(A coworker has come to me about a refund that she is unsure about.)

Coworker: “I have a lady who wants to return knitting needles, but I wasn’t sure if we did refunds on those.”

Me: “Yeah. We shouldn’t, but we do. Where’s the lady? I’ll help her.”

(She leads me over to an elderly lady who is standing near our knitting needle displays.)

Customer: “Hello, dear. I have some knitting needles here that I would like a refund for. Can you do that?”

Me: “I can, but first I need to see what needles they are, and I will need the receipt.”

Customer: “Oh, I don’t have the receipt.”

(She starts pulling out needles that are so old that they are in imperial sizing. They look ancient.)

Me: “Um, we don’t sell these brands. Did you say you bought these here?”

Customer: “Oh, no, I’ve had these at home for years. I can’t knit anymore. I just want a refund.”

Me: “I’m sorry; that’s not how refunds work. We can only refund on brands we sell, that you have actually bought from us, and have a receipt for.”

Customer: “But you sell knitting needles.”

Me: “Yes, we do, but we don’t sell or buy used knitting needles. I am so sorry, but there’s nothing I can do.”

Customer: “I am sorry for taking up your time; thank you for being patient.”

(As she shuffles off my coworker turns to me.)

Coworker: “Oh, thank you for that; I didn’t know what to do with her.”

(I felt so bad for the old lady.)

I work at a theater chain that offers discounts to seniors 65 or older. My manager and most of the staff hate the policy because most of the time you can’t win for losing. Either you offer and the person is offended you’ve implied they’re old, or you don’t offer because the person looks about 45 and they’re indignant that you’ve overcharged them. I’ve gotten in the habit of just guessing, and basically if you look at least 50 or have some grey, I’ll go ahead and add the discount. No one has to announce their age, and they save money. I never got a complaint before or after this one.

An obviously older customer carefully perused the ticket pricing options and very specifically asked for two adults. I went ahead and used the senior price despite her specification, since she obviously qualified, and gave her the reduced total. She happily paid and entered the building. A few minutes later, she came storming out of the theater demanding a refund, since I charged her too much and didn’t give her the senior discount. I politely told her to check her ticket again. She hurried back into the theater, now red-faced.

She was obviously trying to set up a reason to complain, given that she specified a ticket she didn’t actually want and then came to yell at me for getting it wrong based on that specification. But she just ended up embarrassing herself in front of a huge Saturday crowd, since she didn’t bother to check what she actually paid for!

(It’s probably about minus 30 outside at the full-service gas station. I fill a very elderly lady’s vehicle, clean all the windows, and clean the lights. She comes out and gives me a tip.)

Customer: “Here you are, dear. Go buy yourself a coffee.”

(I looked down to see she gave me a quarter and a dime. The smallest coffee is still a dollar twenty five. She must have been pushing 90, so I didn’t think anything of it. She was very sweet, otherwise.)

(My manager is ringing up an elderly couple two registers down from me. It’s quiet at the moment, so I can hear their conversation.)

Customer: *places her credit card on the counter*

Manager: “Ah, you can run your card here through the pin pad. If you’d like credit instead of debit, just press—”

Customer: *testily* “Yeah, I got it, honey, I got it. We don’t need explanations.” *slides her card* “I’ve been shopping at stores like this since before you were born. I don’t need you to explain anything. I’m eighty years old; I know everything.”

(My manager and I shared a look, and luckily the transaction finished quietly and without further incident. Personally, I can’t wait to reach eighty now, so I can know everything, too.)

(I volunteer with my dog at a rest home. We go around all the rooms and common areas interacting with the residents, especially those who love dogs. Because it’s a rest home, the residents are elderly and often ill; I am getting used to old friends passing away and new ones coming in. As I’m nearing the end of a corridor, a lady is standing in her doorway. We haven’t met her before.)

Resident: “Is that a drug dog? Are you here looking for drugs?”

Me: *jokingly* “No, why? Have you got some?”

Resident: *big, deep sigh* “Only the ones they give me, sadly.”

(Later in that same visit I accidentally walked in on two of the residents canoodling. I left that day reminded that age is no indicator of mischievousness!)