(An older gentlemen approaches me while I am stocking frozen meats.)

Customer: “Where are the clams that are in the flyer?”

Me: *slightly puzzled* “We haven’t had clams in this store in a long time, if ever.”

Customer: “Well, I saw them in the flyer.”

Me: “Do you have this flyer on you?”

(I ask because half the time the customer produces a flyer from a completely different store.)

Customer: “No, I don’t think so.”

Me: “One sec, I’ll fetch the current one…”

(A few moments later.)

Me: “They aren’t in here, sir.”

Customer: “Ah, there. That’s them!”

(He points to a picture of pistachios. In all fairness, in this photograph, they do look a bit like small clams. Between the resolution of the image and perhaps the old man’s eyesight, it’s an understandable mistake.)

Me: “Sir, those are pistachios.”

Customer: “Oh…”

Me: “…yeah.”

Customer: “Well, do they taste like clams?”

(I’m running the control center for the self-checkout lanes. Because we’ve just opened, it’s only me, the service counter person, and the manager. A cashier doesn’t arrive until we’ve been open for half an hour, and all customers know this, so the self-checkout gets a lot of traffic in the early morning.)

Manager: “Hey, [My Name], I need you to jump on a register.”

Me: “I’m already on a register. I’m actually on six. I’m doing self-checkout today, remember?”

Manager: “Just get on lane three.”

Me: “Boss, I can’t. I’m already logged in as the self-checkout person. I can’t be on two systems at once.”

Manager: “Well, then log off and get on a register!”

Me: “You want me to shut down the self checkout?”

Manager: “No, you’re the only one here who knows how to run it. Just get on a register!”

Me: “It’s not possible. The system won’t allow me to—”

Manager: “JUST GET ON A REGISTER AND THEN GO STOCK AISLE 15!”

(Aisle 15 is the very last aisle in the store, the furthest point away from the registers.)

Me: “So you want me to be on self-checkout, lane three, AND in aisle fifteen all at the same time?”

Manager: “YES!”

Me: “That… that’s not physically possible.”

Service Desk: “I can get on a register if someone needs—”

Manager: “NO!” [My Name] needs to do it.”

Service Desk: “The system won’t let her be logged in to two places at once. Either I get on a register, or you do. She HAS to stay there.”

Manager: *goes red with rage* “FINE. If you can’t do it, then I’ll get someone who CAN!” *stomps off*

Me: *to Service Desk* “But we’re literally the only people here.”

Service Desk: “I do not have enough caffeine in me to deal with this.”

(I am extremely sensitive to pesticides, and as a result, I always buy my berries organic. The store has a huge sale on non-organic raspberries which completely sell out. Since organic raspberries are $1.50 more, there still are plenty.)

Cashier: “How did you find these? I was told we are all sold out!”

Me: “Well, your regular ones are sold out, but these ones are organic, so—”

Cashier: “Hold on, these aren’t ringing up on sale.”

Me: “Yes, that’s fine. They’re organic, so they cost more.”

Cashier: “But raspberries are supposed to be on sale. Let me see if I can get a manager for you.”

Me: “The REGULAR raspberries are on sale; the organic are regular priced. It’s fine, really.”

Cashier: “No! Raspberries are on sale!” *begins paging the manager*

Me: “No, really it’s fine. I’ll just pay this price. I need to get home.”

Manager: “What’s the problem?”

Cashier: “This woman is trying to buy these raspberries, but they’re not ringing up on sale.”

Manager: “Ma’am, I’m sorry, the sale only extends to non-organic raspberries.”

Me: “I KNOW. I’ve been trying to explain this to the cashier here, and I’m okay with paying more, but she’s not hearing me.”

Manager: “It’s just that organic berries cost more to maintain, and—”

Me: “I KNOW! Look! I. WILL. PAY. THIS. PRICE. I’m not looking for a discount, I just wanted organic raspberries!”

Manager: *looking confused* “But… they’re organic. We can’t give you the sale price.”

Me: “I know, and I already said REPEATEDLY that it’s fine.”

Manager: “You know what? I’ll make an exception for you this time. But next time, we’re not giving you a discount for buying an organic product!”

(He then gave me the discount for the regular raspberries. I’m not entirely certain it was worth the headache.)

(It is the day before Mother’s Day. A little boy, around seven or eight years old, comes up with his dad to buy a cake and a card.)

Me: *to the boy* “So, are you going to make breakfast in bed for your mom tomorrow?”

Boy: *in awe, with wide eyes* “How did you know I was gonna do that?”

Me: “I’m psychic!”

(At this point the dad has just finished paying, and as they are walking away I hear this:)

Boy: *to his dad, still in awe* “But, Dad! How did she know I was gonna do that?”

(I’m in the supermarket looking for tomato juice but they have run out of long-life cartons and I don’t know where the fresh juice is kept, so I find an employee.)

Me: “Where is your fresh tomato juice, please?”

Employee: “Uh, I have no idea.”

Me: “…”

Employee: *seeing this is not making me go away* “Uh… it might be with the bottled soy sauce and stuff?”

Me: “No, it’ll be refrigerated. FRESH tomato juice?”

(The employee then wanders over to a nearby chilled cabinet, looks around for a bit, and then triumphantly holds up a tub of tomato and basil spaghetti sauce.)

Employee: “Here you go!”

Me: “Umm… no…”