I was the opening supervisor in a grocery store with only one cashier until about forty-five mins after opening. To preface: I am NOT a morning person and am usually grumpy AF in the mornings, but I can fake it real good when I choose/need to.

That being said, I was working the self-checkout until the scheduled attendant was supposed to start. It’s a slow and peaceful start to the day until this lady comes to start cashing her stuff out.

She’s talking on the phone and taking her time (which is not a problem whatsoever) while I just stand there observing, because what else am I supposed to do if she doesn’t need help and she’s the only customer there?

Well, when she eventually does ask for help putting in her produce, I walk over and start to show and explain to her what to do, while I do her first item for her. After that goes in, I stand off to the side so she can do the next one on her own, but I’m right there in case she needs help again.

This entire time, she’s still yapping away on the phone, barely listening to a thing I’m saying.

She goes to try it herself and forgets which button to press to find the code, so I tell her again which button to press, but I’m making sure she’s the one doing it this time.

After about a minute of this, she gets fed up and says:

Customer: “Ugh, can you just do it for me? This is so much work!”

Me: *Politely.* “Well, it is called SELF checkout, and I’m trying to teach you what to do so you also know for next time, but if you want someone to do it for you, then you can head on over to the cashier right there. She has no customers and would be happy to serve you.”

She did not like that answer one bit, and she tried arguing with me. I got fed up and straight-up told her:

Me: “If you weren’t on the phone while I was trying to show you, then you would know what to do. I will not be doing it for you, as that’s literally what the cashiers are there for. Your options are to either let me show you again, and you do the rest yourself, or go to the cashier.”

She finally decides to go to the cashier, but not before cussing me out on her way over, to which I just gave her the fakest:

Me: “Okay! Have a nice day!”

This p***ed her off even more, and left me feeling a mix of annoyance and joy.

Related:
Self-Check Yourself Before You Self-Wreck Yourself, Part 15
Self-Check Yourself Before You Self-Wreck Yourself, Part 14
Self-Check Yourself Before You Self-Wreck Yourself, Part 13
Self-Check Yourself Before You Self-Wreck Yourself, Part 12
Self-Check Yourself Before You Self-Wreck Yourself, Part 11

Prior to my retirement, I worked a retail job with a quasi-state agency that controls retail stores in my state. In our old store, we had a buzzer at each register that rang in the warehouse in case we needed help, or a customer needed a case of something.

Then the powers that be decided to move us to a new, bigger store. Of course, this being a state operation, while the store is much bigger, the staff is exactly the same. We now have four times the warehouse, four times the retail space, and the same number of people and hours.

Everything is always ‘you need to do more with less’. I got sick of this, and I’m a vindictive SOB by nature. I’ve been called the ‘Iceman’ because I can ignore anything. So, if I were on the register, I would stay at the register until I was told to do something else.

The managers were not happy. Then they started playing a game, one of the two managers on the shift would go back into the warehouse, to ‘check things’ aka vape (vaping is not allowed in the stores). In short order, the other manager would join the first, and then the other two clerks would head to the Warehouse, leaving me alone in the store.

Now, at this new store, the powers that be had the buzzer to call the warehouse placed in the office instead of at the registers. Managers put out a memo stating that employees are not allowed in the office without a manager present.

I keep ringing up customers, and other customers come to me asking for products that are in locked display cases. I inform them that they need to stick their heads in the door at the rear of the store and call for a manager. A manager comes out, talks to the customer, and goes to the office to look for the keys, then has to go back to the warehouse to get the keys from the other manager.

Customers are not happy, and I proceed to tell the customers to complain to the state complaint office.

The managers go ballistic, demanding to know why I didn’t ring the buzzer, and I simply point out that their memo says I’m not allowed in the office without a manager present.

Bottom line, there wasn’t a thing they could do about it.

I’m picking up a new bag of prescription cat food that my vet ordered through the pet supply store’s “automatic refill” system. When I get home, I notice the label says something different. I call the vet to confirm, and then I call by the store.

Names in the story have been changed (both human and animal).

Me: “Hey, I think there’s been a mix-up. I ordered the feline renal support, but this is canine.”

Manager: “They’re practically the same formula. Just smaller kibble for cats.”

Me: “Uh… no, they’re definitely not. Cats can’t process some of the stuff in dog food.”

Manager: “We’ve never had a problem before. Your vet probably checked the wrong box.”

Me: “I just called her, she read me the confirmation email she sent you: ‘Feline Renal Support F.'”

Manager: “Our system must’ve auto-subbed it. It happens when we’re low on stock.”

Me: “So you’re admitting you replaced medical cat food with dog food?”

Manager: “Well, technically it’s still ‘animal nutrition.'”

Me: “So is birdseed. Doesn’t mean I should feed it to a cat. Do I really need to explain how worrying this is to someone who works at a pet store?!”

Manager: “It’s just… we can’t take back opened prescription food.”

So, he knows that they f***ed up, but he just doesn’t want to deal with complicated admin?! The bag is sealed with the store’s own sticker that says ‘Filled by: Tyler.’

Me: “Then Tyler can explain why he wrote ‘dog’ on the order for a twelve-pound tabby named Princess Sprinkles.”

He glances at the label, sighs, and suddenly changes tone.

Manager: “Alright. We’ll replace it… just this once… as a courtesy.”

Me: “Oh, I appreciate the courtesy. I’m sure Princess Sprinkles will, too, once she stops barking.”

I work at a gas station. Today, a guy tells me to put his money on a specific pump. I do exactly what he asks. A few minutes later, he comes back inside and tells me I put it on the wrong pump and wants me to switch it. 

Me: “Sir, why not just move your car to the pump you paid for?”

Customer: “Nah. I don’t wanna move. You fix it.”

Store policy says that to switch pumps, I have to refund the transaction, and then he has to pay again for the correct pump. I start to explain this, but he leaves before I can finish.

I get my coworker to cover the line and go outside to find him. I see his car, but he’s not there. Another guy is standing by the car.

Me: “Do you know where the owner of this car went?”

Customer’s Brother: “That’s my brother. He’s in the John.”

Me: “He’ll need to come back inside so I can refund it and re-ring it on the correct pump.” 

A moment later, the guy storms back inside.

Customer: “I WANT A MANAGER!”

Me: “Sir, please don’t—”

Customer: “—I had to come in THREE TIMES! This is ridiculous!”

Me: “The manager isn’t here right now.”

He starts screaming and cursing me out in front of a line of eight people, despite the fact that the issue exists entirely because he told me the wrong pump number. I managed to calm him down enough to get him his refund, and then he paid again.

Later on, he calls the store just to keep yelling.

Customer: *On the phone.* “You never refunded me! You stole my money!”

Meanwhile, I am literally staring at the refund receipt still saved in the register.

Me: “Sir, the refund was processed. I have the receipt right here.”

He continues calling me names, so I pass him on to the manager (who was there this time),

Manager: “Yes, I heard you were being rude to my guy.”

Sounds of shouting on the other end of the call.

Manager: “You can leave a bad review if you like. I don’t care.”

Continued sounds of shouting.

Manager: “Sir, we constantly make sure our gas is a fraction of a cent cheaper than our competition. We got people driving in from across town just to save that half a cent or so. We’ll be fine.”

Less angry but still annoyed sounds of shouting.

Manager: “Sir, if I could do that to myself, I’d be doing shows in Vegas getting paid more than I am currently being paid to deal with people like you. Have a nice life. I hope to never speak to you again.”

I graduated college, moved out of my apartment, and a friend of mine moved in to begin the next year’s lease. We met when I was a sophomore, and she was a freshman, so I had known her for a few years by this point. We agreed via text that she would get all the utilities switched to her name in the first month to avoid any confusion. That month went by, and I started getting utility bills sent to my forwarding address. I sent her a reminder text.

Me: “Hey, don’t forget to change the utilities to your name.”

Friend: “I haven’t seen any bills, though.”

Me: “Because they’re all in my name and the postal service is forwarding them. You need to change them to your name.”

Friend: “Oh, okay. Yeah, I will.”

Me: “Thank you.”

Friend: “Or you can, that’s fine too.”

Me: “I can’t switch bills to someone else’s name; it has to be the person who is taking over payment. Otherwise, anyone could say someone else is paying their bills.”

Friend: “Oh, okay.”

I sent her pictures of each bill and listed out how to pay each one online. I saw on Facebook that she was going out to bars, concerts, and amusement parks, so I figured she was just busy.

Another month went by, and I got another round of bills, this time with PAST DUE in large print.

Me: “Change the utilities to your name today, please.”

Friend: “I’ll do it, I’m job hunting.”

Me: “Job hunting?”

Friend: “Yeah, I got fired. I’ll change them when I get a new job.”

Me: “You are getting past due notices. You need to pay them, or this will go to collections and my credit will take the hit.”

Friend: “Okay, I will.”

I sent updated pictures of the bills and reminded her how to pay them. No word about getting things changed over, but she was still posting about going out and having a great life.

ANOTHER month went by, and I was getting shut off notices for lack of payment. I tried reaching out to each company to explain that I was not the resident anymore, but they said there was nothing they could do until the current resident reaches out and changes the name. So, I texted her again.

Me: “Change the utilities today or everything is getting shut off.”

I sent the new bills and reminded her how to pay them online.

Friend: “I dropped out of school, I’m too depressed about getting fired. Do you think you can cover them, and I can pay you back?”

Me: “You need to pay these yourself.”

I sent everything AGAIN, though I didn’t have much hope at this point. More posts about partying, a brand-new car, and concerts. Sure enough, a few weeks later, [Friend] called me.

Friend: “They shut off my power!”

Me: “Because you didn’t pay your bills.”

Friend: “I don’t have a job! How am I supposed to pay?”

Me: “You’ve probably spent more on going out this last month alone than the total of your utilities. Get a job, get on a budget, get it together.”

I went online and found a dozen jobs that she could do – some even flexible enough to do from home – and sent them to her. She didn’t reply.

Eventually, everything was sent to collections, and [Friend] was still going out like money was nothing. Every time the collection agency called, I tried to explain what happened, but there was nothing they could do.

One Friday, I took off work and made the four-hour drive back to college to surprise [Friend]. She came home in the early afternoon, still dressed like she had been clubbing the night before, holding a half-empty bottle of expensive vodka in one hand.

Friend: “What are you doing here?”

Me: “We’re changing the utilities. Today.”

Friend: “But—”

Me: “No. I’m tired of collection agencies calling. You owe me for the past due bills so I can get them off my a**. I’m tired of waiting around for you to get this done.”

Friend: “Okay, but—”

Me: “—No. No buts. No d***ing around. We’re doing this today.”

We went inside and, using the hotspot on my phone and my computer, she switched the utilities to her name, paid the reactivation fees, and applied to several different jobs. I made her transfer the amount the collection agency wanted, then called them to pay it off before leaving.

On my way home, I had several people calling and texting me, asking what I had done to [Friend]. I pulled over to look at some screenshots from someone who knew both of us.

Friend: *Facebook post.* “This b**** [My Name] showed up at my house today demanding to pay all these bills in her name. I don’t have a job, I don’t have the money to pay, and she expects me to just magically do it? Karma is gonna get you [My Name]. Someday you’re going to be down on your luck and in need of a friend, but no one will want to help you, you f****** c***!”

I commented on the post with all the screenshots of our conversations, calling out her bull-s*** and reminding her of how patient I had been. She blocked me, but my other (true) friends continued to send me screenshots of her (several) rants about how I had ruined her life.

Each time someone commented in my favor, she deleted the post and made a new one. I heard that she tried to break the lease by abandoning the property, but the owner went after her for the full amount of the lease, and her parents had to bail her out.