As a woman and a frequent blood donor, there are times where I really need iron. I’ve been taking a supplement for years, but it makes me constipated. I do some research online on liquid iron supplements, which are supposed to, well, not do that, but all the ones I see online are really expensive.

One day, while browsing the supplements at an expensive grocery store where I don’t usually shop, I surprisingly find a small, glass bottle of liquid iron — the store’s brand — much cheaper than what I saw online. I decide to try it, and, as it promises on the label, that troubling side effect is gone! It’s now my iron supplement of choice.

Fast forward to a time where I realize I’m almost out right before the time when I need it most. I go the store but can’t find any on the shelf. I ask the girl stocking if they have it at the moment, and she points me right toward it on the shelf… but oh, no, the bottle is covered in dark, sticky goo — the color of the medicine inside — which explains why I couldn’t spot it. And, wouldn’t you know it, it’s the last one on the shelf.

The girl’s about to take it away to throw it out. This is the only place I know of where I can get such a thing at so cheap a price. My voice instinctively pleads, “Another one could have leaked over it, right?”

She replies, “Yeah…” in exactly the tone you’d expect.

I take the bottle from her and examine it. It’s full. There’s no stream of purple liquid dripping out anywhere. The stains are in multiple places; there would probably have to be multiple leaks if it was coming from inside this bottle.

I honestly believe it’s another bottle that leaked on this precious last one and say so. The girl says nothing, but I’m sure she thinks I’m crazy. For a split second, I’m terrified she’s going to insist they can’t sell it to me in that state, that she’ll take it from me to throw away, and I know there’s no magical, endless “back” where they keep secret stashes of merchandise.

Desperate, I blurt out, “My time of the month’s about to start, and you guys are the only ones that sell this.” She nods and moves away.

When I get to the register, I hold it up so the — male — cashier can scan it. To him, I just say, “You don’t want to touch this — something leaked over it — but it’s the last one; I have no choice.” He checks me out without comment.

It’s not until after I exit the store with my prize that I realize how I must have come across. I can only hope I’m not the first desperate customer they’ve ever had who cannot survive without an item of theirs! I hope they just take it as a testimony of how superior their products are.

I was picking up some groceries in a local supermarket when I happened to pass the display of rotisserie chickens, which smelled wonderful. Since it was approaching dinner time and I felt quite hungry at the smell, I grabbed one.

At the checkout counter, the checker commented on how good the chicken smelled. The check stands in this store are arranged so the customer cannot get to the bags while in line, so usually, the checker does the bagging. I paid for my groceries, loaded my cart, wheeled it to my car, and unloaded all the bags into the trunk.

When I got home, I reached for the bag with the hot chicken in it, meaning to take it in and eat right away. I couldn’t find it amongst all the bags of groceries. So, I loaded them all into the house and looked again — still no luck. Baffled, it occurred to me that sometimes items slide out of those plastic grocery bags, so I went through the trunk — which had a number of things in it permanently — to see if the slick black plastic container of chicken had eluded me so far. Still, no luck finding it.

Thinking about it, I vaguely recalled the checker placing the chicken where it wouldn’t easily have been visible by me while I was paying. I had assumed that he had bagged it, but I really hadn’t been watching.

I actually checked my receipt to see whether he had simply not rung up the chicken, but he had. It had now been about twenty minutes since I’d left the store, and I certainly did not want a chicken that might have been sitting out, cooling all that time, so I called the store to ask for a reimbursement.

The service clerk answered, I explained what happened, and — presto! — she put me on hold before I could request reimbursement. I waited a full nine minutes before giving up, hanging up, and making myself a canned bean sandwich to assuage my hunger.

After that impromptu dinner, I called the service desk back and, before I could say anything, the clerk asked me whether I was the one missing the chicken. She must have had both caller ID and a good memory for phone numbers! When I said yes, she immediately put me on hold — and I hung up immediately.

The next afternoon, I walked into the supermarket with my receipt and got my refund. I bought a different kind of chicken because I wanted no chance of getting the one that had been sitting out the day before!

I work as a deli clerk in a grocery store. A seemingly normal young woman approaches my counter and asks for some sliced turkey. I slice it up for her, bag it, and place it on the counter for her.

Me: “Have a nice day.”

She takes the bag and looks at me, horribly offended.

Customer: “There was really no reason for you to throw it at me. You could’ve just handed it to me.”

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I didn’t throw it at you; I placed it on the counter.”

She looked as though I had just insulted her entire family and stormed off. Five minutes later, I am informed by the manager that she had just filled out a formal complaint that, word for word, I threw a bag of meat at her face. I explained the situation, and thankfully, he believed me, saying he’d have to notify the head manager of what had really happened, as a formal complaint always has to be taken seriously.

I work as a deli clerk at a grocery store. The customer points at a salad in the display case.

Customer: “Does this salad have egg in it?”

I look thoughtfully at the salad for a moment and then reply in a perfectly friendly voice.

Me: “I will check the ingredients list in the back for you.”

Customer: *Looking horribly offended* “Not if it’s going to be too much trouble.”

She walks away, white as a ghost.

The NEXT DAY, the attention of the entire staff in the deli department was brought to a formal complaint made by a woman. In it, she had explained that when she had asked for an ingredients list, the clerk had rubbed her temples, sighed heavily, and told her she would HAVE to check in the back if it was THAT important to know.

I suppose you can’t underestimate the power of a person having a really bad day?

I’m right at the beginning of a six-hour shift on a very busy Saturday. I’ve served a few customers when a woman comes up with her two kids. The eldest is walking but the youngest is standing in the trolley. You can hear him before you see him.

Child: *To me* “This is ours. This is mine and this is mine.”

He continues in this fashion.

Mother: “Shush, she knows.”

Child: *Ignoring her* “Hey, lady, how are you?”

Me: “Good, you?”

Child: “I helped shop; I’m buying things. Mummy, can I go play?”

Mother: “You’re not helping anymore?”

Child: *Thinks about it* “No, I’ll help. I’m a man in the making.”

The mother and I both start laughing. The kid can’t be older than three so he sounds like a mouse.

Child: “Yeah, I’m a man in the making; did you hear that?”

He asked that over and over for the rest of the transaction. It was about the funniest thing I’ve ever had happen at work; I was smiling for the rest of my shift.

This story is part of our feel-good roundup for August 2020!

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Read the feel-good August 2020 roundup!