(It is my first day of cashiering officially. I pick up my till and head to the manager’s podium with the bookkeeper who shows me how to open my locker.)

Bookkeeper: “Okay, we just have to find the manager for this shift and get you started. Oh, there he is! Hey [Manager’s Name]! Your new cashier, [My Name], is here. Where do you want to stick her?”

Manager: *with his back to us* “Stick her? I don’t even know her yet! Ba-dum-tsch! Hah.”

Bookkeeper: “Uh…”

Manager: *without turning around* “…she’s actually standing there with you, isn’t she?”

Bookkeeper: “…yeah.”

Manager: “Right! Set her up on register six.”

(Register six is the farthest away from the manager’s podium. He spent the rest of the shift avoiding eye contact and later apologized.)

(I give out free samples. I am serving a variety of grapes when I see a well-dressed woman in her 60s nearby with her daughter and grandchild. Listening to them talk, she seems very educated and well-spoken, and I see her approach my cart.)

Me: “Hello, would you like to try some of our grapes today?”

Customer: “Oh, no thank you, dear.”

(I wish her a good day, and go back to preparing more samples. I realize a few seconds later that she is still just standing there, staring at me.)

Me: “Is there anything I can help you with, ma’am?”

(Suddenly she gives me a death glare, jabs her finger toward my bowl of grapes and yells at me.)

Customer: “DEY GIVE ME DA POOPIES!”

(She then stomps off in a huff, leaving me to wonder what the heck just happened.)

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(I am 25 years old and in a grocery store buying a bottle of fruit juice and a bottle of wine. I also have a packet of chocolate for my diabetes.)

Clerk: “ID please.”

(I get it out. The clerk looks at it oddly.)

Clerk: “I’m sorry; this is fake.”

Me: *surprised* “It IS real.”

Clerk: “This can’t be you.”

(I look EXACTLY the same in my ID, and I’m even wearing my hair the same way and the same color shirt.)

Clerk: “I’m calling the cops. I should really just get my manager but you’re probably gonna try it again.”

(As he gets the police on the phone and I think this is stupid, he motions for me to empty my bag. I take out my purse and fruit juice but leave the chocolate.)

Me: “The police will show you it’s real.”

Clerk: “EVERYTHING.”

Me: “What?”

Clerk: “I saw something shiny in your bag.”

(The clerk puts his hand out and talks to me like I’m a child.)

Clerk: “Come on, let me see and I won’t charge.”

Me: “It’s my chocolates. I HAVE to have them!”

(The clerk reaches in my bag and snatches them, putting them behind the counter.)

Clerk: “I’ll have that, thank you. You’re paying $2.85 for these.”

Me: “They REALLY are mine.”

(I start to feel woozy, and know I need sugar. I start to panic.)

Me: “Please, they’re for my diabetes.”

Clerk: “You can have them when you pay.”

Me: “Listen, you don’t even SELL [Brand] of chocolates. Look on the shelves; you won’t have them!”

(The police finally arrive. I feel really bad and scared, because I could have a sugar rush.)

Officer: “What’s this about a stolen or fake ID?”

Clerk: “THAT!” *holds ID* “It isn’t her! It’s obvious!”

Officer: “This does look remarkably like her. No, I am almost a hundred per cent CERTAIN this is her.”

Me: “Please… I need sugar.”

Clerk: “Well, she was trying to shoplift these.”

(The clerk holds up the chocolate. I try and snatch one, but he pulls them away.)

Clerk: “See? She’s such a dimwit shoplifter; she’s trying to steal them in front of you and the camera!”

Me: “Officer, they don’t sell [Brand] here.”

(The policeman goes to the candy aisle and looks for the brand. He frowns and comes back. I am desperate by this point.)

Officer: “Did you tell him?”

Me: “Yes, and I have diabetes. I need them.”

(The officer suddenly looks serious and turns to the clerk.)

Officer: “Did she tell you she had diabetes?”

Clerk: “Yes, but—”

Officer: “Just give them to her before I arrest you! She’s ill! Even if she was stealing these chocolates, I’d let her have one! She’s showing symptoms!”

(I never went back to that store!)

(An employee with samples approaches me.)

Employee: “Miss, would you like to try some [juice brand]?”

Me: *smiling* “No, thank you.”

Employee: “Why not?”

Me: “Well, I brushed my teeth five minutes ago; I don’t think juice would taste very good.”

Employee: *angrily* “Well, you do plan on drinking again at some point today don’t you?”

Me: “Yeah…”

(I start walking away, but the employee starts shouting up the aisle at me.)

Employee: “That’s fine; I respect the customer’s choice!”

(I live in a small town with only two grocery stores. I’m constantly complimented on my friendliness and professionalism. When it’s slow, we assist customers. Today a customer has asked me to return a cart, during which we’re told to put our closed sign up on our lane, but keep the light on. After assisting three more customers, I wander back to my till that has the closed sign up to find a woman unloading her cart at my till.)

Me: “Oh! Hello, ma’am. Just for future reference, even if the light is on, but the closed sign is up, the till is not open. That way you won’t have to wait next time.”

Customer: “THE LIGHT WAS ON! YOU’RE OPEN IF IT’S ON!”

Me: “Ma’am, I do apologize, but the sign was clearly up. I’m just letting you know for next time so you won’t be delayed! I truly apolo—”

Customer: “IF THE F****** LIGHT IS ON, YOU’RE GODDAMNED OPEN. SHUT YOUR MOUTH AND DO YOUR JOB!”

Me: “Ma’am, I truly am sorry about that—”

(At this point, the customer has finished slamming her purchases onto the counter and leans over the lane to be about two inches from my face. It should be noted I’m in my mid-twenties.)

Customer: “I DID NOT COME HERE TO BE LECTURED BY SOME STUPID LITTLE CHILD!”

Me: “Ma’am, I apologize. I wasn’t trying to lecture you—”

Customer: “MAYBE NEXT TIME YOU CAN SHUT YOUR MOUTH AND DO YOUR JOB, YOU IDIOT!”

(At this point I stay quiet throughout the rest of the transaction, process her card, and hand her the receipt to sign. I say nothing.)

Customer: “Thank you!”

Me: “…”

Customer: “I SAID THANK YOU!”

(As she leaves, she pulls over my supervisor.)

Customer: “I need to give a formal complaint about the horrible and disrespectful service this employee gave!”

(The next customer going through the till behind me walks over.)

Next Customer: “And I have to comment on how polite that employee was, despite you being so rude!”

(Both customers got into a verbal altercation. Thank you to the random customer who stood up for me!)