I am working as a cashier in a drug store/pharmacy when two guys in their twenties walk up. They each have only one item, but they put their items down on the counter at the same time, right next to each other. They chat a bit, clearly friends, while I take the first item and scan and demagnetize it so it won’t set off the anti-theft scanner.

Out of habit, I ask if they are paying together or separately for their purchases since they both have their wallets out, ready to pay. They both laugh awkwardly, and then I realize they are both buying identical boxes of condoms.

Guy #1: “Paying separately, please. I don’t like him that much.”

Customer: “This furniture set seems expensive. What kind of discount can you give me?”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I can’t give you any discount.”

The customer gets very upset. She continues to ask for a discount, and I continue to refuse.

Customer: “I always get my way. Don’t underestimate me.”

Me: “I wouldn’t do that. Clearly, you’re impossible to underestimate.”

Related:
Don’t Discount The Customer’s Ability To Discount, Part 25
Don’t Discount The Customer’s Ability To Discount, Part 24
Don’t Discount The Customer’s Ability To Discount, Part 23
Don’t Discount The Customer’s Ability To Discount, Part 22
Don’t Discount The Customer’s Ability To Discount, Part 21

I am the manager of a store that sells mostly jewellery and accessories aimed at kids and teens. In the UK, we have Love2Shop vouchers — gift vouchers that can be spent in a variety of places. A number of the participating shop logos are printed on the front of the voucher itself.

A woman comes up to me and asks if we take these vouchers, to which the answer is no.

Customer: “But your shop name is on the voucher!”

Me: “Oh, is it? That’s strange. Let me have a look.”

I look at her voucher and see the name of a completely different store. They are a chain that sells a similar variety of products, but they’re aimed more at adults and not teens and kids. It’s also worth noting we don’t have one of these stores in our little town, and we never have.

Me: “That’s actually [Shop #2]. We’re [Shop #1].”

Customer: “No, you’re not! You’re [Shop #2].”

This went back and forth a bit. When she continued to argue, I pointed out my store lanyard and then showed her some stock with our store name on the packaging, but no, she still didn’t believe me. 

She then stormed out of the store to look at the signage out front in order to “prove me wrong”. I’ll never forget the look of confusion and defeat on her face when she came back in. Seriously, though, did she think I just didn’t know where I worked?

I used to do housesitting jobs for spare cash when I was young. I’d just go over to someone’s house once or twice a day and take care of whatever they needed done while they were away. It was easy enough, but every now and again, something odd would happen, and I’d have to figure out what to do myself since I worked alone most of the time.

One day, I was checking in on the house of a family friend living across town. He wanted me to water his plants and feed his cat while he was away. Most important to this story were the tomato plants he had growing out back. It was an absolute scorcher of a summer day, so I took care of the indoor plants and fed the cat so I’d have some time to cool off before watering the tomatoes.

When I got out, I heard a weird splashing noise. The friend had set up a large barrel of water for me to use, and the sound was coming from there. Concerned, I opened it up. To my complete and utter shock, there was a bat drowning in the barrel. It must’ve tried to get at the mosquitoes on the surface of the water (stagnant pools of water are hotbeds for breeding mosquitoes) and fallen in somehow.

To this day, I still have no idea how it got in there or how long it had been splashing and flailing. I just focused on how to fix this. To water the plants, I was supposed to use a scoop to get some water out of the barrel into a cup and carry it over to the plants, so I took the scoop and carefully lifted the bat out of the water.

The poor thing was soaked and shivering, so I set it down in the garden in a sunny spot to help it dry off and warm up, with easy access to shade for when it felt well enough to move again. I kept watching it until it stopped trembling. At that point, I poked it a little with the very tip of the scoop to see if it was still alive, and it let out a little angry squeak in my direction.

I went to take care of the plants at that point, and it was gone when I got back. I hope it was okay. Still, it was definitely not the first thing I expected to find that day.

Our coffee shop has a group of old ladies from the same retirement home who gather twice a week to chat and do some crafts like knitting. It’s cliché, but it’s true! Today, as I bring them all their mugs, I see the group making what I would describe as rustic stick figures.

Me: “Oh, not knitting anything this week?”

Old Lady: “No, we’re all making these today.”

Me: “What are you making?”

Old Lady: “Voodoo dolls.”

Me: “Uh…”

Old Lady: “One of the Black ladies in the home died a few months back. One of the racist old c***s in the care home said, ‘At least the n-word won’t be doing voodoo anymore.’”

Me: “That’s awful!”

Old Lady: “So, we’ve been making these Blair Witch stick figures and leaving them where that troll will find them. She’s found seven so far.” *To the group* “Now, don’t dawdle, ladies. We need at least another ten of these before the bus picks us up!”

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