To help pay the bills until I get called back to work, I got a job as a personal shopper. Our company has us wear black T-shirts with the company logo, but other than that, you can wear pretty much anything you want as long as you look professional.

Yesterday, I got an order at a certain store that requires its employees to wear a red shirt. Luckily, I had been to this particular store many times — both for orders and for myself — and am friendly with most of the staff, including the managers.

This order required me to go through self-checkout. Once I got the all-clear from the employee running the self-checkout lane, I went to one of the closed checkout lanes to bag up the order so I could get it to my car. Again, nothing too unusual.

I was wearing my black company shirt, a nice pair of jeans, a comfortable pair of sneakers, and a thin jacket — not a scrap of red on me — and the light for the checkout lane was turned off.

As I was packing up, I heard an oncoming cart and then the sound of plastic and cardboard. I looked up to see our Friendly Neighborhood Entitled Jerk unloading her three overloaded carts in the closed checkout lane where I was packing things away. I groaned. I knew my friends at this store were going to have a major headache; she wasn’t really paying attention to me and couldn’t see that I was not an employee of this store.

I finished bagging my things and waited for her to make eye contact with me. And when she did, I swear I heard the theme for The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly playing.

She pointed at the register and nodded as if I was a dumb person who didn’t know what she was supposed to be doing. I just picked up my bags, waved at her with a smile, and walked off, leaving her stuck there and me with a new way to get back at the entitled jerks of the world.

But that wasn’t the end. This morning, I decided to go to the store to get my own groceries and bumped into one of the managers. This manager is good at saying, “You’ve pushed my last button; now get the h*** out of here before I go Hulk on you’re a**,” in the most polite way possible. He’s also protective of his employees.

[Manager] happened to see me and came over with a teasing smile. He said, “You know, you caused us a lot of trouble yesterday, [My Name].”

I asked what he meant… and I hope you have the popcorn ready.

[Manager] was on duty yesterday. After I made my dramatic exit, she tried to bully some of the store workers into opening up the register. Unlucky for her, there weren’t enough employees around to open extra registers. Her “squawking” — [Manager]’s words, not mine — soon attracted [Manager]’s attention and he came over.

He hadn’t had the chance to begin his “How may I help you?” spiel when the customer began her tirade about me and how employees really need to deliver, especially in these tough times, yadda, yadda, yadda.

Through her and the worker at the checkout lane, [Manager] figured out what had happened, along with who had offended the customer’s delicate sensitivities. He explained, “Ma’am, that was a personal shopper who is not employed with our company. We leave this register closed so they can pack up their orders. If you want, I’ll help you over to the next register and check you out.”

[Manager] doesn’t like rewarding bad behavior, but some battles just aren’t worth picking.

Now, most normal people would realize their error, apologize profusely to everyone, repack their cart, and go to an open register with meekness and humility. And if she had done that, [Manager] tells me, he would’ve helped her.

Entitled jerks like this one, unfortunately, aren’t most normal people.

The customer decided to puff out her chest and play the weakest card in her hand. “Well, since you’re here and I’m not going to call corporate… do you mind opening up this register and checking me out since I’m already here?” She tried saying this in a sticky-sweet voice, which is one of [Manager]’s pet peeves.

[Manager] looked at her and said in a professional but firm voice, “Ma’am, you’re asking me to check you out of a register dedicated just to personal shoppers, after harassing several employees, after I volunteered to help you move?”

The customer, realizing that she had probably pissed off the one person who had been most willing to help her, slowly reloaded her carts and slunk to an open register. [Manager] watched her to make sure she wouldn’t cause a problem.

She meekly paid for her groceries and left.

I am stocking the bakery aisle and overhear three girls:

Girl: “Don’t talk to me about fudge. We talked about fudge yesterday and look where that got us.”

Customer: “I want eight chicken wings, but I want them all from the same chicken.”

Me: “That’s impossible, ma’am.”

Customer: “Why?!”

Me: “Well, chickens only have two wings.”

Customer: “I don’t want any from those chickens! They’re all genetically modified!”

Me: “Ma’am, if that’s your concern, then it’s the eight-winged chickens you should be worried about.”

I am checking out a mother and her young daughter, likely kindergarten age. The mother is distracted with a young baby in a stroller but the daughter is diligently passing the items to me.

I am surprised when I hear the daughter humming “Take Me Home, Country Roads” by John Denver!

Me: “Oh, that’s one of my favorite tunes!”

Young Girl: “Me, too! We learned it in school today! Look, I even made a picture!”

The young girl then magically produces a piece of paper with bright marker stick people and the name of the song on top. Immediately, I notice a couple of things: the word “Home” is missing an M, and more importantly, the word “Country” is missing an O.

Me: “Oh… that’s… lovely.”

The mother realizes what is happening and snatches the artwork from her daughter.

Mother: “No, [Young Girl]! This is special art for Mommy’s eyes only, remember!”

I’m stocking shelves and overhear two customers in the next aisle.

Customer: “Oh, look! This is that special kind of glass that doesn’t shatter when you drop it!”

This is followed by the sound of shattering glass.

I just sighed and went to collect my broom.