I visit a certain grocery store pretty regularly. It is the closest one to my home. This location has a lot of issues with their card readers. Sometimes it takes a couple of tries to get my card to run through. It doesn’t happen often enough to make me not want to go back.

Today, I cannot get my card to read at all after numerous tries. The person next to me is also having issues, and someone behind me is, as well. I call the attendant over to let him know the card reader isn’t working and to ask if I can move my items.

Me: “The card reader on this register isn’t working. Can I move my items to a new one?”

Attendant: “It’s not the reader. Our readers are fine. It’s your card. Do you have another form of payment?”

Me: “Um, no.”

Attendant: “Well, I don’t know what to tell you, then.”

Me: “Can I maybe move my items to a different one?”

Attendant: “Why? It won’t help you.”

Me: “Well, the guy next to me was having issues with his card reader and so was a woman behind me. Can I try?”

Attendant: *Rolls his eyes* “Sure. It’s not gonna work, but I guess, if you really have to.”

Guess what? My card worked with no problem. He mumbled something about how he didn’t know why it would act that way and how they never have problems and just walked away. No apology. I almost got a manager but decided not to. I was also too flustered to get his name to file a complaint later. Hopefully, his customer service gets better.

Due to current situations, the supermarket I’m working for has opted to start cleaning key touch points of the store, i.e. handles, keypads, doors, etc. The “disinfectant” that’s used for most parts is very strong and a skin irritant, it has great big warning signs and notices on it, and we wear gloves when using it.

It is kept in the cage element of the cart we wheel around; the cage is only enclosed on three sides as it’s actually just there to stop things from falling off when stocking.

I am on cleaning duties when I’m asked to help move a box. I tuck my cart in behind the checkout — staff-only section — and make sure the cage opening is against the wall. It is out of my vision for about two minutes. As I’m heading back over, I see the cart has been moved and a woman is about to spray the disinfectant directly onto her skin. I shout, moving over quickly.

Me: “That’s not for hands!”

She freezes as I get there and gently take it from her.

Me: “It’ll irritate your skin and could damage it badly. If you want hand sanitiser there’s some by the exit and entrance.”

Customer: *Angry* “Why is it out if it’s not for public use?!”

Me: *Pause* “It was in the cage, behind a checkout.”

Customer: “It was out in the open!”

Me: *Irritated* “It wasn’t when I left it, but even if it was, who picks up an unknown chemical covered in warning signs from an unknown cart and goes to spray it on their skin? It could have been acid for all you knew!”

Shockingly, she didn’t raise a complaint.

The cake decorator in the bakery where I work has difficulty putting up with any amount of stupidity. She always says what’s on her mind and rarely gets reprimanded.

Customer: “Hi. I’m looking for a cake.”

Decorator: *Slight pause* “Okay?” *Another pause* “What kind of cake?”

Customer: “I can’t really remember; I used to have it all the time growing up.”

Red colors are gradually forming on the decorator’s face.

Customer: “You know, the cakes my grandmother used to make me all the time?”

Decorator: “…”

Customer: “…”

Decorator: *Now smiling* “Do you know what cakes my grandmother used to make me?”

Customer: “No?” 

Decorator: *Smile fades* “Then how the f*** would I know what cakes your grandmother made?”

Four months later, she still works here. The customers must be too scared to make a complaint.

This story has been included in our June 2020 roundup as one of that month’s most memorable stories!

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I work in a grocery store. One day, I got an influx of… I don’t know where they hailed from, but there must have been a convention of them in town. I am female, and this day our male-customer ratio was through the roof.

Several barked, “Manager!” and each time, they demanded a man to ring them up. Since our cashiers are largely female, this means that the manager and our stock boys would have had to use the register all day — and the stock boys aren’t trained for, or responsible for the registers.

When the manager basically told them that they could be rung up by a woman, or they could leave without their products, they became insufferably rude.

All of them either threw their cash on the conveyor belt or slapped it on that little platform for filling out checks. When I greeted them, they glared. When I talked to them, they clamped their mouths closed and refused to so much as look me in the eye. When I tried to give them change, they leaped back like I had the plague and wordlessly jammed a finger at the check platform.

I would put their change down, and they wouldn’t touch it unless my hands were well away from their money, because they refused to touch it if I even vaguely made a motion in the change’s direction after I put it down.

And they just kept coming. A few hours in, the manager grabbed the PA system and made announcements at hourly intervals stating that all customers would be rung up by a woman and that if a customer was “uncomfortable” with it, then we regretfully wished to refer them to another store to make their purchase.

Thankfully, this nonsense only lasted a single day, though by closing, we were all thoroughly sick of it.

This story is part of our International Women’s Day roundup!

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I am a customer in this story. The store where I work is closed down due to state-wide lockdown. My main job is as a cashier leader; I ring out customers, solve problems without manager assistance, and generally do anything else the managers need me to do. A lot of people in my town know me.

I am at the grocery store stocking up on some food for the next week since my husband is still required to go to his essential job and needs lunches made for him.

Random Lady: “Ma’am!”

I have half my face covered with a mask, not expecting anyone to recognize me, so I do not even notice she is speaking to me and carry on browsing the items on the shelves. 

Random Lady: “MA’AM!”

She ends up grabbing my arm, which I immediately and forcefully pull back due to the fact that I do not want anyone touching me during this time. She is furious, to say the least.

Random Lady: “The disrespect you have shown! I will let your manager know about this!” 

I finally realize who she is — a regular customer of mine — but my rage gets the best of me.

Me: “Go ahead, tell my manager. We have been closed for over a month. Is there something you need from me? Oh, maybe a question, ‘When are y’all opening?’, ‘Will items be marked down?’, ‘Are we going to limit people inside the store?’ I DO NOT F****** KNOW. MY MANAGER HAS NOT CALLED ME YET.”

I drop my basket in my arms during my rage and break a bottle of wine that I was going to purchase.

She stands there looking at me, stunned. I just stare back at her while wine pools around my feet. An associate of the store comes around the corner.

Associate: “Are you all right?”

Me: “I’m fine. I apologize for breaking the wine bottle; let me help clean it up.”

He refuses and then looks back at the lady.

Associate: “Ma’am, is everything all right?”

Random Lady: “I’d like to report her to your manager. Now.” 

Associate: “She doesn’t work here. I am sorry, but there is nothing I can do.” 

I stood there with my arms crossed with a kind of “go on, leave” look, and she eventually sunk away into another aisle. I can’t wait to deal with this one once my store reopens.