Our store’s policy is to rotate managers every few years. The current manager allegedly pulled some strings to get promoted.

Among all kinds of new rules that she makes up out of nowhere, and implemented immediately, is that all cardboard from stocking has to go on these 2×1-meter-long orange flatbed carts instead of in regular shopping carts.

We start at 4 am and I am stocking the liquor section on the other side of the warehouse from the cardboard hole. All my cardboard is small and doesn’t stack. This rule doesn’t work for me and I just am not having it.

I start my tasks and start chucking my cardboard in a cart anyway. The manager comes by to remind me to use a flatbed. I calmly and rationally explain and demonstrate why it doesn’t work for me. She says to do it anyway.

So, I pick up the cartful of cardboard and place it on the flatbed sideways and absolutely FILL that thing until it’s taller than I am by wedging huge sheets of cardboard in the sides and filling the middle with the small stuff.

Skip forward two hours: I’ve left this absolute monstrosity out during lunch and I am coming back. The manager is yelling into her walkie-talkie for my supervisor to come back and “look at what [My Name] has done.”

I’m in the next aisle straightening something and trying not to laugh out loud. My supervisor comes back and he’s visibly trying not to laugh while the manager screams about writing me up.

He calls me over and I just calmly say, “Well, it’s on the flatbed; I don’t see the problem.”

The manager stormed off and my supervisor didn’t write me up.

I am no older than thirteen when this happens, so I haven’t learned to speak up for myself yet. My dad is recovering from surgery, so I am running a lot of the household errands, including the shopping. 

I have just finished getting what we need and join the queue for checkout. The woman in front of me has a baby in a pram and a toddler so I am giving her a fair amount of space to manoeuvre.

I am just about to move up to the cashier when another woman with a trolley full of stuff blocks my path and then starts loading her stuff onto the conveyer. I might have thought she just hadn’t noticed me, had she not made eye contact with me and then looked away like she was pretending not to have seen me.

Me: “Excuse me, there’s a queue.” 

She blanks me and keeps loading her stuff up. The cashier apparently doesn’t hear me, but the mother in front of me does.

Mother: “That girl should have been next.”

Woman: “No, I was next. The kid can wait.”

The woman reaches a point where it will probably be quicker to put her order through than for her to unload it all again and let me go first. Both the cashier and the mother look over at me. I feel really embarrassed so I just shrug. The mother gives me a sympathetic look and moves off.

Then, another cashier starts opening a lane and calls over to me.

Other Cashier: “Come over here, sweetheart.”

I oblige, feeling really grateful but still very embarrassed that I don’t have the courage to speak up. The cashier pushes my shopping through very quickly and keeps me chatting the whole time, clearly trying to making me feel more at ease.

Then, I hear the original cashier at the other till say:

Cashier: “I’m sorry, the whole system’s just frozen. You’ll have to go to another till.”

I looked over to see the woman grumpily reloading her shopping and getting in line behind me. It was only a small victory, but it made me feel just a little better.

Related:
In Line And Out Of Line, Part 16
In Line And Out Of Line, Part 15
In Line And Out Of Line, Part 14
In Line And Out Of Line, Part 13
In Line And Out Of Line, Part 12

This story is part of our Best Of March 2021 roundup!

Read the next Best Of March 2021 roundup story!

Read the Best Of March 2021 roundup!

Customer: “One packet of cigarettes, please.”

Me: “Sir, I’m going to need to see an ID.”

Customer: “What for? I can’t show you ID. You’re gonna steal my identity!”

Me: “Sir, it’s the law.”

Customer: “No! F*** you and f*** this government! No one is getting my personal data! That’s how you manipulate votes!” *Storms out*

I’m in high school and I work in the health foods department of a grocery store, which, in addition to your usual gluten-free, organic, and other health food products, houses vitamins and supplements. The grocery store also has an in-store pharmacy. It is around 9:00 pm on a Friday night and I receive a call for our department.

Me: “Hello, this is [My Name] in the health foods department. How can I help you?”

The caller is frustrated, angry, and yelling from the start.

Caller: “Cut the pleasantries. I am looking for a salt supplement for someone with a condition.”

I’m not sure I heard her correctly.

Me: “Could you repeat that, please?”

Caller: “Ugh. A SALT SUPPLEMENT FOR SOMEONE WITH A CONDITION. It is very important that you have this.”

We get a lot of odd requests in the health foods department, especially for trendy, health fad products, but as a high schooler working evenings doing mostly restocking, I do not know every supplement we have on hand — there are over 100 types — and what each is used for. I am not allowed to offer medical advice, which I am not sure I could do anyway with such a vague description.

Me: “We carry Epsom salts in two different sizes, if that is what you’re after. I am not sure if we carry any salt supplements, but perhaps I could ask the pharmacist who is just closing up.”

Caller: “I’M NOT LOOKING FOR EPSOM SALTS. I NEED A SALT SUPPLEMENT FOR SOMEONE WITH A CONDITION! THIS IS AN EMERGENCY! WE NEED THE SALT SUPPLEMENT!”

Me: “Our pharmacy is just closing up, but the pharmacist is still here. Would you be willing to hold so I can go catch her before she leaves? Perhaps she will be able to help you find what you need.”

Caller: “NO, I WILL NOT HOLD!”

Me: “I could transfer your call to the pharmacy or leave your name and number for the dietician to call you tomorrow morn—”

Caller: “DO NOT TRANSFER ME. YOU NEED TO ANSWER MY QUESTION NOW. WHY DO YOU NOT KNOW WHAT I AM TALKING ABOUT? THIS IS AN EMERGENCY! I NEED A SALT SUPPLEMENT FOR SOMEONE WITH A CONDITION!”

Me: “Ma’am, if it is a medical emergency, I recommend calling 911 or taking this person to the hospi—”

Caller: “YOU F****** B****! HOW DARE YOU NOT KNOW WHAT I’M TALKING ABOUT?! THIS IS AN EMERGENCY! I NEED A SALT SUPPLEMENT FOR SOMEONE WITH A CONDITION!” 

The customer continued cursing and ranting for about twenty more seconds and then she hung up.

I’d like to help you, lady, and I tried to connect you to the people with proper training. The high school student working at the grocery store at 9:00 pm on a Friday night is not the person from whom to get your emergency medical advice. I never did figure out what she needed, nor did I hear anything from my manager about an irate customer coming in to ask about a salt supplement. It’s been years, but my family will still occasionally start phone calls with, “I NEED A SALT SUPPLEMENT FOR SOMEONE WITH A CONDITION!”

I’m the author of this story. It seems this runs in the family!

My mom just told me about a time she was at the grocery store with my brother when he was a baby. Included in her purchases were a loaf of bread and a few jars of baby food.

Cashier: “Hmm, baby food. You know, it’s a lot better to make your own. Cheaper, too.”

My mom is bouncing my brother on her hip as she responds.

Mom: “I guess. I’m excited to have him try these foods.”

Cashier: “I mean, it’s just a better choice all around to make your own. It’s not like it’s hard.”

Mom: *Rolling her eyes* “Okay, then. I’m ready to pay.”

Cashier: “That’ll be [price way higher than Mom expected].”

Mom: “That… seems a little high.”

Cashier: “Your total is [same price].”

Mom: “Can you print out the receipt for me to check it?”

The cashier prints out a receipt, which my mom studies.

Mom: “You charged me for twenty-three loaves of bread when I only have one.”

Cashier: “Um, oops…”

Mom paid the correct total, and my brother survived just fine on the food Mom fed him, jarred or not. And she still keeps an eye on receipts and totals in case someone’s too busy judging her to properly ring her up.

Related:
Can I Return This Judgy Cashier, Please?