A bickering couple comes up to me as I am working behind the counter.

Male Customer: “Excuse me, but are you a Mormon?”

Me: “Uh… yes?”

Male Customer: “Excellent! We finally found one! Can you please tell my wife you’re allowed to have as many wives as you want?”

Me: “That’s… not true. We only take one wife.”

Female Customer: “Hah! See?! I told you!”

Male Customer: “Huh… I always thought Mormons were allowed multiple wives.”

Me: “It’s a common misconception, sir.”

Male Customer: “Well then, what’s the point of all that missionary stuff you’ve all gotta do if not to find yourselves some decent wives?”

Me: “It’s purely to preach, sir.”

Male Customer: “What a waste of time!”

Female Customer: “Don’t mind him. He’s just bored every Sunday at church and is feeling around for other options…”

Related:
Not A Fan Of Poly-gab-at-me

In the UK, “pants” typically means what Americans would call “underwear”, and they use “trousers” to mean what Americans call “pants”.

Customer: *In an English accent* “‘Scuse me. Where can I find boys’ pants?”

Employee: “Right over… Sorry, do you mean in the American or the British sense?”

Customer: “Just pants!”

Employee: “Right, but… trousers or underwear?”

Customer: “What? Neither! Pants!”

Employee: “Uh… children’s clothes are right over there.”

A few minutes later, the customer comes back, gesturing at her basket.

Customer: “Look, this is what I meant! No American or British or anything. Pants!”

Employee: “Ma’am, those are socks.”

Two teenage girls are making a large purchase (lots of flashy designer items), and the total comes to almost $3,000. They hand over an American Express card to pay for it, and I notice the card has a man’s name.

Me: “Is this you?”

Customer: “No, that’s our dad.”

Me: “Is he around?”

Customer: “Oh, he died yesterday. I’m just trying to max out his credit card before we report it.”

Me: *Instant look of horror* “Why would you tell me that?!”

Customer: “You’re minimum wage! Why should you care? I work in a [Dollar Store] and let people get away with all kinds of s***.”

Me: “I’m a manager, and you realize I’m gonna have to report this now, right?”

Customer: “Why you gotta ruin all our fun?”

Me: “Fun?! Your dad just died!”

Customer: “Noooo, he died yesterday. Weren’t you listening?”

Me: “I listened to the part where you admitted to committing fraud and the non-reporting of a dead body.”

Customer: “Fraud? What fraud?” 

Me: “Dead people can’t use credit cards.”

Customer: “He’s not using it. I am!”

She just… didn’t get it. She still didn’t get it when the police were escorting them away. 

Related:
The More You Read The Worse It Gets, Part 17
The More You Read The Worse It Gets, Part 16
The More You Read The Worse It Gets, Part 15
The More You Read The Worse It Gets, Part 14
The More You Read The Worse It Gets, Part 13

I was at a high-end department store. I was not unkempt, but I did have jeans and a T-shirt on. I was twenty-three years old, and at the time, I was making a very high salary. My friend was getting married, and she had registered for a high-quality brand of cookware.

Me: *To a sales clerk* “Excuse me, where can I find [Cookware Brand]?”

Clerk: *Looking me up and down* “It doesn’t make sense to show you where it is unless you actually intend to buy it.”

I was very insulted. I went across the mall to their competition and bought the entire set in cash. In those days, the employees of the department store earned commission on sales. That woman lost out on quite a bit of money.

I went back to that store and showed the clerk the shopping bag containing the expensive cookware.

Me: “I’ll be sure to inform the bride-to-be, but you’ll soon be able to remove the cookware from the registry.”

I showed her my receipt from the other store.

Me: “Gosh, they’re expensive these days, aren’t they?”

The look on her face as I walked away with the cookware set was priceless.

Customer: “You. I need you to fetch me the following items.”

Me: “Sir, I am serving this customer at the moment. I’ll be with you as soon as I have finished serving them.”

Customer: “Unacceptable. The correct response would be to write down the list of items I am about to provide for you and hand the list to another worker who is available.”

Me: “It’s just me in this department at the moment, sir. My coworker is on lunch. I’ll be with you as soon as I—”

Customer: “Unacceptable. You should not be allowed to go on lunch while there are customers still to serve. Summon him back at once.”

Me: “Sir, I can’t and won’t do that. Please be patient, and I will—”

Customer: “Unacceptable. You leave me no choice but to request your manager and have you dealt with accordingly.”

I simply nod and page for a manager to come over to my department. As soon as I have done so, I go back to serving my current customer, but I am interrupted yet again.

Customer: “What are you doing? Now you serve me!”

Me: “Sir, I have called my manager. When he gets here, he can—”

Customer: “Unacceptable. Your manager will be here to deal with you. You are still here to serve me.”

Finally having had enough, my current customer speaks up.

Current Customer: “Are you serious?! Dude, I am standing right here! You’re interrupting me!”

Customer: “I am a customer, and I should not have to wait.”

Current Customer: “And I should?”

Customer: “The store should supply ample staff to—”

Current Customer: “Unacceptable.”

Customer: “What?”

Current Customer: “Unacceptable. I find you unacceptable. Now, shut up or clear off. He might not be able to tell you that, but I can. One more word out of you, and I’ll call security for harassment. Now shut… up!”

The manager turns up just as my current customer finishes their defence of me. The entitled customer just stands in the corner and stews.

Manager: “You called for me?”

Current Customer: *Speaking on my behalf* “Thanks, but I think we got it. Things are okay.”

My manager looks to me for confirmation. I simply nod.

Me: “Things are acceptable.”