My sister and I were deeply in love with Michael Jackson and the Jackson 5 from the first time we saw them on the Ed Sullivan Show, Thanksgiving, 1969. She was six and I was nine.

Fast forward to Christmas, 1971. Our parents give us a portable record player. Our parents had a couple of Jackson 5 records and we played them over and over, ad nauseam.

In August, 1972, Michael Jackson released the album Ben. Oh, we wanted that album so badly; oh, so badly. So we started saving; all of our Sunday school money, all of our candy money, any money we found anywhere went into the Ben Bank. After about two months we had enough for the album. We hounded our mother unmercifully to please take us to the department store so that we could buy the album.

Finally, late on a Sunday, she takes us there, does her shopping, and then she leads us around to where the albums are sold. Now mind you this is a Sunday in the 1970s. All stores close at 5:00 pm and it’s 4:45. My sister is the keeper of the bank, so she is walking in front.

We walk to the counter and politely ask the young lady working there if there is a copy of Michael Jackson’s Ben. She goes and gets it. Oh, my, we are so happy, practically vibrating with excitement. The young lady is smiling, too; she can see we are so happy.

She says that will be $5.45. My sister puts the paper bag that holds all the money we saved for this album on the counter and upends it. Five dollars and fifty cents worth of dimes, nickels, and pennies roll out and we start counting. My mom walks away at that point. After about 10 minutes of us going 1,2,3,4,5, because by that time we have given her all the silver and we are into the 300 pennies that are included, the young lady just starts sweeping it off the counter and throwing them into the register.

My sister and I say, “But we didn’t count it for you.” The young lady says, “That’s okay; I can see that it’s enough.”

That happened 45 years ago and yet I can still see that young lady’s face fall as all those coins rolled across the counter. To the young lady I wish to say, “I’m so so sorry we did that to you. Thank you for being a kind soul to two little girls ten minutes before closing.”

(I’ve recently quit one retail job, for a better one with more hours and more pay thankfully, due to having several problems with the job. One of the major problems was that on weekends multiple coworkers were there to back me up if there was a line, and one coworker in particular ignored the customers. She would just talk to her friends that worked there, making a lot of the other cashiers upset. I’m working with her one Saturday afternoon, when I get a line of seven or eight customers. I call her over.)

Me: “Hey, [Coworker], I have a line here; can you help me out?”

Coworker: *ignores me, continues to talk to friend in nearby sales section*

Me: *to Supervisor* “Hey [Supervisor], can you call over [Coworker] to come help me out here? I just got two more people.”

Supervisor: “You know she won’t. It’s cool. I’ll help you out.”

(After patiently waiting a few minutes, I excuse myself while a customer digs through her purse to find her credit card.)

Me: *to Coworker* “EXCUSE ME! Can you please help me with the line and talk to your friend later? I’ve got ten people in line right now!”

Coworker: “Don’t talk to me like that! I’m your superior, and I will report you to management for being rude to me!”

Me: “You’re kidding, right? You’re not my superior, and you do realize there are security cameras in this store, right?”

Coworker: “Well…”

Me: “You were hired to be a cashier, right? You’re here working today, right? Help me out or just go home!”

Coworker: “Fine, but don’t expect me to help you out like this again!”

Me: “I expect you to help me every time there’s a line!”

(Coworker helped me out, with Supervisor smiling at me when I returned to ring up the rest of the customers in my line. Clearly she heard everything I said. I later went in the back and reported what happened to the manager, so the coworker didn’t try to make me look bad, even though I kind of raised my voice at one point. The manager told me the supervisor talked to them, and I was definitely in the right, and they commended me on properly excusing myself and not just abandoning my line to go and talk to the coworker. The supervisor told me Coworker got a final warning, and that she threw a fit over being yelled at by a coworker. I wasn’t scheduled with her after that, and I started my new job two weeks after. I’ve never been happier!)

I work part time at a department store and there are a lot of new employees that are holiday help who don’t know the rules and ways to do things, so some signs are put up in the fitting rooms and other places with instructions for them.

One customer misinterprets a sign and is incredibly upset. She rips the sign off of the wall and shows it to an associate and starts yelling at her about how racist it is.

The sign said something like “Only use the white children’s hangers for children’s clothing.”

Even after the associate showed the customer that the larger adult size hangers are black and the smaller children’s clothing size hangers are white, the woman was still insisting that it was racism and wanted to speak to the manager, who also explained that it was not racism.

Seriously. Retail.

(An elderly lady approaches my coworker and me while we are working in the gift section.)

Customer: “My son-in-law saw something for the Xbox that he wants!”

(We look at each other blankly for a few seconds, knowing we do not stock anything for Xbox.)

Coworker: “Oh! Is this it?” *holds up lap desk for iPad*

Me: “That’s for the iPad. You slot it in and you can put in on your lap.”

Customer: *takes product* “I may be old but I’m not stupid!” *hits me on the top of the head with product*

(I was speechless and just stared while my flabbergasted coworker managed ‘but you said Xbox!’. The lady walked off, still muttering ‘I’m not stupid!’)

(My mum’s family are Irish and she has typical red hair and blue eyes. My dad’s family are Danish and he has their typical blond hair, blue eyes, and is very broad and tall. As a result I am quite tall, about 5’8″, blue eyed, and have strawberry blonde hair. Very strawberry blonde, almost apricot. I’m at work on the shop floor when I’m approached by a customer.)

Customer: “Excuse me, could you help me please, dear? I have this basket but it’s quite heavy. Can I leave this stuff behind the counter, carry on shopping, and pay for it all together?”

Me: “Of course. Follow me and we’ll sort it all out.”

(I get everything out and hung up together, put a band around the hangers and a note on it.)

Me: “I just need your name so we know it’s yours when you come to pay.”

Customer: “Margaret. Thank you so much.”

(She then leaves and I carry on working. About 15 minutes later I happen to walk past the tills and I hear the customer and a colleague arguing.)

Customer: “She was about six feet tall with brown hair. She put all the stuff together and wrote my name on a piece of paper.”

Colleague: “I understand; however, firstly, we don’t have anyone by that description working for us, and secondly, the only items I have here like that you’ve already told me they aren’t yours.”

(I go over to help.)

Me: “Hi, have you come to get the rest of your items?”

Customer: “Yes, please, dear.”

(I run everything through the till and the customer pays. She then looks at my colleague.)

Customer: “I told you! Six feet tall with brown hair!”

Me: “I did write your name on it, see?” *points out ‘Margaret’*

Customer: “Oh, everyone calls me Peggy. Only my grandmother called me Margaret and she’s been dead for about 60 years.”

(She then turns to my colleague.)

Customer: “You need to pay attention, young lady.”

(As she’s walking away my colleague calls after her.)

Colleague: “I’m a man. My name is William. It says it on my badge!”

(He then turns to me with a look of utter defeat.)

Colleague: “I’m going on my break. When I get back I may be drunk!”