There are two supermarkets I regularly visit: one by my workplace and one by my home. I always use the self-checkout at the one by work because they train the cashiers to be extremely “aggressive” in pushing every little thing about the store, which I’m not interested in and don’t want to have a conversation about every time I buy something. I never use the self-checkout at the store by my house if I can avoid it because the most recent update to the operating system completely broke them.

One night, I just want to pick up three things: a gallon of milk, some gnocchi, and some sauce. I stop by the market by work, but due to a prolonged power outage, all the milk had to be dumped, and the self-checkouts are still down. It probably takes about forty-five seconds to actually scan, pay for, and bag my stuff; it takes almost five minutes to tell the cashier that no, I don’t have any coupons or rainchecks, I do have a store card which I have already scanned, I don’t have a store credit card, I don’t WANT a store credit card, I don’t want to be on the email list, etc., etc.

Already frustrated with all of this, I stop at the store near my home and grab my milk. The express lane is closed and there are lines at every other register, so I resign myself to the self-checkout. I only have one thing, so it can’t go THAT badly, right? …right?

Register: “How many reusable bags are you using?”

I press “zero”.

Register: “Please scan your items.”

I scan the milk.

Register: “Please place your item in th—” *BLEEP BLEEP* “Please remove unscanned items from the—” *BLEEP BLEEP* “Help is on the way.”

At this point, the milk is still in my hand and I’m staring blankly at the screen. With a grumble that I only half-hear as something like, “Here we go again,” the person working the self-checkout comes over. It’s clear that this is NOT the first time today as she hits the button to cancel the alert, unlocks the order, resets the scale, zeroes the scale, reopens the order, and then closes out of the cashier screen.

Register: “Please place your item in the bagging area.”

I carefully, fearfully do so.

Register: “Please continue scanning.”

I hit “Done” to get to payment and choose zero bags to purchase.

Register: *BLEEP BLEEP* “Help is on the way.”

Me: “Okay, but why, though?!“

Cashier: “Did you select any reusable bags?”

Me: “No, I’m just carrying it. It doesn’t understand the concept of ‘carrying’, so you have to choose one or the other.”

Cashier: “Yep.” *Hits the button and saves me about eight steps back and forth* “At least you save five cents!”

Me: “Yaaaay. I’m gonna punch it.”

Cashier: “No, no, please. We have a betting pool to see whether they fix the software or one of us snaps and takes a sledgehammer to them first.”

My money’s on the sledgehammer!

I’m the store’s first aider. One day, I get a call from a colleague that a man has fallen over on the escalator between the first and second floors. I get to the scene and, luckily, [Customer #1] is fine; he fell forward after losing his balance, and his only injury is a slight bruise on his left thigh.

My colleague has shut the escalator off and another customer has helped [Customer #1] into a chair by the time I arrive. The up escalator is still switched off, and my colleague is standing guard at the entrance on the first floor, telling customers to use the lift instead. The down escalator that runs parallel to the up escalator is still open and customers are able to come down from the second floor as usual. Someone is on their way to the second floor to stand guard at the escalator, too.

We are waiting for someone from Maintenance to check the escalator before switching it back on, as per company policy. I’m taking [Customer #1]’s details when suddenly I see two other customers walking down the up escalator!

Me: “Excuse me! This escalator is closed!”

Customer #2: *Rudely* “Well then, there should have been a sign up, shouldn’t there?!”

I’d have thought the fact that the stairs were not moving, a possibly injured man was being checked over at the bottom of the escalator by a first aider, and the perfectly fine escalator RIGHT NEXT to it was going down would have made it obvious.

I’m on my way to work this morning on public transport. A woman about my age — I’m in my fifties — boards with TikTok blasting from her phone. My fellow travelers and I tolerate this for a while, but it starts getting on my nerves as I’ve had a bit of a sleepless night and had hoped to get a few minutes of rest while commuting.

Finally, I turn around and ask nicely:

Me: “Would you please lower the volume on your phone?”

Madame TikTok huffs indignantly and appears to comply, but a few minutes later, she’s at it again. I turn around and catch her eye.

Me: “Seriously?”

This seems to offend her to the very core of her being, as in response she gets up, moves to the seat right behind me, and continues blasting TikTok.

Various scenarios play out in my head, including grabbing her phone at the next stop, yelling “Fire in the hole!”, and chucking the offending phone out the door as hard as I can. But I’m not in the mood to deal with the ensuing police involvement.

Finally, she starts some video in which a young-voiced character named Penny is asked to fetch toilet paper for what I guess is her mother. Madame TikTok quickly scrolls past in search of something more interesting… and I seize the moment.

Me: “Hey, I was listening to that!”

I turn around and look her dead in the eye.

Me: “I was invested in that story. I wanted to hear if Penny got the toilet paper. And now I’ll never know. Did Penny get the toilet paper or not? I need to know!”

Madame TikTok freezes like a deer in headlights and murmurs frantically:

Madame TikTok: “I don’t know…”

And the TikTok fell silent. She and I only had one stop to go, but the blessed silence of those three minutes was exquisite.

I was waiting for my girlfriend to finish work at a pawn shop. I was chatting with her manager about customer service when a young man walked in with a pair of shoes.

Customer: “I’d like to sell these [Brand] shoes.”

Girlfriend: “Okay. Do you have the box and documents?”

Customer: “No, the guy who was here last time told me I could sell them for $50.”

Manager: “Sorry, we won’t accept [Brand] shoes without paperwork since there are too many fakes on the market.”

Customer: “That’s f****** ridiculous! You’re gonna lose out on $1,000 shoes?!”

Manager: “I mean, you wanted $50 for them. Kinda suspicious, don’t you think?”

The man then turned in a huff and left.

In my early twenties, I was a breakfast service manager for a small, locally-owned hotel. We were not large enough to shoulder the expense of a food-delivery service, so once or twice a week I would shop for breads, pastries, cereal, milk, and fresh fruit at a nearby grocery store. We had an agreement with the store manager that I would leave my filled carts near the furthest, rarely-used checkout lane, and when I was ready to check out, they would open the lane for me so I wouldn’t inconvenience the other shoppers with my two or three carts full of food.

One time as I was getting ready to check out, a wild entitled lady appeared and got in line behind me.

Awesome Cashier: “Ma’am, this lane isn’t technically open. You’re welcome to go to any of the open lanes with your shopping — any of the lanes with the light on.”

Entitled Lady: *Huffily* “I beg your pardon?! Why is she so special that she gets a lane all to herself? I demand that you serve me here!”

Awesome Cashier: “Suit yourself.” *To me* “Did you find everything you were looking for today?”

Me: “Yes, thank you. I just put it along the side, here, so it wouldn’t be anyone’s way.”

I lined up one, two, and three fully-loaded carts behind me and began to unload the first cart — maybe a bit more slowly than I usually did, to be honest. The entitled lady had a deer-in-headlights moment and then sulked off with her cart to queue at an open checkout lane.