(I work at a big chain grocery store. Normally, I collect carts from the parking lot, but today, they are short staffed and I am “blessed” with the task of bagging groceries.)

Me: “Paper or plastic?”

Customer: “I want the things that go upstairs in plastic and the things that go downstairs in paper.”

Me: “Sure, we can do that.”

(The scanned items start coming down the belt. I am waiting for the customer to tell me what goes where when they decide to look up and see me not working.)

Customer: “Get moving. I don’t have all day.”

Me: “I need you to tell me which goes in each bag.”

Customer: “I have been coming here for years!”

Me: *confused* “And we appreciate your business.”

Customer: “I shouldn’t have to tell you people this every time I come in here.”

Me: *trying to be polite* “Well, I normally work outside and—“

Customer: *interrupts* “I don’t want excuses. JUST BAG MY GROCERIES!”

(I think the customer wants normal bagging now, so I start putting items into bags. The customer gets mad when they have to tell each time I put something in the wrong bag. After many insults, and screaming towards the end, they leave and the cashier grins at me.)

Cashier: “Well, you had to meet [Customer] sooner or later.”

Me: “They always like that?”

Cashier: “This was a good day. Smash the bread next time if you want to see a show. But be careful; [Manager] got pelted with a can of cat food once.”

(I found out that everyone knew [Customer] and had a similar story of yelling and thrown groceries. Cashiers would close lanes and baggers would take restroom breaks to avoid the customer.)

(I am working as a part-time cashier. It is a quiet shift, so my colleague and I are chatting in between serving customers, and the recent news of Arnie Schwarzenegger’s love children comes up. Just then, an attractive woman comes up to my till with a few items, and I dutifully start scanning her shopping and making the usual small-talk. And then I try to say:)

Me: “Do you want a carrier bag?”

(But what I actually say is:)

Me: “Do you want a child?”

(The moment stretched as we both processed what I’d said, whilst my colleague quietly started cracking up behind her. I tried to stammer out an apology, but she just took a bag and we finished the transaction in silence. And that’s the time I accidentally propositioned a woman in a supermarket.)

(I am working the express lane which is for fifteen items or less. I look up to see a lady with a trolley holding probably about fifty items.)

Me: “Excuse me, ma’am, but this is the express lane. It’s only fifteen items or less.”

Customer: “Uh, I shop here all the time, so it’s fine.”

(Apparently, courtesy doesn’t apply when you’re a regular.)

(The self-checkouts at my store are notoriously moody. They’re all meant to accept both cash and card as payment, but more often than not, at least one of them decides it won’t accept cash anymore for whatever reason. When this happens, we put a sign up informing customers that it’s only taking card until we can work out how to appease it. As I’m sure anyone who’s ever worked in retail would know, though, people don’t notice signs. Over time, we add more and more signs. At the time of this story, we’ve taken to putting about four signs on a broken register, including one that completely covers the place customers would usually insert their cash, literally blocking them from inserting any money into the machine. You think this would be enough, right?)

Customer: “Excuse me.”

Me: “Yes?”

Customer: “The machine won’t accept my money.”

(I look to see the customer holding up the “EFT only — no cash” sign that was covering the cash slot with one hand while trying to force in a $20 note with the other.)

Me: “I’m sorry, this machine is cash only.”

Customer: “Oh, really? Where does it say that?”

Me: “On that sign you’re holding up.”

(The customer lets go of the sign, which flops back down into place, and proceeds to read it for the first time.)

Customer: “Oh, I didn’t notice.”

(I decide to drop some bottles off for the refund on my way to work. At this particular supermarket, you turn the bottles in at the customer service desk. If no one is there, you are supposed to leave the bottles in a tray on the counter and apply at a till for your refund. I do so, pick up a drink, and go up to a till.)

Me: “Just this pop, and I brought in eighteen small bottles.”

(The cashier rings me up, but she’s frowning in the direction of the Customer Service desk, where one of her coworkers is helping a man with his bottles.)

Cashier: “Did you leave your bottles on top the counter?”

Me: “Yes, they’re all diet Coke bottles.”

Cashier: “Hey, [Coworker]! Those bottles aren’t all his.”

(Apparently, the guy was going to cheerfully stand there while she paid him for my returns as well as his and not say a word. I guess you can’t blame a guy for trying.)