Many years ago, this little old man in a full cassock and collar came up to my register with a purchase. I engage in the usual pleasantries, and he answered in the thickest brogue I had ever heard. Cute as heck. I rang him up and told him his total. He looked at the receipt and his face changed.

Customer: *Angrily* “Why have I been charged sales tax?”

Me: “Oh, do you have a resale card? If you’ll give it to me, I can take the tax off.”

He gave me an exasperated look.

Customer: “Priests don’t pay sales tax!”

He was no longer cute.

Me: “Maybe not in Ireland, but in America, we have the separation of church and state. Everyone pays sales tax.”

He huffed, paid, and doddered out.

It is the early 2000s when UK retailers still commonly accept cheques in payment. Our tills will print the transaction details for the customer, but we will need to handwrite details from their cheque guarantee cards on the reverse of the cheque to process the payment.

A couple comes to my till with a trolley full of various DIY products like wallpaper, paste, and assorted tools coming to a total of around £100. The transaction starts as normal until they provide the cheque guarantee card. This card is of a type I haven’t seen before and I am initially confused until I spot a particular bit of info.

Me: “Pardon me, I think you may have given me the wrong card.”

Customer: *Instantly aggressive* “No, I didn’t. That is definitely my cheque guarantee card.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but if you look at this box, it says, ‘This is not a cheque guarantee card.’”

Customer: “I don’t care what it says. That’s what the bank gave us and is definitely my check guarantee card. Just take it!”

Me: “Do you have some other form of payment? I really don’t think I can take this card.”

Customer: “No, I don’t! You have to take it.”

Me: “Let me go speak to my boss and see if there is anything we can do.”

I leave the counter and speak to my boss to explain what’s going on. They tell me to take the customer to the return counter and see if we can phone the bank and authorise the check by phone, something we typically do as standard for business customers.

I find someone to swap in for me at my till which now has a queue and take the customers to the return counter, ring them up again there, and phone the bank as instructed. Sweet miracle of miracles, they pass security and the bank authorises the payment — although they do also ask me to inform the customer that they will need to apply for an actual cheque guarantee card.

Do they thank me for sorting this out for them? Nope.

Customer: *With a sneer* “See! The customer is always right.”

So far, it’s the only time in my life someone has actually said it!

My coworker stops in before he drives across the country for work, we chat, and he leaves. A few minutes later, I realise he left his still unopened cup of takeaway coffee on the side. I go out to see his car gone. I call him but his phone is off. I message him just so he knows why I called.

Ten minutes pass, and I figure, well, the coffee is soon to go cold, and it’s still good, so I break the tab and drink it myself.

The next day, he’s back in the office. We chat about how the trip went.

Coworker: “Oh, I saw a missed call from you.”

Me: “Yeah, I sent you a message. You left your coffee behind.”

Coworker: “Oh, that’s weird; I didn’t get it. But that does explain things. I was wondering where I left it. At least I didn’t drive off with it on my roof like I thought.”

Me: “Yeah, I’ve done that before, but I reversed and got to watch my coffee pour down the window in front of me. Yours didn’t go to waste, though.”

Coworker: “What do you mean?”

Me: “Oh, well, I drank it. I waited until I was sure you weren’t coming back.”

Coworker: “You drank my coffee?”

Me: “Well, yeah. What did you want me to do, pour it away?”

Coworker: “You shouldn’t drink my coffee. I paid for that.”

Me: “Hang on. If I hadn’t drunk it, it would have been thrown away.”

Coworker: “Buy me another one!”

I would have done anyway, just as a nice gesture, sort of paying it forward, but his attitude is so aggressive, and I don’t appreciate being ordered around.

Me: “Mate, I don’t appreciate your tone.”

He let out a string of expletives at me, went straight to Human Resources, and told them half of the story. I had to explain the actual story. They told him to go away and that it was not an issue.

Funny — when he did the same thing to my lunch a few months back but didn’t actually check whether I had left — I hadn’t — I didn’t make half the fuss he did.

I’m working in a fast food restaurant. A parent brings their child to the counter. There’s a long line behind them.

Parent: “Tell the worker what you want, honey.”

The kid hems and haws for ages, holding up the line. They finally speak.

Child: “Can I have [item]?”

Parent: “Oh, honey, you don’t want that!”

I’m checking out a customer.

Customer: “Why aren’t you smiling?! That’s so rude! You should be smiling!”

My coworker turns around and addresses the customer.

Coworker: “Ma’am… they’re wearing a mask.”