I work in a large paint store that sells one specific brand. A customer walks up to the customer service desk.

Customer: “I need another can of this paint.”

She presents a can of paint made by a different brand.

Me: “Ma’am, that can didn’t come from our store as we don’t sell that brand of paint, but I’ll be happy to match it to a similar type of paint.”

Customer: “No, I bought it here. Just make me another one just like this.”

Me: “I’m sorry, we don’t carry that brand. The sticker on top looks like it was purchased at [Home Improvement Chain].”

Customer: “I know I bought it here in this store. It was before you worked here.”

Me: “It says [Home Improvement Chain] on it, right here on the label.”

Customer: “Who’s in charge here? I need to speak to them.”

The manager comes over and explains politely that we don’t carry this specific brand of products, never have, and most likely never will.

Customer: “You’re lying to me! Go check the back, and you’ll find a can just like this.” 

We both go to the back and facepalm for a few seconds. Then, we go back and try to explain again that we don’t carry that brand. Finally, she gives up.

Customer: “Well, I still need to buy this brush.”

I ring it up, give her the total, and swipe her card.

The card is declined.

Me: “It looks like this card is expired; do you have the new card or another form of payment?”

At that point, she just flipped her lid. She turned to the manager, yelled at him that I wouldn’t accept her credit card and that she was going to get us both fired, threw the brush on the ground, and stormed off.

I’m lounging around my register when a family of four — a father and three sons — approaches to purchase a few plants. One of the sons, who looks to be eight to ten years old, is softly going “ow” and studying his finger intently. Once the father has set all the plants on the counter and I begin ringing them up, he turns to his injured son.

Father: “You touched a cactus?”

Son: “Yeah.”

Father: “That’s the second time you’ve done that.”

Son: “Third.”

Father: “Well, I hope you learned your lesson this time.”

Son: *Thoughtfully* “No…”

I work at a home improvement store in the flooring section, and I’m training a new employee. I am giving the kid a tour of the department when I hear a whistle. I ignore it at first, but then I hear it again. I turn toward the noise and see three guys with a grocery cart standing in the laminate aisle.

Me: “Excuse me?”

Customer: “Yeah, we’re looking for flooring?”

Me: “Welp, you sure found it. This is the flooring department.”

And then I turn back around and continue training the new kid because I am not a dog nor a servant.

Me: *To the new kid* “You absolutely do not need to respond to anyone who treats you so poorly.”

The guests did approach the new guy a few minutes later. They weren’t apologetic, but they were slightly nicer. The new kid made a pretty decent sale from them but I refused to help them at all after that. Oh, well.

My wife and I shopped in a home improvement store in the next town over. I purchased an item. As my purchase was being put in the register, the clerk asked for my zip code. I knew why but chose to ask the reason.

Clerk: “We need the zip code so we can charge the correct sales tax, according to the new state law that identifies the sales tax rate by the zip code of the customer.”

Me: “You don’t need it for this purchase.”

Clerk: “You don’t understand. We—”  

I cut her off in a nice way.

Me: “I do understand. I’m an accountant, and the new law requires you to charge sales tax by zip code at the point of delivery. Because this item is being delivered into my hands, in your store, in your town, that is the point of delivery for the zip code to charge sales tax. So, charge me the sales tax according to the rate in this town.”

A few weeks later, we were back in that store and purchased an item. It so happened that the same clerk rang us up.

Clerk: “You were the one who explained the sales tax to me, right?”

Me: “Yep.”

Clerk: “I told our manager what you told me. He called corporate and they told him, ‘That guy is right.’ We have been doing it wrong for a couple of months now. Thanks for correcting us.”

Did I get a discount? Did I want one? No. I just couldn’t let that store keep screwing up.

My great-grandparents were part of the generation that considered it standard practice to have a house built to live in forever instead of bought as an investment you happened to live in.

Several decades and three generations later, they’re making plans to move into a condo to help them transition into end-of-life care. My family decides to buy the house from them, as our house was meant for a family of three and we are now a family of six.

During the official walk-through tour of the house, my dad finds a few things that seem odd.

Dad: “What does this switch do?”

Great-Grandpa: “Nothing. It used to control the bathroom fan, but we moved it over here.”

Dad: “Was there something wrong with it?”

Great-Grandpa: “Well, no, but… see how you can reach the fan switch from the toilet? Your grandma thought that was a good idea.”

Dad: “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”

Later…

Dad: “Why does this hallway switch turn on the light above the kitchen sink?”

Great-Grandpa: “If you need to get to the kitchen at night, you don’t need to stumble around in the dark! You can turn it on outside the bedroom and turn it off before going back to bed!”

Finally, Dad opens a cabinet under the bathroom sink

Dad: “Is… Is that a cup holder?”

Great-Grandpa: “Uhhh…”

The prevailing theory is that my great-grandma liked to enjoy a cola and a cigarette in that guest bathroom. (There was a window that provided plenty of airflow.)

After my family moved in, we referred to these quirks as relics of “old man logic.” The bathroom cup holder has become a conversation piece, but I showered with no fan for three weeks because I couldn’t figure out which switch controlled the bathroom fan.