(My husband and I have the same, gender-neutral, first name; however, mine is spelled in a more feminine way. His family is EXTREMELY traditional Southern while my husband and I are more progressive. We decided early on that we would not take each other’s last names as it would be too confusing, and if we have any children, their last name will be hyphenated. This story occurs while I am six months pregnant with our first child, visiting his extended family in Mississippi. His aunt is asking us about names for the baby and we tell her a few of our ideas.)

Aunt: “Hmm… [First Name] [Husband’s Last Name] sounds really good! I like that a lot!”

Husband: “Actually, it would be [My Last Name]-[His Last Name].”

Aunt: “Well, why would it be like that? That seems silly to have her dead name on the baby!”

Me: “Um, my dead name? You realize I didn’t change my last name, right? Also, I’m putting in over half of the work on this kid; there is no reason why he shouldn’t have my last name. And it is extremely rude to call my maiden name my ‘dead name.’”

Mother-In-Law: “YOU DIDN’T CHANGE YOUR LAST NAME?! DO YOU NOT LOVE YOUR HUSBAND? When we get back, I’ll find the paperwork to get your name changed.”

Me: “No, I didn’t, and yes, I clearly love him. However, logistically, it did not make sense for me to change my name. And no, you don’t need to do that, because I am not changing my name.”

Aunt: “Regardless of your ‘feelings,’ it is disrespectful to his family if you choose to completely disregard our name! It is the one thing we have keeping us together!”

Me: “If your name is the ‘only thing you have keeping you together,’ that is your problem, not mine. Besides, this is our decision, and it does not mean that we love each other any less.”

Aunt: “Well, fine. But I’ll have you know that kids with hyphenated last names grow up to be drug dealers and in jail! You should be arrested for child abuse for putting your child at risk like that!”

Husband: “Aaaand now we are leaving. Until you can get past whatever this is, you will not be seeing our child.”

(Three years later, the aunt has still never met our child and still refuses to speak to me or my husband. She sends my mother-in-law links on how to change a baby’s name about once a month.)

(I am ringing up a customer who, to this point, has been perfectly nice and friendly.)

Customer: “How much is that DVD?”

Me: “It rang up as [price].”

Customer: “I got that DVD out of the five-dollar bin. It’s supposed to be five dollars.”

Me: “I can call in a price check on it if you want, but I can’t change it without a price check.”

Customer: “That is not my problem. It was in the five-dollar bin. I wouldn’t have gotten it if it wasn’t five dollars.”

Me: “Okay, I’ll call in a price check, then.”

(My manager comes over and I explain the situation. He goes off to double-check the price of the DVD.)

Me: “Just so you know, it is possible that someone just put the DVD in the five-dollar bin by mistake, and in that case, we won’t be able to give it to you for five dollars.”

Customer: “It is not my problem if somebody put it in the wrong place! I found it in the five-dollar bin so it’s five dollars!”

(My manager returns.)

Manager: “It’s [same price as before].”

Customer: “No, it isn’t! It was labeled five dollars!”

Manager: “Can you tell me where you found it?”

Customer: “Yes, I can! It was in one of those bins back there that say everything is five dollars! But there have to be hundreds of movies in there; you’ll never be able to find the right one!”

(My manager leaves with the DVD again.)

Customer: “Is he really going to go digging through all those DVDs just to find another one of those?”

Me: “It looks like it.”

Customer: *derogatorily* “Well, he is special.”

Me: “Unfortunately, that’s the only way we’re allowed to give it to you for five dollars — if he can confirm the price by finding another one in there.”

Customer: “It is not my problem if somebody messed up and put it in the wrong place! It was advertised as five dollars.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but for all we know it could have just been another person who was shopping, decided not to get it, and accidentally put it in the wrong place.”

Customer: “It could’ve been an employee who messed up and put it in the wrong place.”

Me: “It could have. Unfortunately, we don’t know.”

(My manager returns.)

Manager: “Do a price override.”

Me: “Sorry for all the trouble, sir.”

(The customer pays and leaves. I begin ringing up the next customer in line, who has been waiting patiently this entire time.)

Next Customer: “Man, he was petty!”

Me: “Yeah.”

(A customer comes up to the returns desk and throws an item onto the counter.)

Me: “Hello. Did you want to return this today?”

Customer: “Why else would I be here?”

Me: “All right. Did you have a receipt or the card you used to purchase this?”

Customer: “Yes. It’s in my bag. I don’t want to get it out.”

Me: “Okay, well, I’ll need one of those to do the return.”

Customer: “Are you serious? I obviously don’t feel well, and by making me get that out, you are risking the fact that I’ll get everyone here sick. It’s your fault if I do.”

(A line has formed behind the person.)

Me: “I’m sorry, but I’ll need something to scan into the computer to do the return.”

(Eventually, she grumbled and dug into her purse. The whole interaction took ten minutes; it normally takes about thirty seconds.)

(Having just finished my weekly shop, I go to the till and scan all of my items. After bagging — in the UK, we bag our own items — I follow the prompts on the card machine. The card machine flashes a strange message, which looks sort of corrupted, and then it asks me to remove my card, which I do.)

Cashier: “Excuse me? You need to put your card back in.”

Me: “It told me to remove it; I think there’s something wrong—”

Cashier: *patronizing* “Okay, sweetie! You need to put your card in. I’ll tell you when to put your PIN in, and then when to take it out.”

Me: “I know how to do that! There’s something wrong with the machine.”

Cashier: “Just put your card in, sweetie. I’ll tell you when.”

Me: *rolls eyes to myself* “Fine.”

(I put the card in the machine and this time it makes a horrible beeping noise. I’ve worked in retail and have never seen anything like it before. It asks me to remove my card again.)

Me: “It’s telling me to remove my card again.”

Cashier: “Nuh-uh, sweetie, you need to put your PIN in first.”

Me: “I’m not putting my PIN in that thing! Could you swipe it, please? I’ll sign.”

Cashier: “You removed it too soon!” *speaking to me like I am five years old* “Put it back in.”

Me: “You know what? I’ve got cash. Just put it through as cash.”

Cashier: “Sure thing, sweetie!”

(I walked to customer service and reported the faulty machine, but didn’t say anything about the cashier. As I was leaving, I realised I had forgotten something so I darted through the tills again. I chose a different till. I overheard the manager explaining to the cashier that she wasn’t even meant to be logged in on that till because it had a known fault and was waiting for a repairman.)

(I am a customer filling a prescription for my daughter. A middle-aged woman comes up to the drop-off desk and waits for someone to come over to her.)

Customer: “I want to speak to the manager.”

Pharmacist: “I’m the pharmacist; we don’t have a manager back here.” 

Customer: “Well, I want you to change your phone system. Every time [Pharmacy] calls me, I have to call back and dial one and it won’t let me, so I don’t know what you’re calling for.”

Pharmacist: “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do; that’s an IT issue.”

Customer: “Well, this is the second time I’ve had to talk to someone. How am I supposed to know what you’re calling about and what I need to do?”

Pharmacist: “Well, ma’am, you can call [1-800 number] and speak to someone in IT, but this is how our system works. I’m sorry you miss the phone calls and that your phone doesn’t work, but there’s nothing I can do.”

Customer: “You need to fix it or I’m going to take my business somewhere else. I need these prescriptions and if I can’t get through, then I have to go somewhere else.”

(At that point, I had to chase after my child, but when I went back to pick up my daughter’s prescription twenty minutes later, she was still standing there arguing with the pharmacist. And the pharmacist kept his cool and composure the entire time. I would have lost my s*** after ten minutes.)