The grocery store I’m shopping at today has mostly self-checkout lanes. The single cashier-aided lane is currently unmanned.

I go to one of the self-checkout kiosks and start scanning my groceries. From the kiosk next to me, I hear:

Customer: *Beep* “F***.” *Beep* “F***.” *Beep* “F***.”

I look over and see a middle-aged woman in a fuzzy tweed-looking black and white jacket with thin white and black stripes repeatedly scanning an item. It beeps, and a popup on the screen says, “Invalid barcode.” She says, “F***”, dismisses the error message, and tries again. Over and over.

I figure what’s most likely going on is the self-checkout kiosk has, for whatever reason, decided that her jacket is a barcode and is attempting to scan it. I don’t say anything; it’s none of my business. And I could be wrong; I’d rather be silent than speak up and look like a moron.

A store employee wanders over to the woman.

She explains to the store employee that the scanner isn’t working, and then scans her box and says, “F***,” to demonstrate. The employee scans the box. It works perfectly. The employee starts to wander away.

She grabs another item from her cart.

Customer: *Beep* “F***.”

The employee takes the item. It scans perfectly. The employee starts to walk away again. She takes another item from her cart. No bueno. She calls the employee back and makes him redo every item that doesn’t scan.

Customer: *Beep* “F***. Here.” *Beep* “F***. Here.” *Beep* “F***. Here.”

This looked like it could go on for a while, but I ran out of items to scan, so I paid and walked away. As I walked out, I glanced into her cart.

It was pretty full.

CONTENT WARNING: Gross (Feces)

I have been working at a Canadian grocery store chain for about four years. It’s early 2020, so the global health crisis is in full swing with mask mandates, etc.

I’m working in the self-checkout area right by the doors, and I notice a woman in her forties entering with her screaming child. The kid is wearing a sweater that says the name of his school and the year of his graduating class, and I gather that he is around eleven or twelve. Right off the bat, the woman looks pissed, probably because of her goblin child screaming blue murder about how he wants [Fast Food Place], and she waltzes in without a mask.

Me: “Welcome to [Store]! Do you need a mask?”

Woman: “What? No. I just need a few things.”

She tries to shove her way past me, but I place myself between her and the rest of the store.

Me: “Quick trip, eh? Yeah, I get that, but as per [Store] policy, all staff and customers over the age of ten need to be wearing masks in the store.”

Woman: “Well, I don’t have one!”

I point to a stand with hand sanitizer and masks by the door.

Me: “We have some right over there in case people forget. You can get one for yourself and your son.”

Child: “Mooooooommmmmm, I don’t want to wear a maaaaask!”

Woman: “Hush, sweetie. You don’t have to.” *To me* “My son is eight; he doesn’t need one. And besides, I don’t need one, either. I just need to grab a few things. I’ll be out in a few minutes anyway.”

Child: “Hey! I’m not eight!”

The woman glares at her kid, and he keeps whining about how he doesn’t want to wear a mask.

Me: “I understand, ma’am, but it’s store policy, and if you won’t wear a mask, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to shop elsewhere. The door signs clearly state you must wear a mask to shop with us.”

Woman: *Raising her voice* “But I just need a few things! It’s not like I’m going all over the store! I want to speak with your manager!”

Me: *Into my walkie-talkie* “Hey, [Manager], I’ve got a woman at the doors who wants to talk to you.”

Manager: “Be right there. Is it about masks again?”

Me: “Yep.”

Manager: *Sighs* “Keep her at the doors, please.”

Me: “Can do.” *To the woman* “Please wait right here and [Manager] will be right over.”

Woman: “You’d better not keep me waiting. I have a family to feed!”

[Manager] soon shows up and takes over.

Manager: “Good afternoon! How can I help you today?”

Woman: “This child—” *I’m twenty* “—won’t let me in! How am I supposed to feed my family if I can’t even enter the store?!

Manager: “Well, ma’am, you’re welcome to do your shopping here if you put on a mask!” *Notices the “Class Of [Year]” shirt on the kid* “And your son needs one, as well, seeing as he’s over ten.”

Woman: “HE’S EIGHT!”

Child: “NO, I’M NOT, MOM! STOP SAYING THAT!”

Woman: “BE QUIET, [CHILD]! Mommy’s handling this!”

Child: “DON’T YELL AT ME!”

He’s stomping his foot and screaming in her face.

Woman: “Don’t you take that tone with me! Let me deal with these idiots, and then Mommy will get you [Fast Food Place] after!”

The kid shuts up really quickly.

Woman: *To [Manager], smirking* “I can’t wear a mask and neither can my son; we have asthma and won’t be able to breathe.”

Manager: “I’m very sorry to hear that, but I’m afraid the rule goes for everyone; no entry without a mask.”

The woman explodes.

Woman: “I SWEAR TO GOD, WE’LL SUFFOCATE WITH MASKS ON! ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL MY CHILD?! I’M GOING TO SUE YOU IF YOU DON’T LET ME IN RIGHT NOW!”

Manager: “Please don’t raise your voice at me. I’m speaking to you like an adult; I expect the same in return. If you don’t want to wear a mask, then you can shop somewhere else. I hear that [Other Grocery Store] is allowing customers to shop without masks if you’d rather go there.”

Woman: “I’LL SPEAK HOWEVER I WANT! YOU’RE INFRINGING MY RIGHTS AS A CANADIAN CITIZEN TO BREATHE FREELY! I DON’T WANT TO GO TO [OTHER GROCERY STORE]! I’M ALREADY HERE! JUST LET ME DO MY F****** SHOPPING!”

The woman is panting like she just ran a marathon, and her son pulls her down to whisper something in her ear. She smiles like the Grinch after stealing Christmas and nods at her gremlin. He takes off into the store at a run, and we lose sight of him in the aisles. [Manager] sends me after the kid while he calls for security.

I search up and down every aisle in the store and finally find the kid in the frozen food section, all the way at the other end of the store. He’s got his pants around his ankles and is squatting in the middle of the aisle, dropping a massive pile of s*** on the floor. He sees me and grins at me.

I get on the walkie and call [Manager] over, telling him what’s going on. At this point, the woman has reluctantly put on a mask and storms over with [Manager] just as the kid drops the last nugget on his steaming pile. He pulls his pants back up and trots over to his mother.

Woman: “There we go; we found him. Now I can shop in peace.”

Manager: “Absolutely not. You or your son need to clean that up immediately.”

Woman: “H*** no. Get her to do it.” *Points at me* “It’s her job.”

Manager: “No, it’s not. Either you clean that up right now or I’m calling the police.”

Woman: “Fine! Go get me some paper towels.”

Manager: *To me* “Can you go grab the cleaning cart by the cash?”

Me: “Yeah, no problem.”

I get the cart and the woman starts picking up the poop.

Manager: “I hope you understand that once that’s cleaned up, you’ll need to leave. You and your son are banned for life.”

Woman: “What?!”

Manager: “After this awful display from the both of you, you’re not welcome to return.”

Woman: “THAT’S NOT FAIR! I’VE BEEN A LOYAL CUSTOMER HERE FOR YEARS! YOU CAN’T DO THIS!”

And she flings the fistful of poop she’s got at [Manager]’s head. He manages to dodge it, and it splatters on the freezer door behind him.

[Manager] gets on the walkie and asks for someone to lock the doors and call the cops while the woman and her son make a beeline for the exit. Boy, is she pissed when she realizes she is locked in. She’s screaming at everyone, her kid is complaining about the crap still stuck to his backside, and everyone else is staying the f*** away from the crazy lady with s*** on her hands screaming about lawsuits and how she’ll have all the employees fired.

The cops show up not too long after, in masks and gloves, and [Manager] uses a side exit to go out and explain the situation. Three cops enter and head over to where the woman is still screaming like a banshee with her hellspawn in tow.

Officer #1: “Ma’am, you’re going to need to come with us.”

Woman: “Like h*** I am! He’s the one you should be arresting!” *Pointing at [Manager]* “He made me clean up some random kid’s poop!”

Officer #1: “Ma’am, you need to calm down and come outside with us, or we’ll be forced to detain you. You can come peacefully or in handcuffs. It’s your call.”

The woman rushed the officers, probably to start hitting them or something, and [Officer #1] and [Officer #3] grabbed her and pinned her on the floor, with [Officer #2] cuffing her while reciting her rights

The child was scream-crying now, telling the cops to leave his mom alone and trying to pull them off of her. [Officer #1] turned around and grabbed the kid in a bear hug, lifting him off the ground as he was kicking and screaming to be let go, and carried him out to the squad cars in front of the store, all while his mother was screaming about child abuse and unlawful detainment and, “You’d better get your hands off my child right now or I’ll sue you all to high heaven!”

The woman was packed into the back of one car and her son in the other, and [Officer #1] came back to finish up with [Manager] and me, taking our statements and getting a copy of the CCTV footage. The woman was charged with disturbing the peace, aggravated assault for the poo flinging, resisting arrest, and trespassing.

She never came back to our store, and she was banned from all of our locations for life along with her son. [Manager] ended up cleaning the poo, not wanting to make his employees do it.

This story is part of our Not Always Right Most-Epic Stories roundup!

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I’m a cashier at a small supermarket with that serves a small area of diverse people, although our main clientele is generally older folk.

I’m male-to-female trans but very early in my journey. I keep my hair long and my beard shaved, I have adopted a neutral name, and I have been practicing keeping my voice in a higher register. Mask mandates have also been a godsend because my large mask covers up my stubble really well.

We all wear the same, loose-fitting uniforms made up of a thermal T-shirt, hard-wearing denims, steel-toed boots, and a baggy fleece. It can be hard to tell someone’s gender at a glance even if they present strongly one way or the other.

I’ve just finished scanning through a rather large shop for an older woman who’s spent most of the transaction fussing with her purse and the order of the items in her trolley. As I’m giving her the total and asking if she has a loyalty card, my voice slips back into a lower register briefly. The woman turns and squints at me through her glasses for a moment, muttering something before turning back around to fuss with her trolley again.

Me: “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. Do you have a loyalty card with us?”

Customer: “No, I don’t… [unintelligible].”

Me: “I didn’t quite catch that last bit, sorry?”

Customer: “You know you’ll never be a man, right?”

I’m briefly stunned into silence.

Me: “Pardon?”

Customer: “You can wear baggy clothes and put on a deep voice, but you’ll never be a man. I don’t know why you [slur]s even try. It’s disgusting.”

After another pause to see if she’s being serious, I break and burst into tears laughing. Tapping the manager pager, I compose myself.

Me: “You know, that’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me, right?”

The customer blinked a few times, trying to figure out what I was on about.

Me: “I had no idea I passed that convincingly that someone would mistake me for a trans man.”

My manager rounded the corner and paused at the register behind me to listen in.

Customer: “Why are you laughing?”

Me: “This is the first time I’ve ever had someone be hateful toward me in person for being transgender. And you got it the wrong way round.”

The customer squints at me again, seeming unsure of what to say about this shocking turn of events.

I glance over my shoulder to see my manager leaning over the conveyer belt behind me and laughing as well.

Me: “[Manager], do you want to take this customer? I don’t serve bigots.”

Manager: “I’ll do you one better.”

He turns to the customer and smiles.

Manager: “Please leave the store; we are refusing you service.”

Realising she is out of options and having made a complete fool of herself, the customer splutters something incomprehensible and shuffles off.

Manager: “Want to take five and get all the laughing done in the staff room?”

Me: “Gladly. Then I’ll put away this unpaid shopping.”

My manager and I swapped places, and I wheeled the full trolley up to the back of the store, laughing all the way.

About fourteen years ago, when [Security Company] provided security for [British Grocery Chain], I also worked for [Security Company] but was based at the airport. One morning after a twelve-hour night shift, I decided to go into a [British Grocery Chain] store I pass on the way home and get a sandwich.

I had my work uniform on, but I was wearing a grey jacket on top so people would know I wasn’t on duty. I went into the store, picked up a basket, and headed to the sandwich counter. I was browsing the selection and I heard someone say, “Excuse me,” but, not expecting anyone to be talking to me, I carried on looking for my desired sandwich.

Then, suddenly, the basket was slapped out of my hand and there was this snarling man’s face less than an inch from mine.

Man: “I’M NOT PAYING YOU TO SHOP! GET TO THE FRONT OF THE STORE RIGHT NOW!”

I was tired and very confused and could only muster the reply:

Me: “What?”

Man: “I TOLD YOU, GET TO FRONT DOORS! We’ve been open for customers for the last thirty minutes and you’ve not been at your position once, and now I find you buying snacks!”

That’s when the penny dropped.

Me: “I know the store’s open to customers; I am one. I work for the same company that provides your security, but I am not your guard.”

With those words ringing in the man’s ears, all the colour in his face drained away as he realised what he had just done to a customer. Suddenly, he became completely apologetic.

Man: “If there’s anything I can do for you, I’ll gladly help!”

Me: “I would like help carrying my basket around the store; I am tired from a long night shift.”

Man: “I’ll get someone to help you immediately.”

Me: “I don’t want someone else to carry my basket; I want you to carry it.”

I originally only intended to buy a sandwich, but to teach this guy a lesson, I spent thirty minutes in the store and went down every aisle.

A customer got rather irate at me because I wouldn’t serve him alcohol as he looked under twenty-five (a rule used by some UK supermarkets). His array of arguments consisted of:

Customer: “But I’m twenty-one, so you have to serve me!”

Me: “But you look under twenty-five, so I don’t.”

Customer: “But [Other Employee] knows I’m twenty-one!”

Me: “But she’s not in right now, and the final decision is made by me, not her.”

Customer: “What if I came in with ID? Would you serve me then?”

Me: “Well, yes, because then you could prove you are twenty-one.”

Customer: “But you were okay to sell me paracetamol?”

Me: “That only carries an age restriction of sixteen, so I didn’t need ID from you for that.”

Customer: “Well, you look like you’re f****** twelve, so I wouldn’t serve you!”

Me: “Well, I would have brought ID with me to prove that I am nineteen.”

He came back later, and the employee who “knew” his age served him.

Customer: *Smug* “See! I told you!”

Me: “I almost have the energy to try and look for a f*** to give you.”