(My coworker is working on the checkout when a young man comes in to buy some alcohol.)

Coworker: “Can I see your ID, please?”

(The customer hands over his ID. It turns out today is his 18th birthday.)

Coworker: “Ah, happy birthday! First legal drink?”

Customer: “Yes.”

(A manager walks past and overhears.)

Manager: “What time were you born?”

Customer: “Um…”

Manager: “He might not be 18 yet. Don’t authorise the sale.”

(My coworker looks at the manager, thinking she’s joking, but she’s serious.)

Coworker: “Really?”

Manager: “Yes. You know the rules about under aged drinkers!”

(The manager walks off.)

Coworker: “I’m really sorry, but I’m going to have to refuse it because she’s the manager. Come back in a few moments, though, and I’ll put it through for you.”

(He did, and the customer finally got served a few moments later, but on my coworker’s advice he went to make a complaint about the manager straight afterwards!)

(It is Christmas Eve. I have just finished a very difficult 13-hour shift, with a 2-hour commute to the small town I live just outside of. I am picking up milk. My hair is cropped short, and though I am very skinny, my uniform is shapeless except for the back brace I am wearing. As I get in line, a very drunk customer behind me turns to another customer.)

Drunk Customer: “Can you believe this [lesbian slur]? Look at her! She can at least clean herself up before coming into our town! What a fat useless c***! She’s wearing a d*** girdle! Ha! That fat will melt right off when she goes to Hell!”

(The drunk customer continues berating the way I look, and throwing insults over his shoulder. Finally I have had enough. I set my milk on the conveyor belt and spin around to face the man.)

Me: “Let’s get a few things straight! First, this is a back brace, not a girdle! I wear it because I was born with a deformed pelvis and spine, and I can very easily paralyze myself with improper body mechanics. Secondly, I have been with my MALE fiancé for five years. But at least you are right about one thing. I would look a h*** of a lot better with my hair long. I used to have long, beautiful, full curls. So beautiful, in fact, my six-year-old niece would cry every time I visited her because she lost all of her hair when she started chemo for her leukemia. So for Christmas, I cut off all of my long feminine curls and have had them made into a wig so she doesn’t have to feel ugly when she goes to school. I just thank God she lives two towns over, because after what you’ve said about me, I can’t imagine what you and the rest of the people here like you would say to a sad, sick little girl!”

(The next time I went back to pick up a few things, the manager approached me. It turned out the entire staff had donated to my niece’s cancer treatment!)

This story is part of the Christmas Eve roundup!

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(An older customer comes through my line. She is paying with a check, and the register tells me to check her ID.)

Me: “May I please see your ID?”

Customer: “Oh, I don’t have one.”

Me: “…you don’t have an ID?”

Customer: “Well, I have a driver’s license. Is that an ID?”

(I am working the control center for the self checkouts when I overhear a customer having a conversation with the self checkout machine.)

Self Checkout: “Are you using your own bags?”

Customer: “NO. I’M USING THE SOULS OF SMALL CHILDREN. WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT THAT?!”

Self Checkout: “Please place the item in the bagging area.”

Customer: “Where do you keep [Competitor Store] branded beans, please?”

Me: “I’m sorry, madam. We don’t carry our competitors lines. We only stock our own branded goods.”

Customer: “That’s silly. You could make money selling other stores’ goods.”

Me: “That’s an interesting concept. I wonder why no one has thought of it before?”

Customer: “Well, it’s all the same stuff inside anyway. They just use their own brand labels.”

Me: “In that case, would you like to try our own brand beans?”

Customer: “Oh, no. I prefer [Competitor Brand] beans. They taste much nicer.”