(I am checking out at a local grocery store. If you shop using reusable bags at this particular store, you get $0.03 off for each bag you use. The cashier has just finished ringing me up.)

Cashier: “Okay, how many reusable bags did you use today, sir?”

Me: “Nine.”

(She turns to her register and pauses for a moment, as if she is confused.)

Me: “The discount should be $0.27.”

(She looks at her register again, and then calls over a passing coworker.)

Cashier: “Hey, [Coworker], what’s nine times $0.03?”

Coworker: “$0.27.”

Cashier: “You sure?”

Me: “I’m pretty sure he’s right. The discount should be $0.27, like we both told you.”

(She gave me a skeptical look but proceeded to apply the discount regardless. It boggles my mind to think about how people are able to get jobs that involve a lot of mathematics when they cannot even demonstrate elementary-level multiplication.)

(I’m at the deli counter of the supermarket. Before I walk up, the area around the counter is completely deserted, save for the lone employee behind the counter who I don’t recognize and conclude is new. On my approach, I notice the display’s London broil is almost completely gone.)

New Employee: “What can I get you?”

Me: “Do you have any more London broil?”

New Employee: “Any what?”

Me: *pointing to the display* “London broil.”

New Employee: “What’s London broil?”

Me: “It’s a beef with–“

New Employee: “Oh, yeah, we’ve got roast beef.” *walks towards the roast beef*

Me: “No. Not roast beef.” *pointing to the display on each word* “London. Broil. Over here.”

New Employee: “Roast beef?”

(Thankfully, before that gets ugly, one of the experienced deli workers who overheard the whole thing comes out from the back.)

Experienced Employee: “Howdy, [My Name].” *to the new employee* “He wants this stuff.” *points to the London broil* “This is London broil. And this small amount isn’t tender, so get him a fresh one from the back.” *hands him the wrapper* “The wrapper will look just like this one.”

(The new guy disappears in the back while the experienced one slices and packages some Swiss cheese. When the new guy comes back, it starts right back up.)

Experienced Employee: “That’s roast beef. I told you to get London broil and to match the wrapper.”

New Employee: “He asked for roast beef.”

Experienced Employee: “No. He asked… Forget it. I’ll get it and then we’ll go over it. Get him anything else he wants.”

(She disappears into the back and leaves me alone with the new guy. Thankfully, the last item is right in front of him.)

New Guy: “Anything else?”

Me: “Half a pound of the [Brand] Ham.”

(He grabs the correct ham and loads it into the slicer the experienced employee didn’t touch. Then, he immediately begins slicing. On his first cut, the ham comes out about as thick as a steak. Then, he goes to start slice two.)

Me: “Hold it. Hold it.”

New Employee: “Yeah?”

Me: “Could you cut it thinner than that, please?”

New Employee: “Thinner?”

Me: “Thinner.”

(He stares at the slicer for a moment, and then goes to cut it again.)

Me: “No!”

(He stops and looks at me.)

Me: “You need to turn the dial on the side to make thinner cuts.”

New Employee: “Thinner?”

(Mercifully, the experienced employee comes back out at this point.)

Experienced Employee: “That is way too thick. He likes it razor thin. You need to adjust the slicer.”

New Employee: “Thin?”

Experienced Employee: “Move. Go in the back and sweep.”

(She finished my orders, and I left her a big tip in the jar. Part of me wants to blame the manager for not training him. But another part of me remembers I never said “roast beef” and that he knew meats and cheeses go in different slicers when there’s no rush.)

(For some reason, the grocery stores around my area are a hot target for begging and scamming. It’s not even a bad area, really, so I’m not clear on the why of it, but it’s not uncommon to come across someone asking for money there. Early on, I am not terribly wise to these schemes, and one night I’m parked in the lot of one of the grocery stores when someone knocks on my window. I look up, rather startled as I’m there alone, and see a fairly haggard-looking man asking me to roll down my window. I do just enough to be able to hear him.)

Guy: “Miss? Miss, I’m sorry to bug you, but um, my girlfriend and I, we gotta get back home to Tulsa and we just need some gas money. Is there any way you could help us out?”

Me: “Oh, geez… I’m sorry, but I don’t carry cash on me.”

Guy: “Aw… Okay, thank you, miss!”

(He walks off, presumably to find someone else to ask. I go in and do my shopping, but feeling bad for the guy and deciding he was polite enough, I grab $20 cash back to give him if I see him on my way out. He seems to have moved on, though, and I feel a little bad about not being able to help. At least, until a couple of weeks later. I’m at another grocery store in the same town, getting into my car, when someone speaks up behind me.)

Guy: “Miss?”

(I turn around and it’s the exact same guy from before. He clearly doesn’t recognize me.)

Guy: “Miss, I’m sorry to bug you, but see, my girlfriend and I really need to get to Tulsa and we just need some gas money…”

(I still had the $20 in my pocket… and there it stayed. If you were trying to get to Tulsa, why haven’t you moved more than three miles in two weeks?)

(I work for a well-known supermarket that has a green logo; my uniform T-shirt is the same colour green and has the logo on the back. I’ve finished work and am driving home with my five-year-old with me when my eldest daughter calls. She tells me that not only has she invited friends over, but she also has a cooking class the next day and needs ingredients. I usually shop at my place of employment, but as we live on the other side of town, I decide to go into a rival supermarket that is about two minutes away. This supermarket has a blue and red logo and the staff wears a navy T-shirt. I get my shopping and head upstairs to their clothing and homeware department. I have my daughter in the child seat and about twenty-five items in my trolley. We are looking at children’s clothes for my young daughter, clearly browsing. I hear a woman ask for a food item, but I assume she’s talking to a member of staff and carry on looking at clothes.)

Customer: “EXCUSE ME! Where can I find tinned fruit?”

Me: “Are you talking to me? I really don’t know, but I guess downstairs.”

Customer: “Of course, I’m talking to you. How rude. You should know where everything is.”

Me: “I don’t work here. I imagine all food items are downstairs, not up here with the clothes and home supplies.”

(I go to walk away as this woman is annoying me.)

Customer: “That’s what’s wrong with this country: youngsters are too work-shy!”

(I’m 41.)

Customer: “I’m a paying customer and you will help me.”

(She then steps closer to me and I can smell vodka. She shoves my trolley, jolting my daughter and causing her to cry out. A member of staff arrives to see what’s going on)

Employee: “Is there a problem? Can I help in any way?”

Customer: “Are you her boss? Are you in charge here? You need to fire her right now!”

Me: “I don’t work here. I work for [Other Store]. I’m just shopping.”

(The customer suddenly starts wailing like a hurt child.)

Customer: “I just want my tinned fruit! I just want to bake.” *turning to me* “Why won’t you help me?!”

(Security staff and the manager then turn up because of all the noise.)

Manager: “What seems to be the problem?”

Employee: “This lady—“ *points to me* “—is just shopping with her daughter and this lady—“ *points to the other customer* “—thinks she works here and keeps yelling at her.”

Security: *to the other customer* “Madam, this lady is just a customer; she doesn’t work here. She clearly works for [Other Store]. Not only is she wearing their uniform, but she’s also pushing a trolley with shopping in it. And her child. Please calm down and let her go on her way.”

Customer: “I hate you all. I was going to bake a pie for you all. Now I can’t bake anything because SHE—“ *points to me* “—won’t help me!”

Security: “Okay, that’s it. Madam, you are clearly intoxicated. I’m asking you to please leave our store. I will help you down the travelator.”

Customer: “No! I want her to do it!” *points to me* “She might as well do something while she’s at work.”

(Just then, my daughter addresses the other customer.)

Daughter: “You’re mean. You’re mean to my mummy and you’re rude. You smell like pubs. You should go home and have a nap because you’re grumpy.”

(This seems to do the trick. The customer just looks from my daughter to the rest of us and puts her basket on the floor.)

Customer: “I believe I’ll go now.”

This happened to my friend. She is white, but she was born and raised in Haiti. As a result, she grew up mostly seeing black people and her parents were the only white people she knew. When she was about three, her parents took her on a trip to the States to visit family.

Seeing a lot of white people freaked out the three-year-old girl, and she clung to her mother. One day, while they were at the grocery store, my friend saw a black cashier. She ran to the cashier and hugged her. The cashier was confused, especially after my friend started to speak Haitian Creole to her. Her mom had to explain that she grew up in Haiti and wasn’t used to people in the States yet.

When they got back to the house, my friend’s mom explained that there are a lot of white people in the States but she doesn’t have to be scared of them, and not all black people speak Haitian Creole.