I live with my boyfriend who owns a coffee shop. People tend to scramble a few 10c or 20c coins to pay for the coffee, so we always have plenty of them laying around. I usually use them to pay for groceries.

I usually go to the same store because they have self-service checkouts so the cashiers don’t have to count the ton of coins I pay with. I always go about one hour before the closing time (because of work), take a shopping cart, pick up €50 to €100 worth of groceries, and pay at the self-service.

It never was an issue until recently. An employee stopped me as I approached the self-service area.

Employee: “You can’t take shopping carts in here.”

Me: “I’m planning to pay with a lot of coins. It would take ages for a cashier to count it.”

Employee: “It doesn’t matter; there isn’t enough space in the self-checkout area for a shopping cart.”

That’s bulls***; you could fit at least four of those carts beside each other, and somehow people with prams and buggies were allowed even if they were taking up a lot of space.

Me: “Whatever.”

I took my cart to the cashier. The shop was closing in about fifteen minutes.

My total was around €100, so I handed her a few money bags with my 10c and 20c coins. They were mixed up and not precounted.

Cashier: “You should really take this to the self-service area.”

Me: “Well, it’s somehow store policy that I’m not allowed over there with a cart, so unfortunately, you’ll have to count all these coins. I’m in no rush, so you can take your time. Thank your colleagues if you want to.”

I left the store twenty minutes past closing time. If I was using the self-service, it would have taken me five minutes.

I’m British, and I was staying in a city in continental Europe. There was a bar there that was run by Brits and attracted other Brits, etc., who wanted to interact with each other. I decided to visit.

I’d once before spent a few happy hours there watching a sports event on a large screen and was prepared to overlook the poor state of the furnishing and worse toilets.

I looked up the bar on a mapping app which said it opened at 16:00. I arrived around 15:55, but there was no sign of anyone inside. “No problem,” I thought. “I’ll hang around until they do turn up.”

At 16:05, nobody had turned up, so I thought, “Oh, well, the mapping app is wrong.” I looked at various posters and notices in the windows, trying to find something that would indicate when they really opened. Eventually, I noticed a small strip of paper with a scribbled note saying they opened at 16:30.

I went to a cafe nearby to wait. At 16:35, I wandered back, and there was a light on inside. I tried the door, but it was still locked. I waited. A loose group of Brits turned up outside. The door opened and a languid youth emerged to roll a wooden cask outside.

The youth spoke to one of the Brits and went back inside, closing the door and leaving everyone else hanging round outside.

The youth emerged a few minutes later, put some ashtrays out, and went back inside. But this time, he left the door open.

I reckoned they were probably opening now, so I wandered into the empty bar. I hung around for a couple of minutes, and then the languid youth appeared.

Youth: “Oh, mate, no, we’re not open.”

He said this in a tone implying I was an idiot.

Me: “…”

This was at about 16:55, an hour after I’d first turned up, and by now I was fed up with this. I couldn’t be bothered to ask when, or even whether, they’d be opening, and I just silently walked out.

I’m lined up at a fast food place right after I’ve knocked off work at the nearby supermarket. It’s the middle of the day, and I’ve got a hankering for a specific burger and some fries. I see above the cashier’s head that the particular burger I want is on a lunchtime special for $5. I’ve just cracked a can of energy drink, which is in my hand, so I’m pondering whether I can get away with no drink.

The teenager behind the counter taking orders is obviously blaming me and the other customers personally for her bad day. She’s snippy and rude, and she actually yells at a little kid in front of me for asking for a spoon. Whatever, we all have bad days. It’s my turn to order.

Me: “Hi! Can I please have a [$5 lunchtime special]? But I don’t want a drink, thanks.”

Cashier: *Glaring* “It comes with a drink.”

Me: “I know. I just don’t need one. I’ve already got one.”

I wave around my very distinctive, large red can of energy drink.

Cashier: *Still glaring* “You have to have the drink. I can’t remove it.”

I think she thinks I’m trying to get it cheaper.

Me: “Oh! No, I know that, but could you put it through and just not pour the drink? I don’t need it; it’ll go to waste.”

Cashier: “No. It comes with a drink.”

I can see I’m not getting anywhere with her, so I finally just ask for their most popular drink, pay, and step off to the side to wait for my food. She stomps around a bit getting my order and then hands it to me, smugly adding, “And here’s your drink,” as she hands it over.

Me: “Thanks.”

I turn to a group of teenagers sitting at the table behind me.

Me: “You guys want a free drink?”

I set my drink on their table and they thank me while the cashier goes ballistic behind me.

Cashier: “YOU CAN’T DO THAT! IT COMES WITH A DRINK! YOU HAVE TO TAKE THE DRINK!”

I just walked out. When I looked through the window getting into my car, a very exasperated manager was talking to her. Good luck, buddy.

This was five or six years ago. Apple and Google Pay had not long been introduced here in the UK when these incidents happened. I had a smartphone, so I was able to use that brand’s mobile payment app with no worries.

Though the only “limit” is what you personally have in your bank account at that time, at this time — and for some stores who had not taken up [Mobile Payment] — the limit was set to £30, the contactless limit.

I went into a shop and got a “meal deal” and some things for the house. The meal deal consisted of a sandwich, a drink, and a snack pack of crisps for £3. My total came to around £12 overall, and I advised that I wanted to pay via card.

The cashier totaled it, I did the [Mobile Payment] thing, and my phone beeped. The payment went through, the cashier’s drawer opened, and the receipt printed, indicating that the payment was okay.

Cashier #1: “What?! What just happened?”

Me: “I used my card. It’s on my phone—” *points to it* “—so I just use it as an ordinary card payment.”

Cashier #1: “NO! You are trying to steal from us! You did not present your card!”

During the transaction, the supervisor was behind her filling the cigarettes and lotto scratch cards, so they had seen the whole thing.

Supervisor: “Sir, I know you’re not trying to steal. I use [Mobile Payment], too. I know you have paid, so feel free to go. I think I have some staff training to do.”

Me: “Thanks!”

I have been there several times since then, but the first time I went there after this incident, the same cashier was there. She just gave me a look and I said:

Me: “Don’t worry, I am not stealing; I will use my magical phone!”

She did not find that funny.

A few weeks after this, I was with my mother at a different shop buying some furniture and garden stuff that came to £30.

“Great!” I thought.

I tapped the phone, beep it went, and I paid for it.

Once the receipt printed, the cashier looked at me, the till, the receipt, me, the till, my phone, and me before finally taking the receipt and handing it to me.

Me: “Isn’t [Mobile Payment] a wonderful thing?”

Cashier #2: “Sorry, but is that what you did with your phone? Paid?”

Me: “Aye, set it up a few weeks ago. I can use it for unlimited payments for shops that support it, for any transaction of £30 or less.”

Cashier #2: “I have heard of it, but I haven’t seen anyone use it. Now I know it works! Looks simple.”

Me: “It is!”

We said our goodbyes, and Mother and I left.

[Mobile Payment] can be confusing, folks. Just don’t go stealing from people, eh?

I work at a popular fast food restaurant. I was called in on my day off because they needed help.

“No problem,” I thought. “Probably a busy day.”

I walked the mile and a half up there, got inside, and clocked in to find out that the manager and most of the other employees had gone out and partied the night before. I wouldn’t normally have a problem with this if they hadn’t been the ones opening; now, an entire shift and most of another had called out due to being hungover. This included the opening manager.

Since all of them didn’t show up, it was now five in the afternoon, and the restaurant had never opened. Two of the biggest rushes of the day had been missed, and we were smack dab in the middle of the final one… with nothing ready.

The evening shift manager was alternating between screaming into the void, pulling their hair out, and trying to get the (very few) non-hungover employees to please, please, please come in!

The first thing I did when I got inside and clocked in was to check if we had things stocked such as tater tots, French fries, etc.

I headed back to the freezer, and nothing was done. I wasn’t happy. I’d been working there for a little over a month, had been fully trained in two weeks, and knew that stocking the fridge takes at least half an hour for one person to do it.

If I buckled under, I would be forced to juggle cooking and stocking, and it would take me about two hours to do everything that needed to be done. By that point, the dinner rush would be over and it just wouldn’t be worth it. I told the evening manager that we would simply have to be closed today because I would not be able to run this place with only said manager to help.

The manager struggled mentally for a moment and then sagged in acceptance. I was the only one they had gotten who was willing to come in.

This was the day I learned not to answer my phone on my day off. This was also the time I got to watch as nearly the entire staff was fired and replaced.