(My husband and I grab a few donuts and drinks from a local grocery store for the road while we head out of town. We go to the register and a young woman is cashier. I know I’ve seen her during the day on school days, so I know she is older than high school age and has been there for a while, so I’m surprised by the following interaction.)

Cashier: “Your total is $8.57.”

(My husband hands her a $20 bill. She puts it in and realizes she put in $10 instead of $20 on the register, so the change reads $1.43. She grabs a pen and paper and starts writing something. I’m at the far end of the counter, so I’m not paying attention. I figure she’s writing something down about putting the wrong total in, just in case there’s confusion or something, which I understand. She turns to her coworker.)

Cashier: “Hey, they gave me twenty but I put in ten.” *she gestures to the register*

Cashier #2: *quickly looking over from her current customer* “It’s fine… Just figure it out.”

(The cashier turns back around and gets a new piece of paper to get ready to try and figure it out. I decide to speak up.)

Me: “It’s $11.43.”

Cashier: *stares at me blankly and in awe* “Did you do that on your phone?!”

Me: *trying to speak as kindly as possible* “Oh, uh, no. There’s just a $10 difference, so you just have to add ten to the $1.43 on the screen.”

Cashier: *still amazed, but obviously still doesn’t get it* “Huh. Oh.”

(I’m not very good at doing math in my head either, so I don’t judge when that happens… But I’ve made the same mistake as a cashier, and it’s the most simple mistake to fix.)

(I work a Saturday overnight shift with a geeky friend. Our shift starts when the store closes at midnight, so we meet up about ten minutes before so we can catch up on geek gossip while he smokes a cigarette. We usually warn anyone coming up towards the doors that the store will be closing soon. Usually, customers understand and hurry to grab the essentials before the front end shuts down for the night, but one hipster guy just didn’t get it.)

Me: “Just to give you a heads up, the store closes in about ten minutes, so unless you just need to pick up a couple of things they’ll be shooing you out shortly.

Customer: “What?”

Me: “The store closes at midnight promptly.”

Customer: “Well, that’s some bull-s***. This place is 24 hours!

Me: I’m sorry, but the township prohibits 24-hour businesses. I know, it sounds crazy, but it’s an actual law here in [Town].”

Customer: “You’re s***ting me.”

Me: “Nah. I’ve lived here my whole life, and there has never been a 24-hour business within the township limits. Even 7-11 closes for a half an hour.”

Customer: “That’s the worst lie I’ve ever heard. You guys are a**-holes.”

Me: “No, seriously. It’s a law from when the township formed back in the 1960s that’s still on the books.”

Customer: *incoherent swearing questioning my moral fiber and parentage*

Coworker: “Aaaaaand, now you have five minutes before the store closes. If you hurry, you can still make it before the front end closes.”

Customer: “Well, f*** the both of you very much. I’ll take my business across the street.”

Coworker: “You do that.” *waits until the customer is out of earshot* “How pissed do you think he’ll be when he figures out [Other Store] closes at 11?”

(I am a cashier at the grocery store. I am going on lunch, about 1½ hours late. I am exhausted and really hungry. I get my food and am headed to the break room when a customer stops me.)

Customer: “Can you tell me where the apple juice is?”

Me: “In the juice aisle.”

(And I walked off. I didn’t even realize what I had said until I got to the break room and sat down. I felt bad… Sorry, customer, I really am not a jerk like that!)

Manager: “Are you still making those subs?”

Me: “I’m trying to make them look good, like in the display photo.”

Manager: “Hurry up and finish it! I need you to make fried chicken after this.”

Me: “Hey, do you want it done fast, or do you want it done right?”

Manager: “I want it done fast!”

Me: “You’re the boss.”

(I start making the sandwiches quickly and totally half-a**ed.)

Manager: “You’re not doing it right!”

Me: *walking by a customer looking morosely at the milk* “Can I help you, miss?”

Customer: *sniffs* “I’m sorry. It’s just sad so many cows had to die for us.”

Me: *not clocking on* “Of course. I’ll just leave you to grieve.”

(I walk away and am about halfway down the aisle when I realise.)

Me: “WAIT!” *sprinting back to the customer* “That’s not blood; it’s milk!”

Customer: *bug-eyed* “I thought milk was blood?”

Me: “No, it’s like breast milk. Cow’s blood is red like ours.”

(The woman had quite a headlights moment before actually wetting herself. I’m not sure which I’m more affected by: the fact this woman wet herself upon realising we didn’t slaughter cows en masse to consume their blood, or that this adult woman had gone through her entire life up until then believing milk was actually blood.)