I work in the curbside pickup department of a grocery store. If a customer orders alcohol, I am required by law to check their ID before giving them the product. My little computer device will not even proceed to show me the order’s substitutions, let alone actually dispense the order, until I have entered in the driver’s birthdate, and I have to actually see the ID to confirm it’s valid first. My only options on the handheld device are to enter the birthdate or scan the barcodes on the alcohol to remove them from the order. No ID = no alcohol.

A customer who appears to be in her thirties comes to collect her order.

Me: “Hello, ma’am. Can I get the name for the order?”

Customer: “Yes, it’s [Customer].”

Me: “Great! I see you have some alcohol in your order today. Can I see your ID?”

Customer: “Shoot! I left my driver’s license at home. Can I just tell you my birthdate?”

Me: “No, ma’am, I’m sorry. I’m going to need to see your ID.”

Customer: “Can I text my husband and have him send a picture of my license?”

Me: “No, the ID has to be with you.”

Customer: “Fine. Just remove the alcohol. I’ll come back later to get it.”

I scanned her drinks and confirmed that they were removed from the order so she wouldn’t be charged for them. Then, I loaded everything else into her trunk and she drove off.

The next day, a coworker told me a man had come storming into our department the night before yelling about how he and his wife were charged for alcohol they did not receive when the dumb employee couldn’t just see that the wife was clearly over twenty-one! He needed a refund, or he would just take the alcohol off the shelf.

My coworker checked the status of their order on our computer and confirmed that everything was paid for except for the alcohol, which was listed as refunded. The coworker explained this to the man, who kept yelling and referring to the “dumb employee”, so a manager was called.

The manager asked to see the man’s receipt. The email “receipt” he had been reading was just the list of products the wife had ordered, not the actual receipt of items received. He sheepishly found the correct email and, lo and behold, there was no alcohol listed.

According to my coworker, as soon as the man saw that, he just turned and walked away without another word, presumably to buy his alcohol.

Related:
No ID, No Idea, Part 52
No ID, No Idea, Part 51
No ID, No Idea, Part 50
No ID, No Idea, Part 49
No ID, No Idea, Part 48

I’m a self-checkout attendant in a grocery store. One morning, a middle-aged man walks into the fairly dead self-checkout area and immediately beelines for me instead of one of the numerous open machines.

Customer: *Smiling* “I would like some help.”

Me: “All right, is there a specific register you’d like to go to?”

He doesn’t reply.

I awkwardly lead him over to the nearest open register. He is still smiling. He only has two items, so I take one and show him how to scan the barcode; some customers do have trouble figuring out exactly where to hold items so they’ll scan.

He makes no move to scan the second item; he just stands there and smiles. I swallow my annoyance, take the second item from him, scan it, and bring up the payment screen.

Me: *Tapping the card reader* “Okay, now put your card in here.”

Instead of doing so, he took out his debit card and handed it to me. Thoroughly fed up with his nonsense, I took the card, ran it, grabbed the receipt, and shoved it and the card into his hand.

He left without another word, still with that unchanging smile. I have no idea if he had something going on or if he just saw a young woman in a work uniform and wanted to fulfill some kind of fantasy. Maybe he would’ve stopped smiling if I’d handed him over to one of my two coworkers — who were over twice my age.

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.