(The store I work in eliminated baggers about eight years ago. Since then, the cashiers put the customer’s items into the bags, and then customers put them into their cart on their own. We’ll help only if the customer is older or unable to load the bags on their own.  Our store is also in the middle of a major remodel. This is a healthy customer in her mid-forties.)

Me: “Do you have any coupons or bottle slips?”

Customer: “No. So, what are they actually doing with all this construction?”

Me: “Well, they just finished expanding the pharmacy and moving the drive-thru around to the front of the store. And now, they’re redoing the floors and moving things around to their new locations.”

(By this time she’s paid and is just standing by her cart.)

Customer: “I was told last time I was in that they had finished the pharmacy, and now you’re telling me that they’re just now finishing it? Get your story straight. And I guess that now we have to load our own bags?”

(She grabs her two bags, leaving a fifteen-pound bag of dog food to be loaded. I ignore her comment, since it has literally been years since we’ve had baggers, and I know that it will make her angry if I point that out.)

Customer: “Hello? Did you hear me? Are you making me put my own things in the cart now?”

(She just stood there, expecting me to help her with what she’d already gotten in and out of her cart once. I loaded the dog food simply to keep the peace. Luckily, my coworkers thought she was crazy, too, when I told them the story later!)

(I am getting some eggs when I overhear a customer talking to one of the associates.)

Customer: “Do you know what I just found out? This feta cheese, here, isn’t made with goat or sheep milk; it’s made with cow’s milk.”

Associate: “Yes, that’s true.”

Customer: “Well, I thought that feta was always made with goat or sheep milk. I was buying it because I thought it was dairy-free!“

(I had to walk away at that point, biting my tongue.)

(In the store I work for, there’s a café area that has smoothies, cold teas, coffee, and the like. It’s across from where I usually stand as a cashier. Most customers either order first and then pay me, or they pay me and walk behind them to order. Sometimes, there is a wait because the café team is understaffed, and they all have plenty of other things to get done. Some people, mostly regulars, are less than understanding. A regular — usually a nice one that I talk to frequently when she’s in — is waiting by the café after paying. She’s been there maybe twenty seconds and has repeatedly claimed she is in a hurry.)

Regular: “Is this even open?!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. I’ve already called someone up.”

Regular: “I hate the system here!”

(My coworker gets her drink. As the regular is leaving, she says more to me.)

Regular: “I hate the system you guys have here! It’s why I stopped coming back!”

(I’ve seen this woman very frequently throughout my working history there. The last time I saw her was two days before, where she complimented a dress I wore.)

Me: “You did?”

(She just scoffed and hurried out after that. Two days later, she was in again with her husband. They both complimented a necklace I was wearing that my mother gave me.)

(If you work at my store, you get a discount card that entitles you to 10% off. You also get a partner card for a family member, but the holder of the partner card must live in the same household as you. Our tills are very old, and if a card doesn’t swipe you can simply type it in. To avoid colleagues just giving their discount card number to everyone they know to use, company policy states you must have the card with you in order to use it. Typing it in without the card is a fireable offence for both the cashier doing it and the holder of the colleague discount card. A guy walks up to the customer service desk with two jumpers.)

Customer: “Hi. Can I pay here, please? I have a [colleague rewards coupon].”

Me: “Yes, that’s fine.”

(I scan his jumpers and tell him the total. He picks up his phone and shows me the screen.)

Customer: “Oh, and this is my colleague discount number, as well. You can just type it in.”

Me: “Do you not have your discount card on you?”

Customer: “No.”

(I look at his phone screen. The number has been texted to him as part of a conversation with who appears to be his partner.)

Me: “Okay, well, without the colleague card present, I’m not allowed to type in the number. It’s company policy. Sorry.”

Customer: “No, it’s fine. [Nearby Store] does it for me all the time.”

Me: “Okay. Well, I still can’t do it. I have nothing to verify you are the colleague or partner. The company policy is in place to stop everyone just using one colleague’s number.”

(He stared at me and just repeated that [Nearby Store] does it all the time for him. We ended up repeating the conversation twice before I went to find my section leader and get her to reiterate that he wouldn’t be getting his discount today. He walked off in a huff and maintained we were “just being silly.” I’ll never understand why people can’t understand that company policy can’t be ignored. Just because the store you work in knows you and doesn’t mind typing in the number, it doesn’t mean any store will!)

When I was in high school, I also worked at a local supermarket on checkout. As a self-conscious and non-confrontational two-meter-tall — 6’5″ — male, I always greeted everyone with a smile and a “G’day, mate,” just on pure reflex, which is perfectly acceptable in Australia.

But there was one middle-aged man who, every time he came through, got upset at me for calling him “mate” because he went to some high-end English university and he felt he should be called “doctor” and that I was not his mate. 

I wasn’t going to change my normal habits just for him, so I thought nothing of it until one day he just snapped and started to scream at me.

I’d never had anyone scream and berate me for something that is understood as a perfectly normal Australian greeting. After he finished yelling, saying that he would never return, and I shakily finished ringing up his goods, I accidentally said, “Have a good day, mate,” on pure reflex as he left.

He paused for a second and I froze in my spot, but thankfully, he continued walking.

My supervisor gave me some time to calm down and said that I should ignore him and not change myself based on one person.

I took her words to heart and, when he came back a week later, I gave him a nice big, “G’day, mate!” as he came through my checkout. He just ignored me and after that avoided me every other time he came in.