are at the front of the store trying to promote sales of a new (very expensive) vacuum cleaner, by signing people up for a free trial and carpet clean in their home.)

Salesman: *approaching my father* “Good morning, sir! Are you interested in a free carpet cleaning?”

Father: “Nah, mate, I live a bit too far for you to come clean my carpet.”

Salesman: “Not at all! We have offices located all around the country; we can come to you anywhere!”

Father: “No, really, I live far too out the way for you to bring your vacuum.”

(They continue for ages to insist that no matter where we live, they will be able to bring this vacuum over to trial it. They don’t take no as an answer. Finally my father decides enough is enough.)

Father: “All right, fine! You can bring your vacuum over to clean my carpets.”

Salesman: “Great! I’ll just get your details down. Where is it you live?”

Father: *rattles off street address* “Yes… that’s in Auckland… in New Zealand.”

Salesman: “…maybe you do live a bit far.”

(It is my first day of work in a shop ever. There is a child running around, picking up clothes and dropping them on the floor, all while her mother watches and says nothing. I am picking up after her trail of destruction.)

Mother: “Hello?” *I pretend not to hear her as long as I can as a kind of punishment* “Hello!”

Me: “Hellooo?”

Mother: *with a pack of tights* “These are on the sale rack but they aren’t marked down. Check them.”

Me: “I don’t know why they’d be on there. These aren’t on sale; the rest of the stock are on the non-sale.” *I point at the rest of the identical tights at full price*

Mother: “They were on the sale…”

Me: *roughly grabbing the tights and sighing heavily* “I’ll check then.”

(I spend as long as I can finding the scanner and checking the price, which of course has not been reduced. Nope, not on sale.)

Mother: “They were on the sale—”

Me: “—well, sometimes people let their children play with the stock and it gets mixed up for other people.”

Mother: *looks at her kid who has just strewn designer clothes on the floor, turns red, and walks off*

(I work in the restaurant in a large chain of department stores that have their own store credit card. I am making coffee and my coworker is next to me on the till. Very few of these store credit cards are under the branding of the old store which closed down 10 years ago but is still fondly remembered by the locals. Usually the holders of these cards consider is a sort of status symbol but these old cards have recently been phased out.)

Coworker: “That will be [price], please.”

(The customer hands her an old branded store card.)

Coworker: “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t accept this card. Do you have another form of payment?”

Customer: “Why can’t you accept it? There’s never been a problem before.”

Coworker: “I’m sorry, sir, but we have been given instructions from head office to not accept these cards anymore. I don’t know anymore than that, I’m afraid.”

Customer: “Why? There’s never been a problem before!”

(I decide to step in as I know a little more information.)

Me: “[Company] has decided to phase out the old cards and replace them with new ones. The old cards have now been deactivated and will no longer work with our tills.”

Customer: “This is ridiculous! I won’t be able to use my card anymore? What am I supposed to do?”

Me: “You should have been issued with a new card by now. It would have been sent through the post.”

Customer: “I was but I don’t want a new card; I want to use my old one!”

(My coworker and I sigh internally.)

Coworker: “If you like I can get a manger for you but I suggest you take this up with customer services; they will be able to give you better assistance.”

(He insisted on speaking with a manager who told him the same as we did. The manager, however, told him to enjoy his coffee and cakes and return later to pay when he can arrange another form of payment. Of course, he didn’t come back.)

(I am walking by an aisle when I hear an old woman say:)

Customer: “I know you have them! He has one in his ear!”

(To this day I don’t know the context.)

(A woman comes in looking for something to make her “boobs pop!” on her wedding day. She’s wearing a push up bra already and is dissatisfied with her cleavage. As it’s for her wedding I suggest things like corsets, and suggest she add more padding if she wants even more cleavage. With every suggestion I make, her answer is “No, already tried that. Do you have something else?” all the while constantly pushing her boobs together and wiggling them in front of me while she’s asking her questions. At the time, silicone inserts are new to the scene. We call them “chicken fillets” amongst ourselves because that’s what they look like: raw chicken breast fillets. They are bits of silicone made to look and feel like part of a breast that you could insert into your bra for added cleavage. We don’t have any to sell but I explain to her what they look like and suggest she go down to a boutique lingerie store to get them. There is one less than five minutes walk away from us.)

Customer: “Sounds interesting but I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s not like I’m going to go into a lingerie store and ask for chicken fillets! How do I know you’re not just saying it so I leave the store because you don’t want to help me and are sending me on a wild goose chase?! I don’t even know if what you’re talking about exists!”

(To prove I’m not making it up, I remember where we have a pair. They’re in the maternity bra on display on a mannequin.)

Me: “See that mannequin over there? She’s wearing a maternity bra. She’s the same size as all the other mannequins but as you can see, the bra is filled out and her breasts look bigger.”

Customer: “So?”

Me: “That’s because there are silicone inserts in her bra. Looks pretty realistic right?”

Customer: “I want to see them.”

(I realise right then that I just made a mistake. The mannequin is quite high and I need to get a ladder to pull it down. What’s worse is it’s a display and property of the maternity bra brand, not our store. I explain why I can’t pull the thing down and the woman just stands there ignoring everything I’m saying and taps her foot waiting for me to take it all down to show her.)

Customer: “I want to see them.”

(I bite my tongue, find a ladder, pull the mannequin down, take out the insert, and show her. I tell myself I can put it all back together quite easily.)

Me: “Just remember, these aren’t for sale. They belong to this brand specifically and are for display purposes only. I’m just showing you so you know what they look like so you—”

Customer: “Oh, my god!! That’s EXACTLY WHAT I WANT!”

(Squealing in excitement, she grabs the insert out of my hand and puts it into her bra. Seeing her boobs are now lopsided, she takes the maternity bra out of my hand, pulls out the other insert, and shoves it into her bra on the other side, pushing her boobs together again.)

Customer: “They’re perfect! I’ll take them! How much?!”

(I’m speechless. I didn’t expect her to actually take them and shove them into her bra. I repeat that they’re not for sale, that they’re for display; I was just showing her what they looked like and that they do exist and if she wants to buy a pair, she’s better off getting a new one at the boutique store. She refuses and demands we ring up the bill.)

Customer: “Why would I look elsewhere when I know I can get them right here?”

(I tell her again that it is not possible for me ring up a bill to sell something the store doesn’t own and to kindly return the inserts. She refuses to take the inserts out of her bra knowing nobody can actually take them out without touching her breasts and she threatens to walk out of the store and take them for free if we refuse to sell them to her. This incident extends for over an hour, going back and forth. She asks to see the rep for the maternity bra and asks HER to take money. She can’t take money because they weren’t made by the brand she represents, they were provided to help display the maternity bra. My line manager gets involved; the one above her does, too. Security is asked to come down but cannot escort her out of the store until she pulls the silicone out of her bra and returns them. At this point, it’s a stand off. A rep from another lingerie company comes in and asks what’s going on. We explain to her.)

Rep: “We can’t sell you the inserts, darling, but I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll find you someone who can.”

(She calls the boutique store, the one that I had suggested the customer go to right at the beginning, and asks them to hold a box under the lady’s name.)

Rep: “There you go, sweetheart. There’s a brand new pair waiting for you on hold, at their store, five minutes away. If you don’t go now, you might not get it. They sell like hotcakes and they’ve only got two pairs left.”

Customer: *thinks about it, smiles* “Thank you.” *as if to say “Now that wasn’t that hard, now, was it?”*

(She pulls out the inserts from her bra and drops them into my hands (they’re disgustingly warm) and walks out of the store. I thank the rep and explain how I couldn’t understand why she didn’t go to the boutique store that I’d already suggested at the beginning.)

Rep: “Because people like that, darling, aren’t shopping. They’re out to torment people like you.”

Me: “Well, thank you. And thank God [Boutique Store] had them!”

Rep: “Yes, but if they didn’t, I would have told her they did anyway.”

Me: “But then wouldn’t she come back and complain?”

Rep: *giving me a wink* “Yes, but she wouldn’t have the inserts in her bra and security can walk her out.”