(I am a manager, cashiering one night, when a young guy walks in and grabs a beer. He looks younger than 25.)

Me: “Hi. Will that be all?”

Customer: “Yeah.”

Me: “Okay, can I see your ID, please?”

(The customer pats his pockets but does not find what he is looking for.)

Customer: “I’ll be right back; forgot my wallet in the car.”

(He leaves, and I have a feeling he is not as old as he says he is. I watch him walk to his car and get in, and out comes someone else. I have put the beer up when the second person comes in, goes to the cooler, and grabs the same beer.)

Me: “Sorry, but I am unable to sell you this beer.”

Customer: “Why? I have ID, and this is for me.”

Me: “I am sorry, but I saw you get out of the car that the same person just got in, and get the same kind of beer as he did.”

Customer: “This is bull! It was for me!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but since the first person came in and got the same beer and did not have ID, I can’t sell this to you, but when you go to another store make sure that you go in first instead of your friend.”

(Mad, he ended up throwing our lotto machine at me and storming out. I called the police to report it. I later came to find out that his aunt works for the sheriff’s department!)

Related:
No ID, No Idea, Part 35
No ID, No Idea, Part 34
No ID, No Idea, Part 33

(I’m a female. When I am 17, I work night shifts at a gas station. Sexual harassment is common, but this exchange sticks out for being as baffling as it is creepy.)

Male Customer: “Can I get a two packs of [Brand] cigarettes?”

(Being silly, I stand one pack up straight on the counter and stack the other one sideways on top of it.)

Male Customer: “Well, if you can do that with those, I can’t wait to see what you can do with your legs!’

(A male customer enters with his girlfriend. He doesn’t come straight up to the till, meaning that I have to prompt him.)

Me: “Hi, can I help you?”

Customer: “Pliers.”

Me: “Sorry?” *thinking I must have misheard*

Customer: *impatiently* “Pliers!”

Me: “Um, we’re not a hardware store.”

Customer: *angrily* “PLIERS!”

Customer’s Girlfriend: “They’re called players, you idiot. And say please!”

Customer: *meekly* “Players, please.”

(There’s nothing I love more than getting yelled at by crazy old men for things that A) aren’t my fault, B) I can’t change, and C) have been this way since before I was born. Most gas stations, if you haven’t noticed, charge a bit of a premium for credit card use. This is because the banks themselves charge us for when people use credit cards; the premium helps to defray some of that cost. This premium has been in place for decades now, and 99% of gas stations have that premium. Those that don’t make up for it by just setting their prices higher. This somehow didn’t make it through to the geezer who runs up to my window, brandishing his receipt like it’s one of Wonka’s golden tickets.)

Customer: “YOU CHANGE PRICE! Say $2.31! Why change?! YOU CHANGE!”

Me: “Sir, $2.31 is the credit card price. $2.21 is the cash price listed on the sign.”

Customer: “WHERE SAY?”

Me: “On every pump, sir. The credit card price is listed there.”

Customer: “No, it wasn’t! Show me!”

(I lead him to a pump and point.)

Me: “Right there, sir. Every pump lists the credit price.”

Customer: “NO GOOD! IS CHANGE! YOU LIE!”

(By this time, I’m a bit fed up.)

Me: “I’m sorry you feel that way. Can I help you with anything else?”

(Kill them with kindness, right? With a huff, he let out a final “F*** YOU,” jumped in his van, and peeled out of the parking lot at something like 40 miles an hour. I have to say, I wish him luck. We’re the cheapest gas station for three miles, and every other gas station in the county has the same premium.)

(I work at a gas station that has an air pump owned by a different company. It costs $1 in quarters for about four minutes. They basically rent the space from our corporate office.)

Customer: “You need to give me a receipt for the $1.50 I had to spend on air from your machine so I can get reimbursed from my boss!”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t own the machine. They rent the space from our corporate office.”

Customer: “But it’s on your property! You’re making a sale! And I need a receipt so I can get my money back from my boss!”

Me: “Sorry, it doesn’t work that way. I cannot give you a receipt, as it’s not ours to give.”

Customer: “So, you’re making a cash sale with no record?!”

Me: “We didn’t make a sale; the other company did.”

Customer: “Well, surely you can appreciate my situation? I need a receipt to give my boss so I can get my money back.”

Me: *sighs* “There’s a number on the machine you can call.”

Customer: “I guess I’ll have to do that!” *storms out*

(Yes, he was seriously flipping his s*** over getting reimbursed for $1.50!)