(I work late shifts, and mark down items to their final reduction.)

Customer: “Have you not got any more cheap chicken?”

Me: “No, sir, the lady just over there took our last pack, unfortunately.”

(I gesture towards a small, lovely, Indian lady, who had come by and picked up some chicken breasts I just marked down.)

Customer: “I’m not racist, but f****** p**** are always turning up and taking all the good stuff early! You can never stay one step ahead of them d*** foreigners!”

Me: “Well, we have a first come, first served policy. Regardless of who she is, she was here first.”

Customer: “Yeah, but you know what I mean! They come over here, and take everything for granted. They do what they f****** like, and take our cheap food! You follow me, don’t ya’?”

Me: “Well, no, I don’t. Like I said, we have a first come, first served policy. We also have a policy against incendiary language, and I’m going to have to ask you to leave. Here’s a little hint for you; when you say “I’m not racist, but—”, it usually means you’re about to be racist. The exit’s third on the left.”

(I am a 22-year-old male, alone on my shift. I spot three teenage boys in the store. Their mother is with them, but she is currently nowhere in sight. A female customer around the same age as me—quite curvy and attractive—is also nearby. I’ve noticed that the boys keep following the woman, and are making pig noises at her.)

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

Woman: “No thanks. I’d just like to check out, please.”

Me: “No problem, just follow me to the register.”

(I begin to scan her items. As I’m doing so, one of the boys yells out more pig noises, while his friends laugh. The woman is getting upset, and looks close to tears.)

Me: “Ma’am, would you please excuse me for a minute?”

Woman: “Oh, sure, no worries.”

(I march up to where the boys are. They try to run away, but I grab their ringleader by the arm and pull him back.)

Ringleader: “What the f***? Let me go!”

Me: “Not until you have stopped harassing that woman over there. I want you all to go over there and apologise for being so disgustingly rude to her.”

Boy #2: “You can’t make us do anything! You can’t even swear at us, or we’ll sue you!”

Me: “Oh, yeah? Let’s see what your mother has to say about this. Do you want to apologise to my customer on your own, or shall I call your mum on the PA system and get her over here?”

(The boys don’t say anything, so I use the PA system and call for the woman who came in with the three boys. Within minutes she’s at my register.)

Mother: “What’s going on? Why was I paged?”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m sorry to say that your boys were harassing that woman over there. They were following her and making pig noises. When I began to reprimand them, one swore at me, and they all refused to apologise.”

Mother: “DANNY, KYLE, LOGAN! GET YOUR SORRY A**** OVER HERE IMMEDIATELY!”

(Meekly, the boys go over to their mum. She starts yelling at them with vigor.)

Mother: *to the woman* “I am so, so sorry for my sons’ moronic behaviour! If there’s anything that I can do, please let me know.”

Woman: “Oh, it’s okay. As long as they’re sorry, I suppose that’s what counts.”

Mother: “Oh, they’ll be sorry alright! You’re such a nice lady, a lovely woman.” *to her boys* “You see that?! You little sods would be lucky to get a woman like that to marry you!”

(She leaves the store, keeping one son in front of her, and dragging the other two out by the ear, ranting and raving at them all the way out of the store until we can’t hear her anymore.)

Woman: “Phew! That was… eventful.”

Me: “Are you sure you’re okay? Those little snots were petty cruel.”

Woman: “No, I’m okay. But thank you for standing up to them. That was really kind.”

Me: “I was just doing what anyone else would’ve done.”

(We chatted for a little bit afterwards, and when I helped her load her shopping into her car, she gave me her number. We’ve been dating for five months now, and I couldn’t be happier!)

(I have a line of three customers on my register. Customer #1 is a good looking man in his early twenties. Customers #2 and #3 are elderly women.)

Me: “Your total is $15.87.”

Customer #1: “Do you take credit card?”

Me: “Yes, just push the top button and slide your card through.”

(Customer #1 pushes the button and slides his card, but does it the wrong way. I am bagging his items, so I don’t see this until he has tried three times.)

Me: “Strip down, facing me.”

(Customer #1 blushes, and I immediately realize what I’ve just said. I’m about to apologize to the elderly ladies for being risqué when…)

Customer #2: “Yeah, honey, show us what you’ve got!”

(I’m supposed to be doing interviews for a new babysitter within the hour. I quickly run out to the local supermarket to pick up a few supplies, such as biscuits and coffee for the interviewees. There is a very long line. It’s my turn to be rung up, when another customer approaches me.)

Other Customer: “Hi, sorry, but can I just skip the queue in front of you? I’ve got a very important meeting soon.”

Me: “Sorry, but I’m in a bit of a rush myself you see, I—”

Other Customer: “Now you listen here you ungrateful b****! You are not in as much of a rush as me! I have a very important meeting soon! Do you know what that means? It means I have the opportunity to get a job, unlike you, you lazy b****! You probably just live off of benefits; wasting tax-payer’s money, buying s*** that you don’t even deserve! I have a job opportunity that you will never have!”

Employee: “Excuse me, miss; I’m going to have to ask you to leave right now!”

Other Customer: “I will not leave! Kick her out; she’s the one wasting our taxes!”

(Security escorts her out.)

Me: “Thank you! What a b****!”

Employee: “Tell me about it! Are you okay?”

Me: “Yes, I’m fine thanks!”

(I return home half an hour later, just 10 minutes before my first interviewee is due. Lo and behold, it turns out to be the rude customer from the shop. It turns out that the important meeting she had was with me. Not surprisingly, she didn’t get the job.)

Employee: “Hi, can I help you?”

Me: “Hi, could I get 12 ounces of the salmon?”

Employee: “…Ounces?”

Me: “Oh, three-quarters of a pound?”

Employee: “Do you want more… or less… than half?”

Me: “…More. Three-fourths.”

Employee: *confused*

(I glance at the readout on the counter scale.)

Me: “Like, .75?”

Employee: “OH! .75! Why didn’t you just say so?”