I work as a cashier in a store that sells sports, camping, outdoor, and hunting equipment. This includes hunting rifles and air rifles.

One day, I am behind the only open register, and a man in his fifties comes stomping into the store and straight up to my register. Before I can even say hi, he makes a demand in an irritated voice.

Man: “I need my receipt now!“

Me: *Dumbfounded* “Oookay, when did you come here for the purchase, and what was it?”

Man: *Still irritated* “I don’t know when.”

I kind of just stare at him for a second before he continues.

Man: “Look, it should be around a year ago-ish? My insurance company said you have it on record.”

I’m trying hard not to roll my eyes at him.

Me: “Do you have a more specific timeframe, like what month?”

He gets slightly louder and more irritated.

Man: “Look, I don’t have time for this! Let me write down my info. I purchased an air rifle last year, and I need the receipt!”

I have him write down his information before I ask one final question that would help me locate his receipt.

Me: “Are you a member of our store?”

Man: “Yes, I am.”

I checked his number, and of course, he wasn’t a member. Before I even got to tell him this, he was already on his way out of the store, even angrier for whatever reason.

This guy really thought I would manually look for his receipt from “around last year” with “an air rifle” on it among several hundred thousand receipts? Receipts aren’t even kept on record that far back — at least not that I, a basic cashier, would have access to.

I worked in a gun store during summers in college.

Customer: “I want a clip for my nine.”

Me: “What’s the make and model?”

Customer: “My nine.”

Me: “Yes, but what kind?”

Customer: “Millimeter.”

Me: “…yes, but what’s the make and model?”

Customer: *Getting irate.* “Are you going to help me or are you unwilling?”

So I go in the back, grab the most expensive magazine for a 9mm, and come back and say plainly:

Me: “This is a magazine for a 9mm handgun.”

He snatches it out of my hand goes to pay for it and is never seen again. Either I somehow guessed correctly, or he was too embarrassed to come in to return it.

Customer: “I want to buy [handgun], but I don’t want to do the background check.”

Me: “That’s illegal.”

The customer then offers me a big nug of cannabis!

Customer: “How about now.”

Me: “Sir, even if I did bypass the background check, you’re an out of state resident, so I can’t sell a handgun to you over the counter. Also, you’re a New York resident: can’t own a handgun without a permit!”

Such fun points!

We sell new and used firearms. A very loud, know-it-all customer comes in to look at a used pocket-sized Detonics .45. He passes the required background check and buys the gun. As with all used guns, I tell him:

Me: “Just remember, you should leave it unloaded until you get to a firing range.”

Customer: “I’ve been shooting for forty years, boy; I know what I’m doing!”

As he continues browsing, I decide to do some light maintenance on our rifles, wiping them down and re-oiling them if needed. I start in on the AR-15s when I hear this guy snort loudly and start a weapon safety briefing full of everything he knows on the topic.

Customer: “That’s not how you should be clearing weapons.”

Customer: “Remember to keep your finger off the trigger!”

Customer: “Looks like I should remind you about muzzle discipline.”

And so on. He is telling me to do all of the things I am currently doing anyway. He finishes his tirade, collects his hat, and leaves the store, still complaining about safety under his breath.

Not two minutes later, another customer comes racing into the store, yelling.

Another Customer: “Someone call 911! Someone just injured themselves!” 

Turns out, Mr. Safety had gotten into his truck, loaded the pistol he’d gotten, and promptly shot himself in the leg.

I work in retail at my boyfriend’s gun store. This was the first phone call of the day. The phone rang and I picked up. This had to be a male in his mid- to late twenties, by the sound of his voice, so a grown man.

Me: “[Shop], how can I help you?”

Customer: “Yes, miss, hello. You guys sell and know about guns, yes? Different calibers and all.”

Me: “Yes, we do. Is there something I can answer for you?”

Customer: “Yes, what caliber would I shoot a dog with? A small one.”

I froze for a moment, shocked. It crossed my mind that MAYBE he meant his own dog, an old one, maybe a terminally ill one, one that he couldn’t afford to put down — that type of deal.

Me: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “Would a .22 do? My neighbor’s d*** dog never shuts up. It’s always barking.”

Me: “Sir, you can’t d—”

Customer: “Or would a different one do better? I want it down in one shot. Two if need be, but nothing more, and I want to do it soon.”

Me: “You can’t shoot your neighbor’s dog.”

Customer: “Why the h*** not? It never shuts up. And it’s so tiny that its bark sounds like loud squeaking. I want it gone.”

Me: “That doesn’t matter. You can’t do that. And I can’t help with that.”

This type of conversation continued for about five minutes.

Customer: “Fine! I want to talk with someone else!”

I handed the phone over to a coworker. I later found out the man threw a fit and wasn’t very pleasant but caved and hung up.