(A customer has been raising h*** over not getting the sale price on several bottles of the local wine; said sale ended two days ago. No matter what I try to do to explain she won’t hear it, and I eventually have to call over my manager.)

Manager: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but my cashier is correct. That sale was set by the company and ended on Sunday. It’s now Tuesday.”

Customer: “I don’t care! I couldn’t get here on Sunday! I spend more than enough here for you to make an exception!”

Manager: “Again, I’m sorry, but that cannot be done. The sale is ended; you can’t get the sale price.”

Customer: “Well, I’m not moving from here until I do, so you’ve got no choice!”

(She smugly folds her arms like she’s got us. My manager looks at the long line that’s behind her and takes a deep breath.)

Manager: “Very well, then, ma’am; have it your way.”

(He pulls out his phone and begins dialing.)

Customer: “Good, so you’re calling your corporate office to get me the sale price?”

Manager: “No, ma’am, I’m calling the police to have you removed from the store. If you’re going to be difficult and verbally aggressive, and prevent folk from buying their items, then I must remind you that I always have a choice in this situation, and that choice is to refuse you service!”

(The woman promptly loses her smug look as the manager stares dead at her.)

Manager: “Hello, I’m afraid I need you to send some officers over to—“ *begins to give our address*

Customer: “F*** YOU, YOU [GAY SLUR]!”

(She ran out of the store.)

(As weekly sales begin on Wednesdays, we always have middle-aged women who come in on Tuesdays and don’t understand how to read the small print on the new signs and labels. Either that or they’re taking advantage. Needless to say, the store policy is supposed to be, “If the sign says it’s on sale, we have to give the sale price.” I’m ringing up items. The lady points at the screen.)

Lady: “That item is supposed to be on sale.”

Me: *seeing this coming a mile away* “Unless there’s a computer error, it’s not.”

Lady: “Yes, it is. Here. Let me get the sign.”

(She walks off, and I give the husband a look that almost says, “Is she always like this?” He looks as exasperated as I am, almost rolling his eyes at her. She comes back with a big sign in her hands and sets it right in front of me.)

Lady: “See? It’s on sale.”

(The large enough, the “fine print” suggested she was going to have to wait a day, so I called the manager over. Sure enough, she got what she wanted. Call me crazy or a stickler for policy, but I don’t care how busy someone is during the week. Come back next Tuesday and see if we still have it, or come back tomorrow when the sale begins. Don’t show up the sales associate who knows exactly how much of a b**** you’re being.)

(I work at a local grocery store. It is the week before my big vacation. I’ve had planned it out almost eight months in advance and submitted my request off as soon as the plans were finalized. I go to the schedule to make sure I got the time off, but I notice that I have been scheduled several times over the course of my vacation days. Thinking there must have been some mistake, I go to the manager, who is in charge of making the schedules.)

Me: “Excuse me, [Manager]. I think there must have been a mistake in the schedule.”

Manager: “What do you mean? The schedule is correct.”

Me: “I requested off for this week and the one after it for my vacation, but I’ve been scheduled for both weeks!”

Manager: “You should have put your request in sooner, then.”

Me: “I put it in back in November. It’s July now.”

Manager: “Well, I don’t know what to say. Requests are not guaranteed no matter how early they are.”

Me: “But, Miss—“

Manager: *now yelling* “Listen, [My Name]! You have a job to do, and you’re going to do it. You will be present and in uniform for each and every shift during those two weeks or you will be fired! I don’t care how early you put your request in; they are, once again, only requests, not guarantees! If you don’t get your time off, you don’t get your time off! That is final! If I hear one more word on this matter, I will be writing you up for insubordination! NOW, GET BACK TO WORK!”

(I sheepishly head out of her office and to my register. For the next couple of hours, I am on the brink of tears. The owner notices and brings me to his office out of concern.)

Owner: “What’s wrong, [My Name]? Are you all right?”

Me: *trying hard not to cry* “I didn’t get my vacation.”

Owner: “I’m really sorry to hear. You did request it off, right?”

Me: “Yes, eight months in advance.”

Owner: “Well, I’m sorry, but if you didn’t get it, there’s nothing I—“ *pause* “Wait. Did you say eight months?”

Me: “Yes.”

Owner: “Okay, if no one else requested off before you, then you should have gotten that request approved. For you to make a request eight months in advance and not get it is just ridiculous, and I have no idea why [Manager] wouldn’t approve it.” *pause* “Unless…”

(He turns to his computer and begins looking something up. I suddenly see him scowl at the screen and then shake his head in disgust.)

Owner: “Yep. Just as I thought.”

Me: *nervous* “What?”

Owner: “Don’t worry about it. You can take your vacation.”

Me: “But [Manager] said I’d be fired if I didn’t show up!”

Owner: “You will not lose your job. I promise I will not allow you to be fired over this. You have my permission to take your vacation. In fact, I’ll give you tomorrow off to prepare. Why don’t you go take your break now? Go get some coffee and settle down a bit. I’ll deal with [Manager] myself.”

(I went to the break room and made myself a cup of coffee, while the owner called the manager to his office with a rather angry voice. As it turns out, the manager rejected my eight-months-pending vacation request to put forward her own last-minute vacation request. It wasn’t the first time she had done this, either. As punishment for her actions, the manager was written up and forced to cancel her vacation and work every shift that she had scheduled me for! She was very resentful and bitter to me when I returned from my vacation. Luckily, I didn’t have to put up with her for long, as she was fired a week later for forcing one of my coworkers to push carts in a thunderstorm.)

(It is January 1988 and I am the general manager of a local grocery store. Long story short, my produce department manager has wrongfully fired our employee of the month, who works in his department, for refusing to handle produce crates in an unsafe manner. I am talking with him about it.)

Me: “What I want to know is why she deserved to be straight-up fired over this. You know that what you were telling her to do was unsafe.”

Produce Manager: “It’s not my fault she can’t do her work the right way.”

Me: “I don’t care what you say; that is not the right way to handle crates, and there is even a poster in the back room saying so. It is unsafe, and I cannot have anyone forsaking safety to get the job done faster. I’ve already written you up once before for making employees in Produce carry them like that, and I will be doing that again right now, along with a five-day, unpaid suspension. I will also be reinstating her back into your department, but before any of that takes place, I want you to call [Employee] and personally apologize to her.”

(The produce manager picks up the phone and sheepishly dials the employee’s number. After the employee answers, his face turns red with rage and he immediately begins screaming into the phone.)

Produce Manager: “Listen here, you stupid cow! I am not sorry for what happened! You deserved to be fired, you piece of s***! You are a failure at life and can’t ever do anything right! You deserve to be jobless! You deserve to die on the streets like the worthless s*** that you are! F*** you, loser!”

(He slams the receiver down, and I stare at him blankly for a good fifteen seconds afterward.)

Me: “Please tell me you did not just do that.”

Produce Manager: “She deserves it for being a lazy, worthless cow!”

(I won’t say my response to that statement — only that I promptly fired him after he said it and banned him from the store for life. He had a long history of issues, but I drew the line at this episode. I called the employee myself afterward. I profusely apologized for what happened and offered her a promotion to the newly-vacated produce manager position. She gladly accepted, and 30 years later, she’s still the friendliest and hardest-working of my department managers.)

(I work in a hot deli section of a grocery store where we sell chicken, fries, and other hot foods. We’re currently in the middle of a huge wind storm, and the city has lost power. Lucky for us, our store has a powerful generator so we’re able to stay open. Since we’re the only store in the city with a generator powerful enough to keep us running, the manager on duty asks us to stay open later to serve customers dinner, as they have no other option for hot food. Two hours past our normal closing time, we finally have to shut down our section so that we can clean and go home. We have a coworker go to the line and tell people that we’re closing and that there may not be enough left when they reach the front. We’ve had this older lady — who has been here for about a half hour — leave the line multiple times before this to ask if there’s a chance that she’ll be able to be served, but up until this point we couldn’t give her a real answer because of how many people were waiting. We’ve had a constant line of about fifty people for four hours straight, and we’re running out of food.)

Me: “Next customer, please!”

Customer #1: “Yes, I’d like family-size chicken tenders, please.”

Me: “No problem!” *to coworker* “Put on one last batch of tenders and taters. It’s 8:15—“ *we close at six* “—and we need to get to cleaning. I think that’s the last of the frozen stock we have, anyway.”

(At this point the elder customer is very close to the previous customer, but I know she’s behind the next customer in line.)

Me: “Next, please!”

Customer #2: “Hi! Can I get—“

Elder Customer: “Excuse me! I was first!”

(I really don’t like confronting customers, but luckily [Customer #2] says it for me.)

Customer #2: “Sorry, hun, you’re behind me. You’ve gotten out of line at least twenty times. Anyway, can I get a family-size tender?”

Me: *to [Customer #2]* “Sure, but there’s an eight-minute wait. This is our last batch, so please don’t go anywhere, or I’ll have to sell them to someone else.”

Customer #2: “No problem! I’ve waited for a half-hour; I can wait another eight minutes.”

Me: *to the elder customer* “All right, ma’am, what would you like?”

Elder Customer: “Well, since she wanted to go first, go ahead and serve her!”

Me: “She’s already served, ma’am. What would you like?”

Elder Customer: “No, you finish serving her! Then me!”

(At this point my anxiety spikes, because I don’t want to upset her further, but I know I can only serve about three more people.)

Me: “Ma’am, she’s waiting for the tenders to cook. In fact, that’s our last batch, so I can only serve a few more people after her. I need you to place your order now, or I’ll have to move on, and you won’t be served.”

Elder Customer: “No! You serve her first! She wanted to be served!” *looks to her son for help*

Son: “Look. Just tell her what you want. We’ve been here for almost an hour and we need to get home.”

Me: “Please, ma’am, just tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you. If you don’t order now, I’ll have to move on and you won’t be getting any food.”

Elder Customer: *throws her hand up and storms away, with her defeated son in tow*

Me: *looking at [Customer #2]* “I just… don’t know what to say. Sorry you got involved but… What?”

Customer #2: “I have no idea.” *takes the tray of food as it’s packed up* “Thanks so much for staying open! At least I won’t be eating peanut butter sandwiches like her. Hope your night goes better!”

(To this day, I still can’t reason as to why she would wait for forty-five minutes in line, just to storm away when she was minutes away from getting her food.)