Customer: “Excuse me, do you sell refills for candle holders?”
After a brief pause to process the question:
Me: “Do you mean candles?”
Customer: *Pauses* “Yes.”
Me: “Let me show you where they are.”
I’m a shopper for online order pickup and delivery, so I’m in an aisle with a few customers gathering the items for my orders. An older lady pokes her head down the end of the aisle and shouts.
Old Lady: “Honey!”
I figure she is talking to her husband or a grandchild shopping nearby. After a couple of minutes:
Old Lady: “Honey!”
I look at her.
Me: “Are you talking to me?”
Old Lady: “Hooonnnnneeeyyyyyy!”
She speaks very slow and drawn out.
Me: “What can I help you with?”
Old Lady: “Where is the HON-EY?!”
Oh, I see. I tell her the aisle number and off she goes. The customer who had been shopping closest to me and listening to the whole exchange, tells me:
Other Customer: “I thought she was calling you, ‘Honey!’”
Me: “Yeah! Me, too!”
I’d later have customers come up and just say “cereal” or “orange juice” to find out what aisle they needed, but so many people here call others “Honey,” it’s a confusing one for sure.
My husband and I both worked retail jobs when we were younger, so we have a lot of sympathy and understanding when it’s obvious folks are just overwhelmed, new hires, or anything like that.
Well, at least I thought we both did.
The store we’re currently in has a total of four registers. At the moment, two are being manned and there’s a long line waiting. One register is empty, and one is being obviously used for training, as there’s a big sign on the belt that says, “TRAINING,” with a product rack blocking the aisle, there’s a manager standing over the person at the register, and that person is looking over a book.
Husband: “Man, this is a long line.”
Me: “Yeah, but it’s our fault for coming during rush hour.”
Husband: “They could really open up another register.”
Me: “It’d be nice, but we’re almost up to the front, anyway; there are only like two people ahead of us.”
My husband turns around, stares at the manager and trainee, and then reaches up and SNAPS HIS FINGERS and calls for help. I glare at him and raise my voice.
Me: “Did you seriously just snap your f****** fingers at them?!”
Husband: “They’re just standing there!”
Me: “She is getting trained! That register is closed! You know better than this. Get out and go wait in the car!”
Husband: “But—”
Me: “No buts. You never act like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with you right now but I’m not dealing with it. Go! I’ll see you in a few minutes!”
He finally did trudge off. It left everyone else kind of staring at me, and I apologized for the scene. And no, I didn’t suddenly get handed a ton of coupons or the double-employee-discount or anything like that, but the manager did thank me for standing up for them.
I got outside and my husband was indeed sitting in the car but looking unwell. We figured out that his blood sugar was going wonky, and apparently, the first symptom for him is getting extra snappy… no pun intended. And yes, since then, I have more than once pulled the “you’re not you when you’re hungry” line when he gets that way!
Customer: “Do you have any of that acne remover?”
Me: “We have basic skin cleaning items in aisle seven.”
Customer: “Can it cure really bad acne for my son? Like, really bad.”
Me: “I think you’d need to see a health professional if you want to get something stronger like that.”
Customer: “I see, I see. Also, can you tell me where I can find the sandpaper?”
This story is part of our Best Of March 2021 roundup!
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I am a thirty-four-year-old woman and I live in a ground floor flat. Due to the current health crisis and my job as a support worker, I have been ordering my weekly shopping for delivery. Around 3:00 pm on Saturday afternoon, my delivery arrives, and I’m stood at my front door waiting for the driver to drop off my delivery. He stops and looks at me.
Me: “Good afternoon, sir.”
Driver: “Hello, I have your order here, but I need to see some ID.”
I think this is odd but don’t have a problem with it. I reach back to my coat that has my purse with my ID.
Me: “May I ask why?”
Driver: “It’s because you have ordered age-restricted items and I can’t tell if you’re over twenty-five.”
I tried to scan my memory to see if I could pinpoint the items I’d ordered differently this week but came up with nothing. I showed him my card and he accepted it. He then put down my shopping and left. As I put my things away, the only thing I could find that was age-restricted was the painkiller that I have ordered every single time. I think I’ll take that as I compliment that he thought I was too young to be ordering painkillers.
