(I am serving in the fast lane, which is for six items or less. It’s fairly busy but we’re going through the queue pretty quickly. People wait no more than two minutes in line at absolute worst. A woman storms up beside me, through the checkout exits.)

Pushy Lady: “I want to buy this pineapple.”

Me: *continuing to serve my current customer* “Of course, ma’am, just hop in line and we’ll get to you shortly.”

Pushy Lady: “No! Here’s the money; I just want it now!” *tries to thrust a note at me, despite my hands being busy with another customer’s items*

Me: *startled* “I… beg your pardon, ma’am. I don’t know how much the pineapple is. I’d have to ring it up; otherwise, I’d get in trouble.” *gives the gentleman I’m serving his total*

Pushy Lady: “I don’t want to wait!” *storms off*

Gentleman: “I was about to offer to pay for it, but…” 

(We shrugged at each other and he paid and left. I continued serving the line. A few minutes later, I saw the pushy woman being served at one of the other tills… by a supervisor. She looked like she was complaining but I never heard anything about it. Guess the supervisor didn’t agree that she could just skip the line because she didn’t want to wait.)

(It is around Christmas when Michelle Obama’s book, “Becoming,” has come out. When a book is released in hardcover, it’ll usually be a year or two — depending on how popular the book is — before it’s released in paperback. It’ll usually come out in paperback when it’s printed in large print. I know for a fact that we don’t have any large-print copies because my manager hadn’t ordered them.)

Female Customer: “Um, excuse me! Do you have Michelle Obama’s new book in paperback?”

Me: “No, ma’am, I’m afraid it’s only available in hardcover.”

Customer: “What is with you bookstores and only having it in hardcover?! Ain’t nobody can afford that!” *walks off in a huff*

(Five minutes later, she appears with five books in her hand.)

Customer: “Uh, b****! I found this in paperback!” *answers her phone that is ringing* “Girl, I found this book in paperback. This dumb, fat b**** told me they didn’t! So, uh!” *snaps her fingers in victory in my face as I’m ringing her up*

Me: *tells her the total and the rest of the transaction goes normally, and then she leaves*

Coworker: “Did you tell her that those paperbacks are in Spanish?”

Me: “No.”

I’m female. I’m selling a tea set on a post-n-sell website. Since it’s a fairly common pattern and some people might want replacement parts, I list each piece individually (i.e. the teapot by itself, the tea cups as a set, etc.), before taking group shots to sell as one big set. Either way, I make money.

Just as I finish, I see a message notification. I’m excited that someone wants one of my listings so quickly. I click on it and see it’s from a guy, posted about five minutes ago. He writes, “Top tip for you: sell it as a set.” As I’m processing this, another message pops up from him: “Glad to see you took my advice.”

Nice to know Internet Guy doesn’t give in to his masculine insecurities so he can mansplain how to sell a tea set online.

(We have two functioning tills, but we only open the second one when it gets busy and we have enough people. Currently, we have one till open. A man goes up to the second till.)

Coworker #1: “Excuse me, that till is closed. Can I get you to come over here so we can serve you?”

Customer: “No. I want to be served here.”

Coworker #1: “I see, but seeing as that till is closed, you won’t be. Please come over here.”

Customer: “No. You will serve me here.”

(My coworker shrugs and goes back to other customers, while the man just crosses his arms and stands at the till. A second coworker shows up two minutes later for his shift and notices the man.)

Coworker #2: “Sorry, seems like that till is closed. Can you please move over to the line by the other till?”

Customer: “No! I want two mulled wines, here!”

Coworker #2: “I’m sorry, but you’re gonna have to go over to the line to be served.”

Customer: “I can’t believe you won’t just serve me here.”

Coworker #2: “We’ll serve you over at the other till.”

Customer: “I’ll wait here.”

([Coworker #2] also just shrugs and goes to work. I’m standing awkwardly in the middle, minding the baked goods and the oven, listening to the man huff and puff. I notice people start to queue behind him.)

Me: *directed to the people behind him* “Sorry, can you please move to the line by the other till, where we’re serving people?”

(The other people very politely move, while the man dramatically throws out his arms.)

Customer: “I want to be served here! Why is that so hard?!”

(In the end, he stood there for twenty minutes before he got the hint and left. We still talk about him at work.)

Related:
Lack Of Register Does Not Register, Part 12
Lack Of Register Does Not Register, Part 11
Lack Of Register Does Not Register, Part 10

(I am working as a janitor during college in the student union building on campus. I have closed the bathroom to clean it, blocking the entrance to the bathroom with a spring-loaded pole that goes across the opening and a flag hanging down it saying, “Restroom closed.” I have just sprayed phosphoric acid cleaner in the bowls and on the seats of the toilets, and I have to let it sit to clean and neutralize before washing it off. In the meantime, I start on the sinks. A woman comes in with her daughter who seems to be three or so.)

Woman: “Excuse me, is the bathroom closed?”

Me: “Yes, it is.”

(She must have walked under a bar that literally said so to ask me this.)

Woman: “Well, my daughter needs to use the restroom.”

Me: “I’m sorry. It’s closed.”

Woman: “But she has to go potty.”

Me: “I understand it’s hard when kids just have to go, but I just put phosphoric acid cleaner on the toilets. If she were to use them, she would get chemical burns. There is another bathroom on the next floor up.”

Woman: “She can’t wait.”

Me: “There’s nothing I can do about this.”

Woman: “I’m going to use this one.”

Me: *standing in front of her* “Look, I’ve gotten this cleaner inside my gloves on accident before and it burns. I can’t let your daughter sit on it.”

Woman: “It will be okay.”

Me: “Go upstairs. You could have made it there in this time.”

Woman: *leaving* “If she wets herself, it’s your fault.”

Me: “Better wetting herself than having chemical burns on her legs and bottom!”