I’m a self-checkout attendant. A customer in a nice dress and makeup hangs up a phone call just as I’m getting to her.

Customer: *To me* “Never have kids. Do you have kids? No, you’re too young for that.”

Me: “No kids for me. I’ll spoil my nieces and nephews when they come along, but that’s it.”

Customer: “Good plan. Kids are a nightmare.”

Me: *Trying to cheer her up* “As long as you’re not here in pajama pants at one in the afternoon, you’re doing better than a lot of the moms I see come through here!”

It worked; I got her smiling before she finished her purchase and left.

Later that week, she came back with her husband and toddler, spotted me, and immediately gushed to them about our previous encounter.

We have three express lanes where customers are not allowed to check out more than fifteen items. All of these three lanes currently have lines, and many of the customers are complaining.

Customer #1: “So much for the ‘express’ part of the express lane! I’ve been waiting here for so long!”

Customer #2: “I know! And look, all those other regular lanes are empty! What a joke!”

Customer #3: “It’s like the ‘express’ lanes are the slow lanes, and the slow lanes are now the express lanes!”

I am trying to check out the items as quickly as possible, but I look up to note that — yes, indeed — the regular checkout lane next to me is totally devoid of any customers.

Me: “Sirs, you know you can also use this lane to check out? It’s open, and there’s currently no line.”

Customer #1: “Are you crazy? That’s a slow lane, not the express lane! Are you trying to delay us even more?!”

Customer #2: “She’s just being lazy and doesn’t want to serve us.”

Me: “Sirs, I am simply saying that you can still use the regular lane if you have less than fifteen items—”

Customer #1: “No way! We’re staying in the express lane! We don’t want to be in the slow lane!”

I looked once again at the totally empty regular checkout lane next to me and then back at my long line at the express checkout. I figured it was best not to argue and just kept checking them out as quickly as possible.

They continued to moan about how slow the express checkout lane was the entire time, and also the entire time, the lane next to me remained totally empty.

I’m a self-checkout attendant. A customer pushing a large cart approaches me.

Customer: “Do you have a gun?”

While there is a prominent hunting culture in the area, concealed or open carry is relatively rare. Not to mention, there is absolutely NO reason for any employee to have a gun at work; the area is far from rural, so we don’t have to worry about wild animals, and the local violent crime rates aren’t high.

After a moment of half-panicked confusion, I remember that I work in a grocery store.

Me: “A scan gun?”

Customer: “Yeah.”

One word. Four letters. A world of difference.

Our store sells boxes of “wonky veg” It’s basically a very affordable box of random vegetables that are all perfectly good, but they’re a little “wonky”; they’ve grown into some weird shapes that might put off some customers. I regularly grab them myself; along with the staff discount, it’s a very cheap way to keep my cupboards stocked with carrots, potatoes, parsnips, etc.

A customer comes up to the customer service desk, looking angry.

Customer: “I bought one of your wonky vegetable boxes yesterday, and… well… is this some kind of joke?!”

Me: “What do you mean, madam?”

Customer: “This!”

She slams a carrot on the counter. This carrot has grown into something remarkably similar to a very specific part of the male anatomy.

Me: “Uh… well… the box does contain vegetables of all different shapes. It’s written on the side that some might not be… uh… recognisable as their more normal-looking counterparts.”

Customer: “Oh, I recognise it, all right! Look at it! It even has veins!”

Me: *Trying not to laugh* “Let me call over my manager.”

I do so.

Manager: “How can I help you, madam?”

Customer: *Waving the carrot around* “This! It should be wonky! Not… this! Even my husband said so!”

Manager: *With a straight face* “Madam, that sounds like a private matter between you and your husband.”

Customer: “You should be checking your carrots for… for the bad ones like this!”

Manager: “I’ll pass on your suggestion to the company that provides the vegetables, madam. Would you like a… uh… replacement carrot for your troubles?”

Customer: *Also with a straight face* “I’ve got too many bloody carrots at home. I’ll take a cucumber if you’re offering, though?”

My manager agrees and processes her “replacement”. After she’s gone:

Manager: “Were we just stuck in a Monty Python sketch?”

For the last year, I worked at a small town grocery store. Since we are about three years out from the start of the global health crisis and infection rates are down, masks are optional and only a handful of staff and customers wear them, and I am one of the few. 

One day, I think, “You know, my coworkers aren’t getting sick. Maybe it would be okay to unmask.” And I try a shift with no mask. 

It goes fine until my last customer of the day, a little old man, open-mouth coughs in my face through the entire transaction. I take a step back to try and be as far from his cigarette breath as possible while trying to get him through my line as fast as I can. It is skin-crawlingly gross.

And this is why I will probably continue to wear a mask when working a busy public-facing job, health crisis or not.