Rage Against The Machine, Part 5

| ON, Canada | Right | January 17, 2017

(I’m working the self-scans. I had just noticed a pattern of, while I wasn’t looking, someone scanning the same items — two salads — onto a couple different machines and then being gone by the time I looked. Whenever I see a machine with a couple things on the order but neither the customer or their items anywhere, I cancel it to free up the machine. Finally, I spot the customer with the salads fighting with the machine.)

Customer: *shoves coins into the coin acceptor, which spits them back out every time*

Me: *approaches customer* “Ma’am, right now the machine wants to know if you want to purchase any bags.”

Customer: “No.” *frantically slams her finger against the screen in multiple places before she finally hits the NO BAGS option*

Me: “Now you just have to hit the CASH button, and then it’ll read your coins.”

Customer: *slams the cash button violently and starts shoving their coins in*

(I go to help someone else for a bit, but eventually notice the customer is having trouble getting the machine to accept one of her coins. She’s getting more and more violent and slammy as it goes on. I walk over to offer to take her coin at the till.)

Me: “Can I—”

Customer: *she interrupts, yelling right into my face* “NO!”

Me: *takes a careful step back and allows her to continue*

(It took her about five minutes to pay because of this, despite the fact it would have taken only a second had she allowed me to help her. This was the first time I’ve actually been legitimately frightened of a customer. She’s lucky she chose one of the working machines to fight with, though, because there’s one in particular that tends to eat any coins that are dropped into the coin acceptor before it’s told to expect cash. I really don’t want to think about how she might have reacted to that!)

 

Plasma Charged

| UT, USA | Working | January 17, 2017

(A few days prior to this, I had donated plasma. It’s similar to donating blood, but sometimes things go wrong when they return your cells to you, causing bruises. In my case, I have a hematoma that is close to three inches across due to a problem with the machine. Heading into the grocery store, in short sleeves due to the warm weather, I tromp around just picking up a few things I needed. As I’m doing this, I notice that a particular employee in a shirt and tie is following me around. Turning to look at him, I smile and greet him before heading off. I’ve picked up a couple sodas, some snacks, and noodles, when I turn to head up front. Picking a cashier, I start to check out, but notice that the girl’s taking a good bit longer than usual, trying to figure out prices and what not. It dawns on me then, based on my own prior experience in retail, that she’s stalling me. A few moments later, a pair of police officers enter the store, and talk to the man I saw earlier before turning and walking in my direction.)

Officer #1: “Sir, could we speak with you?”

Me: “Is something wrong?”

Officer #1: “We just need to speak with you, outside.”

Me: “Okay, let me pay for—“

Officer #1: “No, you need to come outside, sir.”

Me: “Going to explain to me why, or just be vague about it, Sergeant?”

Officer #1: “We don’t want to cause a scene here…”

Me: “No one is making a scene. I’m here shopping, about to pay, and wondering why the h*** you’ve been called.”

Manager: *the guy in the suit* “We don’t want your kind here! You need to leave.” *turning to the officers* “Make this leave!”

Me: “Woah, now, MY kind? What the h*** is that supposed to mean?”

Manager: *pointing at the bruise* “Addicts like you!”

(Looking to my arm, I chuckle and then hold up the card I was about to pay with. It’s a Visa card that the plasma places give you when you donate. They pay you for donations.)

Me: “Addict? Try plasma donor. However, if you don’t want me here, I’m certain that the officers will agree that if I pay, and then leave, that there’s no wrongdoing.”

(At this point the manager reaches out, grabbing my arm and pulling before giving me a hard shove, hard enough to knock over some displays as I stumble. Picking myself up, I look to the officers.)

Me: “You witnessed it. I was just assaulted. I wish to press charges.”

(The officers look to me, then back to the manager, reaching out to take him into custody. All the while he’s screaming about how they’re taking an addict’s side and not the right person. He was still yelling as I left, my bags in hand. Outside, the second officer noted that it probably would be a good idea if I avoided that store in future. Especially after plasma donations.)

Not The Top Slice Answer

| TX, USA | Romantic | January 13, 2017

(My boyfriend and I are shopping at our local grocery store for beer. This particular beer he wants is best served with orange slices so we head for produce.)

Boyfriend: *looking at oranges* “How many slices come in an orange?”

Me: “…”

Boyfriend: *waiting for my answer*

Me: “However many you slice them into, dear.”

Boyfriend: “Oh.” *blushes*

Everyone Else Is From Mexico

| MA, USA | Friendly | January 12, 2017

(I’m doing my grocery shopping while listening to music on headphones. I notice an old man on a scooter glaring at me and realize I’m singing along to the song softly but audibly. Thinking this is why he’s mad I stop but when I lower my headphones to apologize I catch the tail end of his comment. For the record, I’m white.)

Old Man: *mumble mumble* “…back to Mexico!”

Me: *laughing a little* “Excuse me?”

Old Man: “You heard me!”

Me: “Sir, I was singing in Swahili…”

Monstrous Pronunciation

, | FL, USA | Right | January 9, 2017

Customer: “And can I have a pound of the monster cheese?”

Me: “Excuse me? What kind of cheese?”

Customer: “The monster cheese. This one.”

Me: “Oh, you mean the muenster.”

Customer: “Oh, yeah, but, well, you know, I don’t know how to pronounce that. It’s too hard. Is it ‘manster’? ‘Minster’?”

Me: “No, ma’am. It’s ‘muenster.’”

Customer: “Yeah, but I don’t know how to pronounce it. Is it ‘mo-an-ster’? ‘Moon-ster’?”

Me: “Ma’am, I just told you how to pronounce it. It’s ‘muenster.’”

Customer: “Yeah, but it’s too hard to pronounce! Is it ‘mon-aster’? Is it ‘minister’?”

Me: “No, ma’am. It’s ‘muenster.’”

Customer: “Well, however you say it, I want a pound.”

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