This happened about fifteen years ago. The name Jesus (pronounced “Hey Zeus”) is a fairly common name in the Spanish-speaking community. Yes, it is spelled like Jesus Christ, but it’s pronounced differently. This is also how Jesus is pronounced in Spanish.

I’m a shift supervisor for a retail drug store chain. At the store, we have an employee named Jesus. At the top of our receipts, there is a little phrase that says, “Hi, my name is [Employee’s Name]. Thank you for letting me serve you today.”

One day, a woman storms in after her purchase, yelling at us.

Customer: “How dare you insult our Lord and Savior?!”

First, we’re all a little puzzled, and then we realize Jesus is at the register.

Me: “Ma’am, Jesus is a very common name in the Spanish community. Although it’s spelled the same as Jesus Christ, it’s pronounced ‘Hey Zeus’.”

Customer: “I am a devout Christian. I will not take this insult.”

Me: “Ma’am, that is his name — the name he was given at birth. He can’t just change it.”

Customer: “Yes, you can, and you will. I will not take this insult to the man who died for our sins.”

Me: “Ma’am, his name is ‘Hey Zeus’, not ‘Gee Zus’, and this is a common name in the Spanish community.”

Customer: “I have never felt so insulted! I’m never shopping here again!”

She stormed out. The funny part is that there is a pretty high Mexican population in this area. I’m surprised this is the first Jesus she has come across.

As far as I know, no store in Canada gives any kind of military discount, veteran or otherwise. We are not as military-oriented as the USA.

I work at a drug store as a cash supervisor. It is my job to cover my cashier’s breaks and make sure customers get as good a customer experience as possible. For those who don’t know, drug stores do not sell tobacco or alcohol products, so the only item we sell that requires an ID is lottery. We also have a senior’s day on Thursday where anyone sixty-five and older can get 20% off. We don’t need an ID or proof of age; they usually just know to ask for it since signs are up everywhere advertising the discount.

It is a Saturday, so no managers are in. I am covering my cashier’s break when a man comes up with a basket full of stuff. I make the usual greetings.

Me: “Do you have a rewards card? And would you like a bag?”

Customer: *Gruffly* “I’m visiting from the US; of course, I don’t have a rewards card with you.”

He doesn’t respond to wanting a bag, so I just start stacking his items at the end of the till.

When I finish scanning his items, I read off his total.

Me: “Are you paying with cash or card?”

He tosses an ID on the counter.

Me: “Oh, did you want lottery?”

Customer: “What? No. I want a discount.”

I think he means the senior’s discount.

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry, but we only have a senior discount on Thursdays.”

The customer looks at me like I’m stupid and shoves the ID closer.

Customer: “I’m a veteran, missy. That means I get a discount no matter what day it is.”

Me: “Um… I’m sorry, but we don’t do veterans discounts here in Canada.”

Customer: “Well, they do where I’m from, so you need to honor that.”

I stand there dumbfounded. How does that make any sense?

Me: “I’m sorry, but I have no way to put any kind of discount on your purchase, as it is not Thursday for senior’s day, and we have no promo going on right now.”

He gets obviously upset and red in the face.

Customer: “I want your supervisor. I want you fired. I want a new cashier.”

I blink at him. I can barely get the words out.

Me: “I am the supervisor. And there is no store manager in today.”

The man flips and starts yelling at me.

Customer: “You’re discriminating against me! You must hate the US. I hope we bomb your country next! Canada is such a stupid place with stupid people!”

I just stood there, not sure what to do. People were starting to stare, and I was so freaked out that all I could do is stand there with my mouth open going, “Uhhh…”

Finally, he said his piece and stomped out of the store with his ID and nothing else. I stood there in silence for a few minutes just trying to process what happened. My cashier came back, but I had nothing else to do, so I just stayed on till to help with customers.

A little elderly woman came up to my register to ask if I was all right and said that she had never liked those “hooligans south of the border”. She made me smile and actually helped me put some of the items away that the man had left on the till.

I work at a drugstore chain that gives you really long receipts. I have argued with people who believe that they are at another popular drugstore chain.

I have had to take people outside to look at the sign on the building because the indoor signage — and the fact that I know where I work — just wasn’t enough for them.

I’m a shift manager for a retail drug store chain. One day, another shift manager sees two girls, both about fourteen or fifteen years old, walk into the women’s bathroom with a pregnancy test. She knows they haven’t paid for it, so both of us go into the bathroom to confront the girls.

When we walk in, we catch [Girl #1] handing [Girl #2] a pregnancy test underneath the stall door. The following conversation happens.

Me: “You need to pay for that.”

Girl #1: “Can’t we use it then pay for it?”

Me: “No! Buy it, then use it.”

[Girl #1] knocks on the stall.

Girl #1: “[Girl #2], I need some money.”

[Girl #2] hands [Girl #1] her wallet.

Me: *To [Girl #1]* “Go with [Other Manager], please.”

I step outside the bathroom; that way, I can guard the bathroom door and see the cash register at the same time. Once I see the transaction end, I leave my post.

We keep our eyes on the two until they leave.

That night, I come home and tell my boyfriend about the potential theft. My boyfriend starts to chuckle.

Boyfriend: “Can you imagine the parents if you had called them? Your teen has been caught stealing, and she might be pregnant. Which is more unsettling?”

In my teens, there is a drugstore situated in a small shopping center at the edge of our neighborhood. I go there to grab something and just happened to pass the makeup aisle. This drugstore is pretty large, so their makeup selection is also huge, with just about every brand you can think of, taking up one entire wall of the building.

I have just rounded the corner when I see this woman sitting on the ground. In the time it takes to process what I am seeing, a manager storms around the opposite corner and makes a beeline for this woman. He stops, arms crossed.

Manager: “Ma’am… I hope you know that you have to pay for those.”

Customer: “What?”

Manager: “The makeup, all those packages you’ve opened. You have to pay for them.”

He gestures roughly toward where I am standing, still at the opposite end of the aisle from them. I look down and see what he was pointing at: the pressed powder compacts. She has opened one of each shade, ranging from ivory to warm beige, and left the remains in piles at the bottom of each display. That’s right. I said “each.” She has gone through every single brand and opened one of each of every single color on that spectrum of packaged compacts.

To make it worse, each brand makes more than one type of pressed powder. I repeat: she has opened one of EACH.

Customer: *Agitated* “What do you mean? I don’t understand. Why do I have to pay for them when I only need one?”

Manager: *Nearly having a stroke* “Because you destroyed them?! And because you used them. We can no longer sell these to anyone else because they’ve been contaminated. By. You.“

The customer becomes irate and responds in a “duh” tone of voice.

Customer: “Well, I needed to test them to match my skintone!”

I realize that next to all the compacts are the used makeup sponges that come with them, as well as what appears to be used baby wipes.

Manager: *About to have an aneurism* “Well, I hope it was worth all the money you now owe us!”

The customer, apparently realizing that things had gotten serious, began panic-crying and refusing to pay. I would like to establish that this was a full-grown woman, maybe in her mid-thirties, and she had very clearly been handed everything in life.

She argued repeatedly that she needed to test them to find the right shade and that she shouldn’t be required to pay for something that doesn’t match.

The manager repeatedly informed her that he didn’t give a fraction of a rat’s behind whether or not she WANTED what she had used, she WAS going to pay for them all, right now, or the cops were going to be called.

I had to leave at that point, so I didn’t get to see the outcome, but I did a little math when I got home. This was years ago, and the compacts cost between $5 and $6 each at the time. (They now cost two or more times that.) At the end of her little rampage through the makeup section, she would have had to pay for somewhere between $250 and $300 worth of products.