(I’m a male student walking home from a night out, when some girls I vaguely recognise call me over.)
Girl 1: Hey, you’re in the same halls as us. Like to share a taxi? We can split the fair.
(It’s common for people at the taxi rank to grab anyone who happens to be heading the same way, so as to spread the fair over more people. I prefer to walk, but I feel like helping them out so I agree. Unfortunately, when we get there…)
Driver: That’s £15.
Me: So £3 each.
Girl 2: (Flutters her eyelashes) I thought you were paying.
Me: No. You said we were splitting the fare.
Girl 2: But I don’t have any money!
Girl 3: Or me!
Girl 4: Or me.
Me: So you decided to trick me into paying the whole thing when I didn’t want to come.
Girl 1: Well… I have a fiver.
(She places it on the tray. I only have a 20 so I put that down and pick up the fiver.)
Girl 1: Hey, that’s my money!
Me: Yeah. Just taking it as change.
(The driver hands us a fiver change, which I take despite the girls trying to snatch it form me.)
Girl 1: But it’s my money! You can’t have it!
Me: You put in 5. I put in 20. By taking 10 change, I paid twice as much as you in total.
Girl 2: We all saw you steel it!
(I decide to walk away from this, but the girls follow me through the car park.)
Girl 1: You took my money!
Girl 3: I can’t believe you’re being so petty about ten pounds!
Girl 4: We all saw you grab it!
(I know that the surrounding flats will be able to hear them so I turn to confront them.)
Me: Now look here! I have paid two thirds of your fair, you ungrateful brat! And that’s after…
(However, as I’m gesturing with my arms, Girl 1 abruptly clutches her face and screams, before grabbing some hall wardens. They take us all to separate rooms for questioning. A process which takes half an hour, during which I’m terrified that I’m about to be arrested for assault.)
Warden: Look, this is something you’d need to take up with the police. But you should wait until you’ve sobered up first.
Me: Thank you.
(The police never got involved. The girls later came up to me and apologised. I offered to give them the money back, in case I misjudged something. I never joined a taxi pool again.)

(We are shopping for an engagement ring in a small jewellery store, it is quiet with two other people looking around the staff have left us to browse.
A very tall, very slim man walks in behind us and starts acting very animated…)

Man: (to no one in particular) I’m just looking!!!

(We ignore him).

Man: (again no one is around) Typical, typical!

Staff: Can I help you sir?

Man: NO! (Screeching) I am just looking!

(At this point we try to move away from him).

Man: (Still screeching) I want that watch.

Staff: Good choice sir, that watch costs £550. It is a (brand) and is water resis..

Man: (Cutting her off) No! you will give it to me for free!

(At this point all the staff are nervously watching him, we have tried to make as much room as possible but he is blocking the entrance.)

Manager: (Stepping in) I’m sorry sir, we cannot do that. The watch costs £550. You can pay with cash or card. But you will not be getting it for free.

Man: Do you not know who I am? I need that watch! (he reaches over the counter, somehow even being over 6 foot he manages to miss both the watch and the member of staff).

Manager: I need you to leave, now!

(The manager starts to approach the man, trying to get him out of the store. Instead he backs into us. I put my fiancé behind me but with nowhere to go he is going to end up on top of us.)

Me: Hey! watch it.

Man: (Gabbing my coat) If I have to go, he does too!

(All attention is suddenly on me, the manager freezes, my wife grabs on to me, store security have just arrived but no one dares to come any closer. With my slim build and short height he towers over me. I hadn’t been in a fight since I left school many years ago and I have no idea what is going to happen next.)

Me: Get, off, me. now!

(He begins screeching and pulls at my coat, surprisingly to everyone (including myself) I don’t even flinch. Panicking he uses both hands, again I don’t move, despite the size of him, he weighs less than I do. Yet he won’t let go.)

Security: Sir, you need to let the gentleman go!

(He is cornered, security and the shop staff surround him, I am not moving no matter how hard he tries. A last ditch effort he throws all his weight behind him and tries to drag me over on top of him. Eventually I stumble, landing knee first into his gut, knocking any fight out of him. Security grab his arms and legs dragging him out of the store.)

Manager: I am so sorry sir, are you alright?

Me: Err, yeah actually.

Manager: Your not hurt at all?

Me: No, no i’m fine. Honestly I think our dog weighs more than he does.

Manager: Well I apologies anyway, you said you where looking for an engagement ring?

(We got a great deal that day on the ring, and an even better story. It turned out that the man was the son of the owner. Who partied away his allowance and previously was caught dipping his hand into the till. The manager assured me that this time he would not be coming back!)

In this story I am the ‘customer’, and 17 years old.

The general election of 2005 is drawing near and I’m going to be 4 months too young to vote, but I’m studying Politics and have become really interested. My friends and I are walking down the street when we notice politicians campaigning ahead of us.

I’m excited about the opportunity to talk to a politician, to hear first-hand how they campaign for votes, so I’m feeling very lucky when they stop me:

Politician: Hello there, can I stop you for a second please?
Me: Yes, sure!
Politician: How old are you? Are you old enough to vote?
Me: *realising that the conversation is about to end, and thinking on the spot to see if I can talk policies for a bit longer* No! But…but my Mum is!

(Our ATM is managed by a very popular bank not associated with us. There is even a sign on it to warn customers that supermarket employees cannot deal with any ATM enquiries, and to contact your bank. An American man comes in with a British bank card that should allow him to withdraw money from any ATM. Note that I’m slightly hard of hearing but can generally understand people after they repeat what they have said.)

Customer: “My card won’t work in the ATM! It just comes up with an error.”

(I notice that his card is slightly bent out of shape and peeling at the edges. This is probably why the ATM won’t take his card, as it’s damaged.)

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, sir. Unfortunately, we don’t have anything to do with the ATM as it is maintained by the bank you’re with. You could always try putting your card in again, or we do offer a cashback service. You do have to buy something for cashback, though, and it’s only a £50 limit.”

Customer: “Well, that’s no help! I need to do my shopping!”

(Some old-fashioned cards are only able to be used at ATMs, but it’s been many years since I’ve seen these. After some questioning, the customer tells me that his card can pay for the shopping but “he prefers to use cash.”)

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but you can either try the ATM again or try paying with the card. Those are the options. There’s not much else I can do.”

Customer: *turns around to walk away* “Oh, to h*** with you!”

(He walked off and didn’t return. I’m not sure how his card being too damaged to be read by the ATM was my fault, but I guess that’s retail!)

(I work in a small location that sells only one international brand of shoes. We don’t have a lot of space, so some of the less popular shoes don’t get replenished. When we run out of sizes or styles, we frequently write down the name and code number for the shoe so that the customer can find it on our website later.)
Customer: I like these ones, but this one has a blemish. *pointing out a pair of blue shoes that also come in red or black*
Me: Oh, no, I’m sorry to see that. I’ll go check if we have another pair in your size – if we don’t have them in the blue, would you be okay with trying on one of the other colours?
Customer: I guess that’d be fine. The black ones by preference.
(I run upstairs to our stock room, and the only pair of that style in her size are the blue ones with the blemish. They’re also slightly different colours – probably from someone trying to clean the blemish off. I double check that there aren’t any of her size in the other colours, grab the mismatched blue pair, and take a deep breath.)
Me: I’m really sorry, but it turns out that the only ones of that style that I have in your size are the blue ones – *holding them out*
Customer: Well, you can hardly expect me to buy those.
Me: No, no, absolutely, but I’ve brought them down so you can try them on, at least, and –
Customer: *cutting me off* Don’t you have any in the other colours?
Me: No, which is why I brought these ones down. Even though the colour’s wrong, you could still try them on –
Customer: But why would I?
Me: If they fit, at least, I can write down the code for you –
Customer: No.
Me: What I mean is, if you have the code and you know they fit, you can find them online.
Customer: *stares at me for a few moments* Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt.
Me: *screaming internally*