(I work the seafood counter, but it is joined with the meat market. Sometimes the seafood staff have to watch to meat counter for a while. For a few weeks, we have this elderly man come in and try to play pranks on the employees.)

Coworker #1: *in meat department* “Hello, sir, what can I get for you today?”

Elderly Man: “Yes, I would like your best pork belly buttons.”

Coworker #1: “Umm… I will have to ask my boss. One moment.”

Coworker #2: “Sir, pork belly buttons don’t exist.”

Elderly Man: “Well, of course they do!”

Wife: “Leave them alone! I am sorry.”

(A few days later, I am working both counters.)

Me: “Hello, sir, what can I get for you today?”

Elderly Man: “I would like some pork belly buttons, young lady.”

Me: “I am sorry, sir, but your reputation precedes you. Pork belly buttons do not exist. Is there anything that I can actually get you?”

(He laughed at this.)

Wife: “Leave the girl alone!”

Me: “Oh, no worries, ma’am; I already know who he is. Is there anything I can get for you guys today?”

Elderly Man: “I like you!”

(After that he stopped asking, but if I was working, he would smile at me when they passed by.)

(I’m running the self-checkout service. Keep in mind that payment type is selected by the customer and not by me.)

Customer: “It didn’t let me get cash back! It just skipped right by it!”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am. You must have accidentally chosen credit. If you need cash back, you can get something small like a pack of gum and run your card again. Would you sign here please?”

Customer: “No! I don’t have a credit card!”

Me: “I still need you to sign here please.”

Customer: “I don’t have a credit card! Why do I have to sign?”

Me: “The system requires that I get your signature.”

Customer: “But I don’t have a credit card! Is it going to charge me twice?”

Me: “No, ma’am, it won’t. Please sign here.”

(She finally signs and I think it’s over, but after she places her bags into her cart, she turns back to me.)

Customer: “I don’t have a credit card! That is not customer service! That is not customer service! I should never have come here! That is not customer service!”

(She stormed away, but had to turn around because her car was in the other direction. I’m still not sure how her mistake had anything to do with my customer service.)

(I have a scar on my jawline. It’s not super noticeable, but it’s there. I also have an excuse I use if anyone asks me about it and I don’t want to explain it.)

Customer: “Oh, hey, you have a little something there.”

Me: “I do?”

Customer: “Yeah, right there, by your jaw.”

Me: “Oh, yeah, that’s from when I got in a knife fight with a bear. You should see the other guy!”

Customer: “Umm, uh, really?”

Me: “I know, right? Who gives a bear a knife? They have talons already.”

Customer: *finally cluing in* “Oh, my God! I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to offend you!”

Me: “It’s okay; I have thick skin. See, right here!” *points at scar*

(It’s a rather dull day, and a well-built, muscular-looking man with an incredibly thick, long beard is checking out at the register in front of me. I quickly, but covertly check him out. As I begin perusing the magazines, a large projectile flies into the middle of my carefully arranged order, knocking over a soda and nearly hitting me.)

Me: “Hey! What?” *looks down, and sees a package of pads* “What the f***?”

Customer: “Oh, geez, yeah, that’s mine… girlfriend’s!” *grabs pads and puts them back in his order* “Sorry.”

Me: “Uhm…? What?”

Cashier: “Your pads were in his order! Men don’t need pads!” *scans the man’s remaining items*

Customer: “WELL, I DO! For my… for my girlfriend!”

(I notice that the man is angry, yet nearly in tears at this point. I think, “wow, he must really love his girlfriend!”)

Cashier: *takes the pads, and throws them directly at me this time*

Me: *bats pads away, angry now* “These are NOT mine, and it’s not your business what he’s buying, or who for, as long as it’s legal in this state and sold by this store. If you insist on not ringing up his order completely and accurately, we will need a manager.”

Customer: “Thank you.” *to the cashier* “See? She gets it!”

(At this point, he lifts his arm in a motion towards me, and I see a familiar strip of cloth under his exercise shirt that looks like an undershirt, with a tag from a popular brand. He notices me see it, puts his arm back by his side, and tenses up.)

Me: *I nod* “Sir, I’d like to buy these supplies for you. May I?”

Customer: “I, uh… yeah! That’s incredibly kind. Thank you!”

Me: *removes the divider between our orders, and turns to the cashier* “Ring this up too, please.”

Cashier: *scoffs* “Buying stuff for a dude? Really? Gotta be THAT feminist today, huh?”

Me: *unperturbed* “Yes. Why wouldn’t I?”

Customer: “Thank you! I… you really are… thank you.”

Me: *smiles at him* “You’re welcome.”

Cashier: *scowls and makes random misogynistic and angry comments, barely loud enough to be heard, while furiously ringing up our order*

(As we’re leaving, the man holds the door open for me. We get to talking while walking to our cars, and I admit that I bought his groceries just so I could talk to him for a bit longer.)

Customer: *leaning against his car, and crossing his arms* “So, how do you know? It may be that I’m paranoid, but I swear I heard you say ‘sir’ a little more emphatically back there.”

Me: *laughs* “Oh, yeah, I might have. Sorry. My brother wears the same brand of binder.”

(We had a long conversation that ranged from LGBT rights to the pain of Mother Nature’s monthly endurance tests, during which I find out that he’s new in town. Even though I’m cis, I knew of and recommended a network of doctors, including a gynecologist who mainly sees male patients, and a group he could join. I also texted my brother to see if I could give him his number, and my brother agreed. They ended up becoming really good friends!)

(I work at a store that stays open until 10 pm each night. On this day, it’s around 9:58 pm, my manager and I are the only ones still in the store, we’ve cleaned up, and we are walking to lock the front door, keys in hand, when a car pulls into a space outside and an entire family gets out and runs up to the door.)

Father: “Wait! Wait! Are you still open?”

(I look at my manager who, to my annoyance, just shrugs.)

Manager: “Technically, yes, we are.”

Father: “Great! We only need a few things!”

(Unable to do anything now, we let them in and watch as their kids begin destroying the aisles we have just organized while the parents take their time grabbing things and tossing them into a hand basket. Some time later, they come up to the register, which my manager has reopened for them. I’m bagging.)

Father: “So, when do you guys normally close?”

Manager: “We actually are closed now.”

Father: “What!? That’s impossible! You said you weren’t closed when we came in!”

Manager: “That’s because you came in just before 10 pm, when we do close.”

(The father gives us both a blank look.)

Manager: “You’ve been in here for almost 30 minutes.”

(More blank looks.)

Mother: “Honey, time doesn’t stop while you’re in here.”

(Another moment passes as the father looks at his wife, the clock on his phone, then at the manager in shocked silence.)

Father: “Well… why didn’t you say that before we came in? If I’d known that, we’d have gone to a different store!”

(He grumbles as we ring up his purchases and his wife corrals their kids, getting in a final jab as they leave.)

Father: “Next time just tell us to go elsewhere!”

Manager: “…but I was trying to AVOID that very argument!”