I am at a pet store chain today wearing a heather grey T-shirt with white lettering on the left side of the chest. It says something about axe throwing — nothing pet-related. The workers are easy to spot because they wear royal blue polos that say [Store] on them. I approach one.

Me: “Do you have a public restroom?”

I get pointed in the right direction and head there. Afterward, I head out and make it maybe twenty feet before I get stopped by a lady who asks me where the bathroom is. I point her to where I just came from.

Then, a man approaches me.

Man: “Do you know about that dog costume that makes it look like they are holding a knife?”

Me: *Nodding* “Yeah, they’re funny!”

Man: “Can you tell me where they are?”

Me: “I have no idea; I don’t actually work here.”

Man: “But you’re wearing the shirt!”

Me: “Sir, this is not blue, and it has nothing to do with pets.”

Man: “But you helped that lady about the bathrooms!”

Me: “Bro, I just came from there.”

Man: “Come on, man! Just tell me where it is! You look like you work here.”

At that point, I just repeated that I didn’t know where they were, and I went about my business.

Of course, I saw the man in line later, and he just gave me the stink eye. My wife and I had a laugh about the odd interaction.

I am an agent at check-in at an airport. An older lady showed up with a bag and a cardboard box to check. I weighed them both, and it was a total of 28 kgs (13 in the bag, 15 in the box, a total of 5 kg in excess). I asked her the security questions about what was in the box (fruit).

Me: “I can ‘forgive’ 2 kg, but you will have to pay 4€ a kg for the rest, for a total of 12€.”

Lady: “What? I’m not going to pay that!”

Me: “Then you have to remove the 3 kg from the bag,”

Lady: “No way. Do your job and check those bags, as they are free!”

Me: *Fed up* “You want me to do my job? Either remove 5 kg, pay 20€, or ship only one of the items. Choose now or step aside.”

She realized I was serious and decided to check just the bag. What did she do with the box? Don’t know, don’t care.

I am working the late shift (1:00 pm to 9:00 pm) at the local public library. An older lady approaches the reference desk.

Older Lady: “I need to fax this piece of paper.”

Me: “Okay. Just so you know, our fax machine can only take a credit or debit card, Apple Pay, or Google Pay. No cash.”

Older Lady: “Ugh.” *Digs through her purse* “Okay, I have a card.” 

We walk over to the fax machine about 100 feet away. I help her scan her document and input all the information, and then we get to the part where she has to pay. (Our fax machine requires that you pay before it will let you enter the fax number.)

I put her card into the chip reader. It fails. I try swiping it. It says to use the chip reader. I try again. It fails.

Older Lady: “You have to type in the amount.” 

Me: “No, that’s not how our machine works. It knows to charge you $1.00 because you’re faxing one page.”

Older Lady: “No! Everywhere else I go, they type in the amount. I don’t understand why you won’t help me!”

Me: “Ma’am, that’s just not how our machine works.”

I call over a coworker who knows more about the fax machine than me. The coworker messes around with the machine. 

Coworker: “Ma’am, [My Name] is correct. We don’t have any way of typing in an amount.”

Older Lady: *Angry gibberish*

I walk back to the reference desk. A few minutes later, the lady comes back over to me.

Older Lady: “I just don’t understand why you won’t help me!” 

Me: “Ma’am, our machine doesn’t work the way you want it to. I’m sorry about that.”

Older Lady: “No! Don’t say you’re sorry! If you were sorry, you would help me!” 

Me: “Okay, ma’am. There’s nothing else I can do for you. You have a good night.”

Older Lady: “No! I won’t have a good night because you won’t help me! I want a complaint card! I want your name and your coworker’s name!” 

Me: “Okay.”

I hand her my boss’s business card and give my name and my coworker’s name. The old lady leaves. 

Thankfully, my boss is in the building hosting a program. She comes back to her office as I’m in the back staff area trying to calm down. I tell her that she’s probably going to get a complaint about my coworker and me.

Boss: “Well, it sounds like you did everything you could. I’ll deal with it.”

A few minutes later, the old lady returns, this time with a cane.

Older Lady: “I went all the way to my car and got cash to send my fax.” 

Me: “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but our fax machine doesn’t take cash.”

Older Lady: “Oh, so now you’re discriminating against me because I’m paying with cash and I’m disabled!” 

Me: “No, ma’am, our machine just isn’t able to accept cash. It’s just the way it’s set up. I’m not discriminating against you.”

Older Lady: “Ugh!”

Me: “Let me get my boss for you.”

Older Lady: “You do that!”

She angrily sits down in a chair at a table not too far away. I call my boss on the phone and ask her to come to the reference desk. I explain the situation to her quietly.

Boss: “Is this the same woman?” 

I nodded slowly. My boss went to calm her down while I went in the back to calm myself down again. This woman made me so mad by accusing me of not wanting to help her. I did want to help her; she just almost actively made it so I couldn’t.

My boss found a free online faxing service — who knew those were a thing?! — and the lady walked out slightly less grumpy.

What was she faxing? A discrimination claim to the EEOC.

I was shaking for the rest of my shift. I should have said, “Ma’am, if you can type $1.00 into the fax machine, I will give you a dollar.”

Related:
Taxing Faxing, Part 40
Taxing Faxing, Part 39
Taxing Faxing, Part 38
Taxing Faxing, Part 37
Taxing Faxing, Part 36

I just bought a hotel room and was informed that the room came with free breakfast for two. I came downstairs in the morning, and as soon as I entered the breakfast area, the server gave me a dirty look and literally yelled:

Server: “What do you want?!”

I told him about the free breakfast, and he said I had to leave without explaining that I needed a coupon that came with the key card for the room. After I found this out from the front desk, I went back and gave the server the coupon.

He then said he wouldn’t serve me because there needed to be two people. Again, I had to leave, get my brother, and come back. He then proceeded to take our order: one breakfast for me and one breakfast to go so my brother could go back to sleep. My brother left.

The server then proceeded to not even offer me water or check on me at all while attending to the only other people in the breakfast area sitting right in front of me.

Finally, someone else brought out my food. I ate.

When it came time to leave a tip, I wrote a big fat zero on the check. Then, I walked over to the food runner who had brought me my food and handed him a twenty-dollar bill.

The look on the rude server’s face was priceless.

I’m working at the only checkout lane in a small corner shop in a small town in Scotland. The weather has been bad lately, so a lot of locals who usually drive to the larger supermarkets or people who would usually be spending their weekend in the town are forced to use our little shop.

A younger man is in the queue, and he is making his personal distaste for having to wait his turn quite loudly known.

Young Man: “F*** me, this store is slow! What are you doing up there, counting it out on your bloody fingers?”

Me: “Sir, I apologise, but it’s just me today, and we’re not usually this busy. I am going as fast as I can.”

Young Man: “Well, your fast-as-you-can is slower than a snail with [derogatory term for people with a developmental disorder]. Hurry the f*** up!”

At that, the older woman immediately in front of him in the queue turns on him.

Old Woman: “Listen, boy. This is one of the few stores in the area that still accepts checks, I have a big fat checkbook in my bag that I am happy to use, I have nowhere else to be today, and I have forgotten my glasses. Don’t… test me!“

He was silent for the rest of his time in line. The scary old lass somehow got a staff discount… 

Related:
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 3
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 2
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman
Tell Me You’re In Scotland Without Telling Me You’re In Scotland
Nothin’ Like A Good Old Existential Meltdown