The supermarket where I work has introduced measures as a result of the current health crisis. There is a limit to how many can be in the store at one time so people aren’t squished together, and we’ve reduced the amount of checkouts that are open because they’re very close together and limited the amount of certain items you can buy in one shop so we can recover from the panic and bulk buying that’s happened.

I’ve been manning the entrance queue, which takes about eight minutes to get in. I know this because I decided to time it when I saw my mum enter the queue and shop for my granny — her mum.

My shift ends and I join up with her to finish with the shop. We join the checkout queue of about nine people, with an off-the-clock colleague in front of us. A couple joins the queue behind us with a basket and only a few items.

Male Customer: *Loudly* “Another f****** queue?! Outside one took half an hour; this one will take what?”

Female Customer: *Loudly* “Probably an hour and a half!”

Mum: *To me* “They pushed in front of me in the queue outside, so it did not take that long for them to get in.”

Male Customer: *Loudly* “[Other Supermarket] doesn’t have this f****** problem; we can just go straight to the checkout!”

Female Customer: *Loudly* “AND they haven’t limited the amount of pasta you can buy!”

Me: *Loudly, to them* “There are eleven people and eleven checkouts; it’ll be a few minutes.”

They ignore me and continue to loudly complain about how awful and stupid our policies are, and how good [Other Supermarket] is. At this point, the queue includes my off-the-clock colleague, my mum, and me, and then this couple. My colleague walks up the queue as she’s called this couple forward several times to use the basket shop and they’ve been too busy complaining to hear her.

Checkout Queue Colleague: “EXCUSE ME! You can go to the basket shop! Please and thank you!”

Male Customer: “F****** rude! [Other Supermarket]—”

Mum: *Yelling* “If [Other Supermarket] is so great, why don’t you just shop there and save us the headache?!”

Female Customer: “Because they’re out of pasta!”

All Of Us: “THAT’S WHY WE’VE LIMITED THE PASTA TO THREE PACKETS PER SHOP!”

The couple scurried to the basket shop.

I’m shopping by myself when another customer waves at me.

It is quickly apparent that he doesn’t speak English and is looking for something. I know the store pretty well so helping isn’t an issue. The customer mimes a square.

Me: “Er… window, curtains?”

The customer shakes his head and points to the floor.

Me: “Floor mat, door mat?”

The customer shakes his head again and draws a square on the floor, and then he JUMPS on the imaginary square.

Me: “Bathroom scales! Oh, but sorry, I have no idea where they are and I don’t work here.”

Luckily, I spot a worker and wave him over.

Customer: *To me* “Thank you.”

Me: “You’re welcome.”

This story is part of our “I Don’t Work Here” roundup!

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I work at a supermarket as a baker. Currently, due to the disease outbreak that’s gripping pretty much everywhere, we’re in lockdown and time has lost meaning. I get to work and there’s a massive queue of customers waiting to get in. It’s 6:00 am.

Customer: *To me* “Why isn’t the store open? Shouldn’t it open at 6:00 am?”

Me: “It’s Good Friday. We open at eight.”

There was a cry of various swear words, laughing, and then a mass of people leaving cause they weren’t gonna hang around for two hours.

I’m an American on my first trip abroad. I am standing in line at customs and am developing my first gout attack. The line inches forward slowly and I can see people at the booths at the front of the line being detained almost endlessly. I finally get to the front and talk to an agent, who speaks in a thick Cockney accent.

Agent: “Purpose of your visit?”

Me: “I’m visiting friends and hope to do a little sightseeing.”

Agent: “How long will you be staying?”

Me: “Four days.”

The agent hands me back my passport.

Agent: “Cheers, mate.”

For a moment, I felt like I had just encountered the bridge-keeper from “Monty Python And The Holy Grail.” I muttered a “thanks” and scurried off. Maybe it was the person after me who got tossed into the Gorge of Eternal Peril.

Me: “Good afternoon, [Charity]; how can I help you?”

Client: “I just wanted to check if you were on the same phone number that you used to be on.”

Me: “Well, we haven’t changed our phone number, and the number is the one you dialed.”

Client: “Oh, well, that’s fine, then.” *Click*

I was left there scratching my head.