In Texas, to be sales tax-exempt, you have to be a farmer, a church, work for the government, etc. For everyone else, you pay sales tax on most non-food-related items in my state; it doesn’t matter if you’re the governor or a tourist.

In order for a tax-exempt purchase to go through we (the cashiers) have to have the right paperwork filled out, signed, and submitted. Each. And. Every. Time. Someone wants to buy something. It is a long process that takes far longer than it should, holds up the line, and makes cranky customers more cranky.

All that being explained, throw it out the window when it comes to this guy. This older man comes up to my register where I scan and bag his items. I tell him his total, and this is where the confusion starts.

Me: “Your total will be $50.83, sir.”

Customer: “I don’t pay tax.”

Me: “Oh, do you have your tax-exempt paperwork ready with your exemption number?”

Customer: “No, I don’t have paperwork, and I don’t pay tax.”

I’m really confused at this point.

Me: “I’m sorry, but if you don’t have your paperwork, I can’t process the sale without tax. You’ll have to pay the tax and then go through the tax office to try to get a refund.”

This man just looks at me like I’m the dumbest creature on this planet and he doesn’t know why he has to talk to me.

Customer: “I’m from Oregon! I don’t pay sales tax there, and I’m not going to pay your tax! Now take it off or I’m leaving!”

I have a vague understanding (and I could be wrong) that if you visit a sales-tax state, like Texas, and you live in a non-sales-tax state like Oregon, you can get a refund on the sales tax when you get home. But at the time of this purchase (2013), you have to pay the sales tax. Also, it’s not like I would’ve known this guy was from a different state just by looking at him.

Me: “Sir, this is Texas, and everyone pays sales tax. Everyone. I can’t exempt you just because you’re from another state; I don’t even have a way to input that into my computer. Sorry.” 

He, of course, got mad and started walking out of the store yelling about how he didn’t pay sales tax and he was not going to. My coworkers just looked at him like he was a nut, and I explained what had happened when he left.

My manager just rolled his eyes, muttered about what a “f****** dumba**” the guy was, and went back to building a display case.

Customer: “…and a triple burger.”

Employee: “Okay, that’s $54.22.”

A while later…

Customer: “Hey. I ordered a triple burger but only got two patties. Can you just toss another patty on it?”

Employee: “Sure! We’ll get that out ASAP!”

In the “kitchen”…

Employee: “Hey. The guy ordered a triple burger, but I accidentally rang in a double. He said he’s fine just having another patty thrown on it; we don’t need to remake it.”

Me: “Sure, I’ve got one just coming off of the grill for that other order. I’ll take that one out to him right away.”

Manager: “DID YOU CHARGE HIM FOR IT? GO CHARGE HIM FOR IT.”

Now, my thinking is that the guy spent upwards of $50 at a slightly nicer local burger joint, we messed his order up, and he’s being totally accommodating about how we fix it. Let’s eat the fifty-cent cost and make him feel good about this.

My manager’s thinking is that we wouldn’t want to lose that twenty-odd cents of SWEET, SWEET PROFIT fixing the guy’s order. We should go out to him with his burger-sauce-covered hands, tell him to dig his wallet out and come up to the counter, and ring through another transaction FOR A F****** DOLLAR. Because we messed up. It costs half our cost of the patty just to swipe his debit card!

If it’s something minor, it was potentially/probably our mistake, and the customer isn’t rude, then f*** it; spending a few bucks a day/hour to keep people happy like that is some of the best and cheapest advertising you can get.

My husband and I used to camp a lot before we had our little one. Once she was old enough, we resumed, splitting the “kiddy” supplies between our backpacks and never going that far, since one of us had to carry her on the back, plus the pack under her “chair” most of the way.

As she got older, we went for longer camping nights and longer hikes. Our oldest wasn’t really exposed to the outdoors as much when she was younger, so the slower “easing into” camping/hiking was good for her, as well.

We made the mistake of camping with a work buddy of my husband’s. Prepared they were not. Well, let me rephrase that: the husband was prepared, but apparently, he had told his wife she needed to be more prepared and she’d shrugged it off, saying:

Buddy’s Wife: “Their five-year-old can do it, so can I. How hard can things be?”

She did not bring the proper weather gear with her, didn’t want to wear the ugly hiking boots (her sneakers were “just fine”), and complained most of the day because she was too tired to go further. Most days we left her at the campsite, which made her even more upset.

Me: “Feel free to leave if you’re having such a bad time.”

Buddy’s Wife: “No, the hike back to the car is too far!”

It turned out to be an eye-opening weekend for the husband, though, because they separated shortly after that. He said her attitude toward everything — plus the attitude she had toward our kids when talking to him in their tent alone — was enough for him to see their future was not going to work.

I have taken my one-and-a-half-year-old to a pediatric dentist for a routine checkup. This is her second time going to the dentist but her first time at this practice. She is being wiggly during her cleaning, and I am trying to distract her.  

Me: “She can be a little resistant for us, too.”

Hygienist: *Shooting me a look* “You’re the parent.”

Once the hygienist is done, the dentist comes in and starts doing his exam. She is curious about what he is doing, so I try to distract her again by singing to her. He is not patient at all with her. 

Dentist: “You need to stop making this fun. And I want you to use a minty toothpaste so she doesn’t like it.”

Me: *Scooping up her up* “We’re done here.”

The dentist mumbles under his breath, most of which I can’t make out, but I catch something about “teen parents”.

Me: “First of all, even if I was a teen parent, you shouldn’t be treating your patients or their parents this way. And second of all, I’m twenty-five, but thank you for thinking I look that young, I guess?”

The hygienist, who has overheard the entire conversation, follows me. 

Hygienist: “You can schedule your next appointment at the front desk.”

Me: “You are out of your mind if you think we’re coming back here.”

At least the receptionist was apologetic. Apparently, the dentist we saw was filling in for the regular dentist, but we decided to go back to the previous practice we had gone to, which was twice the distance but worth the drive.

My daughter is five now and loves brushing her teeth and the fun prizes she gets at the dentist.

I recently went to send money using a common wire transfer company inside a larger store. The cashier is a girl I’ve seen many times at this location. She greets me with a smile and a wave.

Cashier: “Hey, girl, how are you?”

Me: “I’m good. How are you?”

Cashier: “Oh, living the dream! How can I help you today?”

Me: “I’d like to send some money via [Transfer Company].”

Cashier: “No problem! I’ll be happy to help you.”

We go through the details of the transfer, and when we get to the payment part, her computer freezes.

Cashier: “Oh. I… I’m sorry. The computer seems to have taken a nap. I’m so sorry. All we can do is start over.”

Me: “Okay, no problem.”

Apparently, there is a woman standing close enough to hear our conversation. She lets out an angry huff, and I turn to see her standing less than two feet from my back.

Customer: “[Store] can’t get good registers? Really?”

Cashier: *Still polite* “I do apologize. The computer—”

Customer: “Yeah, I heard. The computer f***ed up. How convenient for you. Why—”

Me: “Are you paying for this?”

Customer: “What?”

Me: “Are you paying for this?”

I gesture to my money transfer and then to her return in her hands.

Me: “Or are you doing your own thing?”

Customer: “I am not paying for your s***, you—”

Me: “Then back the f*** up before I feed you your credit card.”

The woman steps back so that she is waiting beside the sign that clearly says:

Sign: “WAIT HERE FOR NEXT AVAILABLE ASSOCIATE.”

She is glaring into the back of my head while I go back to the cashier, who looks like she’s about to cry.

Cashier: “I really am sorry. I know you’re mad, but I didn’t mean to do it.”

Me: “Hey, you are fine. I used to work here, and I’d bet this is the same exact computer that would restart while I was cashing a customer’s check. Don’t worry.”

Cashier: “Okay.” *Takes a deep breath* “Okay.”

Me: “Okay? Are you ready to start again?” 

We made it through the transaction without another incident. By the time we were done, the woman behind me was no longer in line. I don’t know who she went to harass, but I hope they gave her the treatment she deserved.