(I am an employee, bagging groceries for a customer. Behind me is an open area for people to walk, and behind that is a claw machine and gum ball machines. A lady and her child are at the claw machine. The lady comes up to me, and this is what ensues.)

Customer: “I put a $5 bill in this machine, expecting to get $4.50 in change!”

(Each play is 50 cents.)

Me: “I am sorry, ma’am, but that doesn’t give change.”

Customer: “I want my change back! I only wanted him to play one time.”

Me: “I don’t think there is anything I can do, but let me ask my manager.”

(I walk to the office and the customer follows me. I go in and tell my manager what is happening. He says we can’t give money back unless the machine takes the money and then won’t work. I go back out and walk up to the customer.)

Me: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we can only give money back if the machine takes it and then doesn’t work. There is a separate company that puts the machine there; they take the money from it and they fill it up.”

Customer: “Well, what am I supposed to do?!”

Me: “Your child will just have to play $5 worth of plays.”

(I resume bagging and the customer goes back to the claw machine. A few minutes later she comes back up to me.)

Customer: “He only played three times, and now it won’t work! $5 is ten plays!”

Me: “He played more than three times ma’am. He was playing when you first started talking to me, and he was playing the whole time we were at the office while I talked to my manager. You may have only seen him play three times, but I assure you that he used up all his turns.”

Customer: “There’s no way!”

(She turns to a man who was standing there, whom I hadn’t noticed before; he’s her spouse.)

Customer: *to man* “How many times did he play?”

Man: “I didn’t count, but it was more than three.”

Customer: *looks at the man, looks at me* “Whatever!”

(Then she grabbed the child and quickly exited the store, the whole time berating the child for spending her entire $5 and not winning.)

(I own a small restaurant that seats thirty people at a time. A woman I have just served angrily approaches me at the counter.)

Customer: “That lady in the corner table is breastfeeding her baby!”

Me: “Good for her.”

(I turn to go back to what I was doing.)

Customer: “I shouldn’t have to look at that while I’m eating. That’s disgusting! Aren’t you going to do something about it?”

Me: “Sure.”

(I then walk around the counter, pick up the angry woman’s tray, take it into the bathroom, and set it on the seat of the toilet.)

Me: “There. Eat in here. That way you don’t have to be subjected to anything disgusting.”

(The woman storms out, fuming. The mother gives me a thumbs-up. On her way out, she leans over the counter and calls out to me.)

Mother: “You may have just lost that one customer, but you gained one for life, and a second once this little guy gets off the breast milk!”

(I love being the boss and getting to say whatever I want. Her son is three now, and they stop in at least once a week.)

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(I am a service leader at my local grocery store. Service leaders are in charge of getting breaks done on time, handling alcohol and tobacco sales, and answering whatever questions our cashiers have. We have to ID anyone who we believe is under the age of 30 for tobacco and 45 for alcohol, and if there are multiple people in a group I need all IDs, unless it is clearly a parent/child relationship. A cashier has to call us over whenever there is alcohol. A cashier calls me over to a group of eight twenty-something kids, with nine types of beer.)

Me: “Hi, how are you all doing today?”

Customer #1: “Good!” *hands his ID to me*

Me: “Thank you! But I need everyone’s ID.”

Customer #2: “But he has his!”

Me: “I know, but in a group I need everyone’s ID.”

Customer #1: “Guys, go get your IDs.”

(The other seven customers leave, and my cashier and I cash out the rest of the order and chit-chat with the first customer. A few minutes later, four of the group comes back.)

Customer #3: “[Other Customer] had something to do, but here’s our IDs!”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I have to decline the sale. There are three of you missing. And I needed everyone’s.”

([Customer #3] starts freaking out on my cashier and me, calling us b****es and w****s.)

Me: “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I will not have that language around this store.”

(He turns in a huff and tries to take a twelve-pack of beer.)

Me: “Sir, you need to put that down before I call security!”

(He pouts, but puts the beer down. The first customer pays for the rest of his groceries.)

Customer #1: “So, can I buy this six-pack?”

(I’m looking this man straight in the eye, and he is dead serious.)

Me: “No, I cannot sell that to you. Have a good day.”

(He looked so confused as he was leaving my store.)

Related:
No ID, No Idea, Part 36
No ID, No Idea, Part 35
Has ID, Still No Idea

(I work in the floral department at a grocery store. We have a lady who comes in often enough that we recognize her. She always dresses entirely in white and silver, and wears extremely heavy makeup: a thick layer of foundation that doesn’t match her skin tone, usually white or silver eyeshadow, and very pale, pink lipstick that is rarely, if ever, applied in the lines of her actual lips. She’s always snobby and picky about her flowers. The chain where I work has a fuel-saver program. You get a card that the cashier scans at the checkout, and for some items, you get a certain number of cents off your gas per gallon at the pump if you go to the gas station chain we partner with. It’s very popular and a lot of people participate.)

Customer: “Are these flowers the best? Because I want to make sure I get the best.”

Me: “Those are really nice flowers, for sure.”

Customer: “But are they the best? I have to have the best.”

Me: “Um… Yes, they’re the best.”

Customer: “Oh, wonderful. Just wonderful.”

(I ring her up.)

Me: “Do you have a fuel-saver card you’d like to use?”

Customer: “Oh, for crying out loud! No!”

Me: “I’m sorry, we have to ask—”

Customer: “No! I don’t use those! Who uses those?”

Me: “Um, a lot of people, ma’am. I have one.”

Customer: “Well! I don’t even put my own gas in my car! What would I want with that?”

Me: “Your total is [total]. Enjoy your day!”

(After she leaves, my coworker shakes his head.)

Me: “Could you believe her? ‘I don’t put my gas in my car, la-de-daaaa.’”

Coworker: “She works retail just like the rest of us.”

Me: “Are you serious?”

Coworker: “Yup. At the makeup counter in the mall next door. I’ve seen her.”

(I am Mexican, but this happens when I am studying in China. We meet a few Chinese people who are learning Spanish. However, they are taught that the only correct Spanish is the dialect that comes from Spain. In Spanish from Spain, the letter Z is pronounced close to English “th,” while in Latin America it’s pronounced like an S.)

Me: “Quiero comprar unos zapatos.” *I want to buy shoes.*

Chinese Girl: “Oh… You’re saying it wrong. It should be ‘thapatos,’ not ‘sapatos.’”

Me: “Well, in Mex–”

Chinese Girl: “You have to learn how to speak proper Spanish.”

Me: “You do realize I’m a native speaker, right? You’re actually trying to correct the way I speak my own language.”

(She just blushed and pointed to where I could buy a pair of shoes.)

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