(I work at a popular chain grocery store as a bagger. Most people that come in are fine with plastic bags, or they bring their own, but some people request paper. On this day, a customer comes up and immediately requests paper, to which I oblige. Due to the size of a cereal box that comes through, which is one of the larger ones, I have to put it in sideways, leaving half the bag for the chips, but it’s narrow. I start trying to get the chips in, without squishing them. The customer stares at me while I do this.)

Customer: *mockingly* “Is it really that hard to put chips in a bag?”

Me: “Well, sir, I’m trying to make sure they don’t get squished.”

Customer: “It’s not that hard.”

(By this point I’ve gotten them in, with very little squish-age. He then quickly grabs it and walks away, glaring at me as he goes. My coworker, who was checking, looks at me after he leaves.)

Coworker: “You have to seriously be bored to come into a store just to antagonize a bagger.”

(I work at the service desk at a grocery store. This grocery store does not sell single bottles or cans of beer. A gentleman comes up to the service desk for a few returns. The first return goes smoothly, the second…)

Customer: “I was at your self-checkouts earlier and [Coworker] helped me, but she overcharged me for this beer! I only bought a single bottle of [Popular Beer], but I got charged for a six-pack!”

Me: “Sir, we do not sell single bottles or cans of beer. The only thing we offer is a ‘make your own six-pack’ deal where you pick up an empty six-pack box and fill it with various beers from a designated area in the liquor aisle.”

Customer: “I was charged for a six-pack when I only wanted one beer! I want to be compensated!”

Me: “We don’t even have a designated price for a single bottle of beer because we do not offer single bottles of beer. How were you able to scan it?”

Customer: “I only wanted one, so I took one out of a six-pack on the shelf and scanned it! I want a refund!”

Me: “Sir, even if we did sell single bottles of beer and you mistakenly got charged for a six-pack, I couldn’t offer you a refund, as it’s against state law. The only thing I can offer is to help you find the pack of beer you took that single beer out of and let you have that; otherwise, we’ll have to damage out the product.”

Customer: “Well, how was I supposed to know you guys don’t sell single bottles of beer?”

Me: “Well, you pulled it out of a six-pack, so clearly it’s only sold as a six-pack.”

(This happened one more time about forty-five minutes later.)

This happened several years ago when I was still quite new in the city. I was doing my grocery shopping one day and when I wanted to pay for my things it turned out that I did not have enough funds on my bank account to pay for all of it. Since my partner had been unemployed for a while already at that time, times were hard and funds very low. It seemed something had been auto paid from my account that I had forgotten about; therefore, I had less money than I’d thought when I went shopping. I still had a little on another credit card but I could not pay for everything. I was so embarrassed and ashamed. There was a queue forming behind me, too, by then. I became very flustered and tried to quickly pick some things out that weren’t so urgent for me to buy while I was very close to tears.

The cashier, a patient, elderly man, saw how flustered and embarrassed I was and gently said to me, “Please, do not worry about picking out groceries to leave behind; you can pay me back for the difference another day.” I immediately refused since I did not know this man and I did not want to cause trouble. He insisted he would pay for the difference because he also had daughters and sometimes life can be hard. By then I was really crying. I thanked him profusely while I packed my things. I asked him what his name was so I could bring the money another day and he said, “Just ask for Baba [Father]; everyone calls me that here.”

I came back a few days later with the money, a thank-you card, and some homemade cookies. I asked one of the guys working there if he had seen the elderly man and he immediately grinned widely and said to me, “Oh! That must be Baba!” It was clear he was very fond of him. I explained what had happened and he nodded. “Yes, that is something he would do; he is a bit of an extra father to all of us working here, too. He is not working today but I will make sure he gets this.”

Thank you, Baba, for looking out for me that day, and for taking good care of your coworkers, too!

(A customer is upset because we are out of a particular item. I check in the back — I know we are out but I do it for show — and tell the customer we are out of that item. He gets upset and starts making a scene.)

Me: “I’m sorry, but we don’t have [item] right now.”

Customer: “Why not?”

Me: “It’s most likely going to come in on the truck tomorrow afternoon.”

Customer: “You don’t have any?”

Me: “No, sorry.”

Customer: “Hmph. I don’t think you mean that.”

Me: “Huh?”

Customer: “You say you’re sorry, but I don’t think you really mean it. You need to mean it when you say sorry to a customer.”

Me: *thinking* “Well, I mean it even less now.” *speaking* “Sorry?”

Customer: “Ugh.” *storms off*

The emergency callout in the supermarket chain I work in is “Mr. Steed.” I’ve heard it several times throughout my time working. Every single time I’ve heard it, it’s always been a stealthily calm, “Mr. Steed, could you please come to [aisle/service desk]? Thank you,” to deal with a customer who’s starting to get verbally abusive or threatening. Nearly all the altercations have happened at the registers, and the staff there are good at de-escalating situations, while I work in the deli at the other end of the store, so I usually don’t even hear the altercations.

I’m working in the deli, serving customers as usual, when I hear extremely loud shouting from what sounds like a group of young men, erupting from the direction of the registers.

The store announcement is desperately screeching, “MR. STEED! MR. STEED! MR. STEED!”

Many of the customers around me are looking extremely nervous, and some customers from the fresh produce section hurry over to the group of customers waiting at the deli, I assume looking for safety in numbers. I start seriously wondering if I should open the deli gate and let customers in behind the counter, just in case there is a serious risk to their safety. There is another, equally desperate, “MR. STEED! MR. STEED! MR. STEED!” call, I can hear all the able-bodied grocery boys running to the front, and the shouting at the front registers continues for about twenty seconds or so until I assume they are tackled by all the guys who answered the Mr. Steed call.

As I can’t see what’s happening and understandably, none of the customers want to investigate, I don’t find out the bizarre extent of what happened until about half an hour later, when one of the cashiers comes up to the deli during her break.

It started off as an apparently standard shoplifting gig that got caught. It was a group of three or four guys, and the cameras caught them stuffing things into their backpacks, so when they got to the front registers the cashier had to do a bag check. During this check, when all the stolen items were emptied from [Thief #1]’s bag, a wallet came tumbling out onto the pile.

It turns out the wallet belonged to [Thief #2], which I thought was rather funny, but evidently [Thief #2] did not find it so funny. An all-out brawl ensued right there at the registers, which explains the testosterone-saturated shouting I heard. Apparently, stealing from the store is fine, but stealing from your fellow thieves is not!