(I work at a store that is known for its customer service. I am working at the customer service counter and it is ten minutes before my very long shift is about to end. An elderly lady storms up to the counter carrying a statement for our store credit card.)

Me: “How can I help you? Do you have a payment?”

Customer: “I have a complaint. I paid this bill the day it was due and I was charged a late fee.”

Me: “Okay, I will tell you there isn’t anything that we can do in the store. We don’t have the power to change anything about your charge card. There should be a phone number on your statement that you can call. I understand that they are really good about taking care of these things.”

Customer: “I have never had this happen before, I have never paid a bill late, and if this does not get taken care of, I will never come back here again.”

Me: “I’m sorry for the inconvenience; I know this is very frustrating. Please call that number and let them know what happened. We have a phone down here that you can use if you would like.”

Customer: “I don’t want to call right now. I want to know why it happened and get the charge removed.”

Me: “May I see your statement? The phone number is right here and I see that you have a receipt from paying in the store. I don’t understand why it was late because it should have posted immediately.” *looks closer at the receipt and the statement* “Ma’am, I see here that your bill was due on the 22nd—”

Customer: “YES! I PAID IT THAT DAY AND THEY CHARGED ME A LATE FEE!”

Me: “Well, according to your receipt, you made the payment on the 25th.”

(The customer snatches paper out of my hands and glares at it.)

Me: “I would still call that number and see if anything can be done, especially since this is the first time this has happened.”

Customer: “I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS! I WILL BE TAKING MY BUSINESS ELSEWHERE IF THIS DOESN’T GET RESOLVED, AND I SPEND A LOT OF MONEY HERE!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, I understand that it is frustrating. Please call that number as soon as possible and ask them if there is anything they can do. Is there anything else I can do for you today?”

Customer: “I need to make this return.”

(I process the return quickly and credit her account. I have remained pleasant throughout the interaction, despite her attitude.)

Me: “Here is your receipt of the return. Again, I am sorry for the inconvenience with your payment. Have a nice day.”

Customer: *glares at me and leaves without saying anything*

Coworker: “You ready to go home?”

Me: “Yes, please.”

(My husband and I are the goofs in this one. We unknowingly arrive within 30 minutes of closing at a huge department store. This store is known for being notoriously busy at nearly any time of the day. As we are meandering through the store, we notice that it seems quiet.) 

Me: “Wow, this is such a nice experience. [Store] is always so psychotic.”

Husband: “Yeah, it’s pretty quiet; I’m surprised!”

(We continue to shop, but also continue to observe.)

Me: “Okay, it’s really empty now. Like, ‘something-must-be-wrong’ empty. Are you sure they aren’t closing?”

Husband: “No way! I’m sure they are open until 8:00 pm on Saturdays. I’ll double-check, but I’m sure that’s right.”

(By this time it is 6:15 pm, and we arrived at 5:30 pm, thinking we had two and a half hours to complete our shopping.) 

Husband: “Oh, no. No, we’re totally wrong. They’re closed. They close at six.”

Me: “Noooo. Hurry!”

(We proceed to literally run up and down the last couple aisles grabbing our things. I have always dreaded being “that” person, having worked in retail myself in the past, coming in close to closing and taking their sweet time. We approach one of the two open tills and begin loading our items onto the belt as quickly as possible.) 

Me: *to the cashier* “I am sorry that we are ‘those’ people. We thought you guys were open until 8:00 tonight.”

Cashier: “It’s fine. The hours are a bit confusing. But don’t worry; you’re not alone.” *gestures around* “There’s 178 of ‘those people’ tonight.”

(My mother-in-law sends us a gift card for Christmas to a large department store. I seldom shop at that store because it is always a pain in the, er, neck. But, with the card being only good there, I have to suck it up. We pick out something for the whole family that would ring up to about the limit of the card and head to the register.)

Cashier: “That will be $101.62.”

Me: “Okay, I have this card for $100 of it, and I’ll pay cash for the last bit.”

Cashier: “We don’t take that card.”

Me: “It’s a gift card for this store. This is the only place it can be used.”

Cashier: “We don’t take it.”

Me: “You don’t take cards with this store’s name on it, purchased at a store with this store’s name on it?”

Cashier: “No.”

Me: “Well, you do. Run the card for $100, and I’ll pay cash for the rest or you can run $1.62 in cash and then run the card.”

Cashier: “We. Don’t. Take. That. Card.”

Me: “You. Do. Get. Your. Manager.”

(She rolls her eyes and calls a manager. It takes quite a while, and the whole time she stands staring at me and I just stare back. Finally, the manager arrives.)

Cashier: “She wants to use a card we don’t take.”

Manager: “You can’t use it.”

Me: “Would you like to see the card?”

Manager: “Okay.”

(I show the card with the store’s name clearly on the front.)

Manager: “We don’t take it.”

Me: “Try running it and see what happens.”

(The manager says nothing and half-heartedly swipes the card. The total drops to $1.62 on the screen.)

Manager: “See? It didn’t cover the sale.”

(Being completely fed up with this, I dropped the exact change in coins on the counter.)

Me: “Do you take cash?”

Manager: “The total was, what was the total? The total was over $100.”

Me: “Yes, and you ran the card for $100; the register clearly shows that. Here you have the rest. Now I need my receipt.”

Manager: “You have to pay first.” *actually getting pissy*

Me: “I have. Type in $1.62 and hit the cash button and see what happens.”

(She actually does, and the drawer pops open and a receipt spits out. The manager looks at the register, looks at me, looks at the cashier, looks at the receipt, and looks back at me with eyes a bit wide. I reach out, snatch the receipt, pick up the item, and walk out the door saying quite loudly:)

Me: “This is why I don’t shop here.”

(That chain has finally gone under. I shopped there one other time in the next decade. It just wasn’t worth the hassle.)

(My husband and I are doing Christmas shopping at a department store at which he used to work. He knows all of their sales speeches, credit card pitches, and protection plan details by heart, even though he hasn’t worked for the company in years — barring minor changes in the fine print, of course. We finish our shopping and head up to the register. The cashier doesn’t even greet us.)

Cashier: “You want to sign up for a credit card? You could get 5% back on—”

Husband: “Let me stop you there. I already have a store credit card, thanks.”

(The cashier throws a brochure at us and jabs at it with one of her incredibly long, neon green acrylic nails.)

Cashier: “No, there are two cards now. You don’t have them both.”

Husband: “What I had was the store’s original card, and a few months ago they mailed me an offer to switch it from the store brand to the Mastercard labeled card.”

Cashier: *rudely* “They don’t do that.”

Husband: “Yes, they do. I worked for [Company] for a while and I’ve had this card for years. I received the offer in the mail about six months ago and switched because it had a better interest rate. I don’t want to apply for a second card from here.”

Cashier: “They don’t switch people! It’s one or the other!”

Husband: “Okay, well, I have some membership points in my account that I’d like to apply to this purchase.”

(He holds out his phone with the correct QR code already displayed on the screen for her to scan.)

Cashier: “We don’t do that here.”

Husband: “Okay, then.”

(We stand there waiting, because she has got a hold of our receipts and seems unwilling to hand those over. We have to specifically ask for them before she’ll let them go. At this point, I’m pissed. I don’t think my eyebrows could climb any higher on my face without disappearing into my hairline. As we turn to leave…)

Cashier: “I ain’t never heard of no switching people to the Mastercard!”

(I am working part-time in the electronics department of a nationwide chain department store. I’m in my early 30s, and I’m only working until the birth of my second child. I am a very friendly male and am considered quite liberal when it comes to equal rights for women; I’d call myself a feminist. The following interaction with one of the 18-year-old full-timers in the department probably shocked this woman who always tries to belittle me for having a second job.)

Female Coworker: “Is that your uniform?”

Me: *looking down, then back at her* “Yep. Why?”

Female Coworker: “No, up there. That.” *points at my ear*

Me: “What? Is there a rule against piercings?” 

Female Coworker: “No… I just don’t like earrings on guys.”

Me: “Oh… Well, I don’t like opinions on women.”

Female Coworker: *looks shocked, stammers for a moment, and walks away amidst the shocked laughter of our coworkers*

(She later came by and apologized.)