I’m a customer at the self-checkout. Pretty much every time I’m there someone fails to notice the large, rectangular scanner built into the door pole meant for scanning the rectangular  barcode on the recipe to open said doors. Usually a quick “You need to scan your recipe” from the clerk is all that is needed, but today was special.

The family consists of the parents and a boy in his early teens. Since they are standing confusedly in front of the doors and the clerk is nowhere in sight, I tell them “You need to scan your recipe.” while pointing to the relevant pole.

The father immediately walks over to the other pole – the doors are about two meters wide -, ignoring the large, flashing red light of the scanner and proceeds to smash the recipe against it.

After a moment of shock I tell him “You need to scan it on the pole with the scanner.” He, incredibly, manages to go to the correct pole. Hope soars in me. And is smashed like the recipe against this pole. Exasperated – because the scanner does not appear to pick up the barcode, which is on the part of the recipe he has not smudged against it – he hands the recipe to his son with a grumbled “Here. You do it.”.

Surely, I think, a child of the technological age must know how to use such simple technology. And lo and behold – he spots the barcode! And proceeds to turn the recipe sideways, before repeatedly failing to scan it.

It’s like watching a dog with a long stick try to fit through a doorway, just less cute and funny.

I have since come to the conclusion that they shared a brain, supported by the fact that only one of them spoke at a time and that there was some progression on each action.

They did – eventually – make it out, complaining about the complicated mechanism.

(I’m working registers. A customer approaches and begins unloading her shopping onto the belt.)

Me: “Hi, how are you today?”

Customer: “Oh, hi…” *looking at my name tag* “… [My Name]. I’m good, thank you. You must be new here. Welcome. I hope you’re enjoying it.”

Me: “Um, I’m not new, actually.”

Customer: “You must be fairly new. I’m [Customer]. I’m a regular and I know everybody here. When did you start?”

Me: “I’ve worked here for almost five years now.”

Customer: “Really? How come I’ve never seen you before? I’m here all the time.”

Me: “I couldn’t say. I’ve never seen you before, either.”

Customer: “When do you normally work? Clearly this isn’t your regular shift.”

Me: “I’ve worked this shift every week for months now.”

Customer: “Oh. Are you sure you’re not new?”

Me: “Pretty certain.”

(She paid and walked away, muttering about how she knows everyone and how she’s there all the time. It’s worth mentioning that, despite the number of customers I serve each day, I recognise all of the regulars and know many of them by name, so I’d likely remember her if she came in as frequently as she claimed. Funnily enough, I’ve never seen her again since.)

(I work as a personal shopper for a grocery store. The service — which brings the groceries you ordered out to your car — has been met by mixed reviews; everyone who actually uses it loves it, but some people in our town love to complain about everything. I’m picking for other people with my cart, minding my own business, when a middle-aged man stops me and acts like he’s going to ask a question.)

Man: “Would you look at that?! Some people can’t even shop for themselves!” 

Me: “We do get a lot of people who are disabled or have chronic health conditions, but it’s a free service for everyone. Did you want to know more about it?’

(Mysteriously, he turned red and scurried off.)

(I work in a coffee shop that was recently built inside a grocery store. We keep cupholders that clip to the sides of the grocery carts in a basket at the end of the counter where you pick up your drinks and food. I notice one woman walking away with her entire grocery cart covered in the clip-on cupholders, with only one of them actually holding a drink. The basket only has two or three cupholders left.)

Me: “Ma’am? Would you mind putting those cupholders back and only taking the one with your drink in it?”

Customer: “Why? I need them.”

Me: “Ma’am, other customers need them, too. We only have two left, and as soon as the people in line get their drinks we probably won’t have any. I could take them off for you if that would be easier.” 

(I reach for one of the empty cupholders, and she grabs the coupon flyer sitting in her cart and smacks me.)

Customer: “No. They’re mine!”

(She ran away, and I stood there, stunned. I reported the incident to my manager, but my shift had ended, so I left. I later found out that she ran out of the grocery store with the cupholders still on her cart, but she left the cart sitting in the parking lot anyway.)

(I’m on WIC — the Special Supplemental Nutrition Program for Women, Infants, and Children — and I’m checking out in front of an older man and a couple of teen boys. I tell the cashier I’m using one of the checks, and the older man groans.)

Older Man: “Ugh, why can’t you sluts just keep your legs closed? I don’t want my tax money paying for some welfare babies!”

Me: “Sir, I just want to get food and go home.”

Older Man: “To your sugar daddy’s house? Does he have some mansion up in the mountains or something?”

Me: “No, I’m in [Trailer Park] right now. That’s all we can afford.”

Older Man: “F****** trailer trash, I should have known!”

(The teenage boy behind him finally gets tired and taps him on the shoulder.)

Teen: “Look, sir, that poor girl already told you that she doesn’t want to hear this, and I’m pretty tired of it, too. Plus, she’s probably stressed out enough, being pregnant and having to rely on government assistance. So, how about you leave her alone for a bit?”

Older Man: “Well, all these kids today, being rude!” *storms off*

(The teen ended up buying me a couple of candy bars and told me that I shouldn’t worry about people like the older man.)