(I work as a cashier. Sometimes, if people have more than one of the same item, they will only put one up on the belt, and I can change the quantity manually. This customer has seven juice containers but only gives me one to scan.)

Customer: “And times this by six.”

(I look in her cart and see that she has a total of seven items.)

Me: “You actually have seven of these.”

Customer: “No, I said times it by six.”

Me: “But you have seven. Or did you want to put one back and only buy six?”

Customer: “I don’t think you understand. I said times it by six!”

Me: “Okay…”

(I scan the item, change it to six, and put it behind me with the items to go back on the shelf.)

Customer: “What are you doing? I want them all!”

Me: “You said you only wanted six.”

Customer: “No, I said times it by six. You don’t even understand what I’m saying! I want all of them!”

Me: “So, you do want all seven of them?”

Customer: “Oh, my God, this is ridiculous. Listen to me. You scan that item, and you times it by six!”

Me: “But you have seven of them. If you want all seven, then I have to charge you for seven.”

Customer: “Have you been listening to me at all? You times it by six; this isn’t complicated.”

(The customer has been sighing and rolling her eyes at me the whole time, like she can’t believe my stupidity. I decide to stop trying to explain it to her, scan the seventh item, and put it in her bag. She looks confusedly at the screen showing her order for about two minutes, making me worry that she’s going to yell at me for charging her for seven, before finally paying.)

Customer: “My God! Just ridiculous!”

(She stormed out in a huff, leaving me to wonder when counting to seven became so difficult.)

(I am 17, visiting my grandparents in southern Florida for a few weeks during the summer. I am bi and I wear a gender-equality necklace at all times on plain display. This has rarely ever been an issue to people. I am looking around for peppers to make a homemade jambalaya with my grandmother when a man approaches me wearing a familiar red trucker cap.)

Hat Guy: “Hold on, boy. Do you know what that necklace means?”

(One worker looks over and sees my necklace. She gives me a pained “I’m sorry” face and goes off to find her manager.)

Me: “Oh, I know it pretty well, buddy. May I ask, do you know what that hat means, big guy?”

Hat Guy: “It means that people like you should get out of our d*** country!”

(Quite a few people turn and look at both of us in apparent disgust. To my relief, the worker from earlier appears to be returning with a manager.)

Me: “Oh, look, a manager.” *gesturing towards him* “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

(Hat Guy looks at the manager, who happens to be a tall young man wearing a pin that says “Gaymer,” but Hat Guy doesn’t notice.)

Hat Guy: “Get this d*** [gay slur] out of here! I thought this was a Christian place!”

(The manager says something to the worker who quickly scurries off.)

Manager: “Sir, we are not affiliated with any religion, race, or political party. But we will not have people harassing paying customers.”

(As he says this, the worker returns with a security guy, or at least a loss prevention guy; I never inquired.)

Guard: “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave, or I will call the police and have you removed for disorderly conduct.”

(Hat Guy turns to the manager, who gestures to his pin, causing Hat Guy’s eyes to widen.)

Hat Guy: “That’s why! You’re one of them! D*** [slurs] trying to taint my food! I’m never gonna be like one of you!”

(He then proceeded to SPIT ON MY FACE and leave the store. I thanked the manager and complimented his pin. He offered to help me find my items and gave me a 20% discount, too. If you read this, gay manager dude, thanks for helping, and the jambalaya is now my trademark family dish!)

(It’s 9:30 pm on a Friday night. We shut our cigarette kiosk at 8:00 pm, due to the fact that we usually don’t have the staff to run it and it’s pointless when only five or six customers want cigarettes between 8:00 pm and 10:00 pm. The kiosk has a sign stating to go to the customer service desk and an employee will come and serve you the cigarettes. I’m stood at the customer service desk, taking a quick swig of my drink in between stocking, when a little boy comes round from the direction of the kiosk.)

Little Boy: “My dad said to ask if you are taking a rest?”

(I blink, as the boy has said it innocently but the comment seems directed at the fact I appear to be just stood there, despite the fact that I just stopped for a quick drink.)

Me: “Um, did your dad want cigarettes?”

Little Boy: “No, he said are you enjoying your rest!”

(The boy goes back around and returns a moment later.)

Little Boy: “Also, my daddy says he wants cigarettes.”

(I sighed and went round to serve him. The dad looked a bit sheepish, as he obviously didn’t intend for his son to relay his sarcastic comment/question!)

(I work at a large grocery store. It’s the middle of summer and hotter than normal for my area, and I’m outside fixing up a display of outdoor furniture that’s on sale. As I’m arranging things, a well-dressed woman comes up to me from the crowded parking lot, smiling. I smile back and am about to ask what I can do for her when she beats me to it.)

Customer: “Hi! My daughter is in the car and I just have to grab a few things real quick. Can you just keep an eye on her?”

(I’m too stunned by how ridiculous this is to respond for a moment, glance out at the sea of cars with literal heat waves rolling off of them and I can’t even tell which car has her daughter trapped in an oven. I’m so upset and in shock at how stupid this mother is I don’t even think as I respond.)

Me: “Ma’am, I’m working and have no time or desire to watch your child! And you can’t leave your child in your car!”

(Her bright, vapid smile vanished and she gave me a dirty look as she went back towards the parking lot.)

This story is part of the second Heatwave roundup!

Read the next second Heatwave roundup story!

Read the second Heatwave roundup!

(I live in a somewhat isolated rural area, so we only get pomegranates for sale for about one week before Christmas. When they come out this year I pick up a half-dozen with the rest of my shopping and bring it all up to cash. As the cashier picks up my pomegranates…)

Cashier: “What are these?”

Me: “Pomegranates.”

Cashier: “Where did you get those?”

Me: “From the bin over there. I was excited to see them so early this year.”

Cashier: “Where? We don’t sell these!”

Me: “The sign said they were $8.99/kg.”

Cashier: “No, we don’t sell these! I don’t know where you got them from, but you can’t have them in here. We don’t have any here!”

Me: “So, can I have them back, then?”

Cashier: “What? No!”

Me: “Well, if you don’t sell them here I must have brought them in with me, so can I have them back?”

(I am planning on bringing them to the lotto desk and trying to buy them there.)

Cashier: “What kind of a scam is that? You can’t just take them; you have to pay for stuff!”

Me: “So, can you ring them up, then?”

Cashier: “NO! We don’t sell them here. You can’t just bring your own stuff in to buy!”

Me: “You think I’m scamming you by bringing my own groceries to the store to buy them from you?”

Cashier: “Yes! That’s not allowed!”

(Sadly, the whole interaction stressed me out enough that I left with the rest of my groceries, and when I next went shopping there were no more pomegranates. Fingers crossed for next year!)