I am at the drug store paying for my things. I notice the cashier’s name is Ferris. From the movie ‘Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.’

Me: “You were named after the movie character, weren’t you?”

Ferris: “My parents deny this, but my brother’s name is Cameron. The proof is in the pudding.”

I worked in a drug store photo lab, back in the days before smartphones and in the early days of digital cameras. A woman has come in to collect her pictures.

Customer: “I’m not paying for these! They’re terrible quality!”

Me: “We can only print what you give us, ma’am. You don’t have to take them if you’re unhappy with them.”

Customer: “Well… I won’t! These are not worth paying for!”

Me: “I understand, ma’am. I’ll be sure to dispose of these so that—”

Customer: “—Wait! Dispose? As in throw them away?”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. We will destroy them, so that—”

Customer: “Well, if you’re just going to throw them away, then I might as well take them.”

Me: *Confused.* “So, you do want to pay for them?

Customer: “No! Seriously, pay attention! I’m not paying for them, but if you’re just going to throw them away anyway, then I’ll take them for free.”

Ah, so that’s her game.

Me: “Ma’am, if you’re unhappy with the photos, then we don’t force you to pay for them, but if you did want to take them with you, then you have to pay.”

Customer: “But I don’t want them! But I might as well have them if you’re just going to throw them away!”

Me: “Ma’am, if you want to take the photos with you outside this building, then you do want them.”

Customer: “Ugh! You’re not getting it!”

Me: “I’m getting it, ma’am. I’m just disagreeing with it. It’s like me grabbing that bottle of Tylenol off the shelf there and saying, “I don’t want this, can I have it for free?””

Customer: “Ugh! You’re too stupid to understand! Keep the stupid photos!”

She stormed out, angry that her little scam didn’t work. Some guy (husband, boyfriend?) came in later that night to pay for them and collect them. He thought all the pictures “turned out great!”

A customer calls the help line. I’m dealing with something else with my manager, so it goes to speakerphone to keep our hands free.

Customer: “I got a stain remover from you, and it messed my couch up!”

Me: “Okay, would you like a refund for the stain remover? We can do that if you kept your receipt.”

Customer: “No! I want you to refund me the cost of fixing the couch!”

Me: “Uh… well, since we are a drugstore, we can’t really do that.”

Customer: “You sound like the girl who sold me the stain remover, so it’s your fault! You need to come to my house and fix my couch!”

Me: “That’s not going to happen, ma’am. The store, or I personally, is in no way responsible for fixing your couch. I’d suggest you look on the back of the product for a 1-800 number.”

Customer: “You do that for me!”

Me: “No, ma’am. You need to look up the 1-800 number. I hope they can help.”

With that, I hung up on her and shared a ‘rolled eyes’ look with my manager.

Manager: “Do you think she had issues with the stain remover because she was huffing the d*** stuff?!”

I was working as an assistant manager for a drug store. The cashier was on lunch break, so I was cashing people out at the photo counter in the corner of the store. Everything was going smoothly until two very different people came to my counter at the same time.

One customer is a regular at my store. He’s a lawyer with a very expensive suit. We’re in a downtown area, and lawyers’ offices are everywhere around us. But the customer I’m currently serving is a junkie in full-on sway mode. Whatever she is on must be reaching its peak as she sets down a four-pack of wine coolers on the counter for me to scan.

As I reach down to grab the coolers, I notice that in the slots between the bottles are several tubes of lipstick.

Me: “Ma’am, how did these lipsticks get in your wine coolers?”

Her drug sway carried her a few feet away from the counter, and the lawyer in line after her starts to pay attention to what is going on in the store instead of what is going on on his phone.

Customer: “I don’t know how those got there.”

Me: “Is there anything else on you that you haven’t paid for?”

Customer: “Well, I got nothing up my sleeves.”

She then begins to pat down her giant oversized sweatshirt, and tons of lipsticks start flooding out of one sleeve.

Customer: “I ain’t got nothing up this sleeve either.”

She does the same thing to the other sleeve and again, tons of lipsticks come piling out. By now, the lawyer has hung up his call, and we are both now doing our best not to crack up.

Customer: “You wanna know where else I don’t got nothing?”

She whips her foot up onto the counter, undoes a rope belt, pulls her pants down, and reveals that she is wearing a one-piece bathing suit under her giant clothes. The lawyer is transfixed.

This lady grabs the crotch of the bathing suit and… pulls it to the side.

Customer: “I ain’t got nothing up here either.”

And then she walks out of the store. The lawyer and I share a look.

Lawyer: “I’m glad I don’t have your job…”

I’m a shift supervisor for a retail drug store chain. It’s the morning shift on a slow Sunday morning. Just me and my cashier. [Cashier] normally works in the beauty department (cosmetics, skin care, hair care, etc.); however, for the first few hours on a Sunday, she’s the front cashier.

I get a call through my earpiece that customer service is needed in the skin care department. I head over and meet the customer.

Customer: “I need oil.”

Me: “What type of oil?”

Customer: “For your skin. Face.”

She speaks with a thick Asian accent. English does not seem to be her main language, but being the child of Asian immigrants, I seem to understand the accent quite well.

Me: “There are many types of oil for your skin. There’s vitamin E, coconut, jojoba—”

Customer: *Angrily.* “It was right here—” *Pointing to a specific spot on the shelf.* “—when I bought it from you before. Why isn’t that girl coming over here to help me?”

Looking over, [Cashier] is ringing up a customer with several customers in line.

Me: “She’s the front cashier. She’s ringing up customers.”

The customer pouts. I don’t know if [Cashier] had helped this customer in the past. I have a rule with rude customers. You’ll still get your good customer service, but you get the bare minimum. This customer has now crossed the line.

Customer: “Show me your oils. The one that was right here.”

Me: *Knowing the answer is ‘no’, and with my customer service smile.* “Do you know the name of the brand? Or how the box looked? Do you have the old bottle? I can easily look it up if I have the brand or an old bottle.”

Customer: *Just short of a rage.* “You’re useless. Just show me all your face oils.”

I walk her down the aisle, showing her all the vitamin E oils. I take her back to the beginning of the aisle and begin to show her all the coconut oils.

Customer: “Just show me the section where all the face oils are!”

Me: “Ma’am. The skin care products are sectioned by brand, not type. Several brands make facial oils.”

Customer: “You’re useless.”

She picks up several of the oils I showed her and heads up to the front, where [Cashier] rings her up.

[Cashier] later asks me what happened, and I tell her. [Cashier] tells me that while she was ringing the customer up, she went into a rant that [Cashier] could only partially understand. Something about [Cashier] not helping her to understand why we changed the shelf spot of the product she likes.

We share a laugh, joking that we’re not mind readers, and get back to work.