(It’s Black Friday, so the store is busy and I have more than my fair share of customers. I’ve been called down to handle one such customer, who is red-faced and screaming throughout this conversation.)

Customer: “This is supposed to be free!”

Me: “Why do you believe that?”

Customer: “It’s marked 10% off and I have a 10%-off coupon! That’s 100% off!”

Me: “Let me show you how our computers will calculate the math for this, sir.”

(I write the numbers down and show him the math on my phone. I’m helped by a passing customer who says I am right. He is still fuming and angry, but seems to accept the math.)

Customer: “That isn’t right! You should put signs up that that’s how you do it!”

Me: “I apologize if this is confusing. Do you still want the item?”

Customer: “Yes. It’s a g**d*** scam you have here.”

(He turns and flings his credit card at the waiting employee, like a throwing star. It hits her, bounces off of her, and goes down a crack between the register and the counter. The crack is only an eighth of an inch wide.)

Customer: “What the h***? Get my card!”

Me: “Um, I’m not sure how.”

(Both counters are bolted to the floor and a piece of flashing means I can’t dig it out with a wire. Meanwhile, the customer is yelling even louder about getting his card out, while pulling his shoulders like he wants to fight. He is screaming threats against us if we don’t get his card out now. I’m about to lose control of the situation when a police officer comes up behind the angry man.)

Officer: “How about you calm down there? I’m sure she is getting your card as fast as possible.”

Customer: “They were trying to scam me! The cashier b**** dropped my card down that crack!”

Officer: “You know I saw you throw it, right? How about you take a seat over there and calm down, buddy. If you don’t tone down the language, I’m going to put you in cuffs.”

Me: “I’ll have maintenance down to unbolt the counter soon.”

Officer: “Tell them to take their time. My one-year-old is learning not to throw things at people right now. I’m going to have the same conversation with my buddy here while we wait.”

(Maintenance was able to unbolt the counter and retrieve the card while I heard the cop explaining percentages and assault to the guy. When he came over, he finished his transaction silently, looking pale and cowed. I checked out a gift card to a coffee shop out of my own money and gifted it to the cop. I don’t want to think how bad things would have gotten if he hadn’t interceded.)

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(When I go to start my shift, we are out of the food item literally in the name of the restaurant, so we put a sign on the door. As most people don’t read signs, we also tell everyone about it at the hostess stand. I have many interactions with incredulous people throughout the shift, but this one restores my faith in humanity. A family with two kids about ten to twelve comes in.)

Me: “Hi! Just so you guys know we’re out of [food item], as well as some other stuff…”

Parent: “Whaaaaat? Really?”

Kid: “Yeah, didn’t you read the sign, Mom?”

Me: *internally* “OH, MY GOD! NEVER CHANGE, CHILD! NEVER, EVER CHANGE!”

(They left, like most people, but it’s amazing that a kid had a better ability to read signs than most of the adults who came through that evening!)

(As a store manager, I get called to problematic customer situations. Today, I hear the customer screaming through the store before I even get there.)

Customer: “No! I’m not leaving until no one can see! You won’t steal my identity!”

(The customer is draped over the PIN pad of the register, while several employees stand around looking confused.)

Me: “Hi. What seems to be the problem here?”

Customer: “They’re going to see and steal my identity!”

Me: “Were you signing up for a credit card?”

Employee: “No, she doesn’t want us to see her signature.”

Me: “Ma’am, I assure you that your signature is securely–”

Customer: “No! All the other customers will see! They’ll steal my identity!”

Employee: “She didn’t use the stylus to sign; she used a permanent marker from her purse.”

Customer: “Everyone will see my signature!”

Me: “Uh… Okay, well, let’s see if we can find something to clean the signature off.”

Customer: “No, no, no!”

(She angrily grabs the PIN pad section and starts to pull it back and forth until it rips it off of the register, then turns and starts to walk away.)

Me: “Ma’am, ma’am, you can’t do that. Ma’am!”

(Fortunately, security was already there and managed to stop her. She ended up banned from the mall. The rest of the week, I had to deal with customers furious that the register was out of order and closed until a replacement shipped in. I couldn’t tell them why.)

(We’ve had a new customer come into our guitar store three to four times a week, usually for around thirty minutes each time. He always goes directly into the room with the most expensive guitars, shuts the door, and starts playing one of the most expensive electric guitars we have. Keep in mind, this is around a $15,000 guitar he’s playing. He always plays the same expensive, vintage guitar. As would be expected in a retail store, either my coworker or I always go to check on the man and ask if he has any questions about the guitar. He is usually very polite and declines our help, before continuing to play again without waiting for our response. After five visits from this gentleman in less than two weeks, we genuinely believe he is very seriously contemplating purchasing this expensive guitar, so we attempt to be more proactive and check on him every five minutes to try to make the sale. However, rather than his usual polite response to our assistance, this time the gentleman cranks the amplifier as loud as it can possibly go and begins playing the guitar at deafening volume in response to our questions. Not wanting to also be rude, I leave the customer and close the door. After five minutes of this loud playing, we’ve had two calls from the stores next to us complaining about the noise, which we’ve never, ever had a complaint about before. I go into the room to calmly ask the customer to lower the volume, which I have to literally shout at the man. He glares at me and turns up the volume on the guitar itself, which raises the volume to levels so loud I cannot think. I quickly run over to the amplifier and turn it off.)

Customer: “What the h***? Why do you keep f****** bothering me?”

Me: “Sir, I’m sorry, but I cannot allow you to continue to play at this volume. We’ve had complaints from other stores, not to mention that we cannot hear the phone ring. You are more than welcome to keep playing this guitar, but you’ll need to keep the volume at a much lower setting.”

Customer: “Man, f*** that! I come in here all the time and this is the service I get?!”

Me: “Sir, again, I am very sorry, but we cannot have our customers playing the guitar so loud that it bothers other customers and the businesses next door.”

Customer: “I don’t give a f*** what those people think! You are offering a service here and I am using it! Screw what those other people think! I am having a bad day and I just wanted to come here and let out some steam without anyone f****** bothering me every five minutes.”

Me: “I’m sorry you’re having such a bad day. I know you’re really interested in this guitar, but the only situation in which you’ll be able to play it as loudly as you were is if you were to take the guitar home with you.”

Customer: “Seriously? I can take it home? Why didn’t you guys tell me that the first d*** time I came in here? This is horrible service!”

Me: “I’m so sorry about that, sir. I would have assumed that it would be a given that you can take our guitars home if you decide to purchase them.”

(The customer has already begun to gather his things and unplug the guitar, but stops when I finish my sentence, looking at me like I’m insane.)

Customer: “Purchase them?! What the f*** kind of place is this?!”

Me: “A guitar store…”

Customer: “No, it’s not! This is one of those places where you can go and play guitar as much as you want for free!”

(Now it’s my turn to look at him like he’s insane.)

Me: “Those places don’t exist.”

Customer: “Yes, they f****** do! That’s why I come here so much! You all let people play guitars without having to buy them!”

Me: “Well, while we do allow people to test out guitars here, our main goal is to sell them. That’s why each guitar has a price tag dangling off it.”

Customer: “No, those are to tell you information about the guitar.”

Me: “There’s a price on each tag, as well as a barcode.”

Customer: “That’s just so you know the value of the guitar. Dumb b****. I can’t believe they hire such idiots here.”

Me: “Sir, how do you think we stay in business if we don’t sell the guitars?”

Customer: “You sell s*** like strings and pedals and crap. Now, grab me the case for this f***er so I can take it home like you said.”

Me: “Sir, I’m sorry that you had the wrong idea about this place, but we are in fact a store. That guitar in your hand is for sale. I cannot let you leave with it without you paying for it first.”

Customer: “Fine, if it’ll get you to shut up! Jesus, how much can this piece of s*** guitar cost?”

(I show the customer the price tag, which reads $14,950; this causes the customer to go bug-eyed.)

Customer: “I am not paying that much for this piece-of-s*** guitar, you money grabbing w****! This guitar has been played! It isn’t new! See, it even has a scratch right here!”

(He points to the smallest scratch right behind the strings, which honestly wasn’t there before.)

Me: “Huh, I haven’t seen that scratch before. But since you’re the only one who has played this guitar since it came in three weeks ago, I cannot discount a guitar for any damage you may have personally done to it.”

Customer: “You f****** b****! How could you possibly know I’m the one who did this?! Maybe it was you with your fat fingers! I will pay you no more than $500 for this worthless junk.”

Me: “Well, sir, being that I’m the manager of this store, who is not only here every day we’re open, but also photographs every single guitar when it comes in so we can list them online, I’m pretty sure I have a fairly good idea of whether or not a guitar has a scratch on it.”

Customer: “Why, you little b****! No one would ever hire you as the manager. You’re just a stupid little girl. Now, you’ll give me this guitar for $400 or I’m walking out of here right now. Actually, f*** that. I’m leaving now, and you can’t stop me.”

(The customer pushes me aggressively hard onto the ground and takes off for the door. Luckily, one of our regulars, a decorated police officer, walks in the door right as the customer makes a break for the door with the guitar in his hand.)

Officer: “What’s going on here?”

Me: “Stop him!”

(The officer grabs the man by the collar with one hand and grabs the guitar out of his hand with the other. The officer has about seven inches and 75 pounds on the guy, so there is no issue when the customer tries to put up a struggle. The officer has him subdued in seconds. The officer hands me back the guitar as he cuffs the man, who all the while keeps yelling at the officer.)

Customer: “But the guitars are supposed to be free here!”

(The next time the officer came in, we had a box of donuts waiting for him. Apparently, the customer he arrested had tried this in several guitar shops throughout the region, refusing to believe that any of them actually SOLD the guitars in their shops. He had caused $4,500 worth of damage in one shop, which had caused a warrant for his arrest. We ended up filing a police report, as well, for a fair amount of money, as he put a huge ding on the front of the guitar when he tried to make a break for it, lowering the value of the guitar by about $3,000. It may seem insignificant, but the smallest of dings on an expensive, vintage guitar can lower the value drastically. The customer also broke my wrist when he threw me to the ground, so we filed for my medical bills. Thankfully, he was sentenced to three years in prison for a slew of charges, all of which seemed to involve guitar shops and assault.)

(This happens around Christmas back in late 2001 when DVDs are just starting to overtake VHS tapes. I am with my younger sister doing Christmas shopping in the mall. I have only been to one store so far to get items for my family. I walk into a now-defunct video store that is connected to a music store. My dad is upgrading his VHS tapes to DVDs and wants me to buy a number of movies. One movie that he wants me to get is “The Godfather” DVD set that recently came out. The price is over 100 dollars, but he also wants me to get a number of other DVDs that are on his list. I get most of everything he wants except “The Godfather” and one other DVD set as it is behind the counter due to the high price. Since it’s Christmas, the mall is a zoo and this store is no different; people are walking all over the place, the security alarm is going off non-stop when people walk by it, and the checkout line is long. I get in line behind seven other people. I get to the front and meet the cashier, a girl who is around the same age as me — I am 19. I can tell she is trying her best to be happy but she’s clearly tired.)

Cashier: *smiling* “Hi. How are you doing today?”

Me: “I’m doing just fine.” *places about ten DVDs on the counter* “I would also like to get The Godfather and [Other DVD Set] that are behind you.”

Cashier: “No problem.”

(She turns around and grabs the two DVD sets.)

Me: “Thanks. My dad is upgrading his VHS tapes and wants these for Christmas.”

Cashier: “That is getting pretty common nowadays.”

(She is ringing me up fast as there is still a long line. Another employee comes over and asks her for something. Due to the number of DVDs she has to scan into the computer, putting them into the bag as fast as she can, and how busy it is, she appears to be swamped.)

Cashier: “Your total comes up to $389.45.”

(I knew it would be a lot of money. My dad gave me a lot of cash that day to pay for everything. I give her the money, say thanks, and walk out of the store. About an hour later, my sister and I are sitting in the food court eating lunch. I go over everything we bought while I’m eating and notice that “The Godfather” is missing from the receipt.)

Me: “Hey, sis, can you look this over while I dig through the bag? I think a movie is missing.”

Sister: “Let me see.”

(I give her the receipt and tell her what movie it is. She reads it over while I’m digging through our seven bags.)

Sister: “Do you have anything else? I don’t see it here.”

Me: “Yeah, I don’t see it, either.”

Sister: “Well, you got it for free, then.”

(My sister laughs, but I just don’t feel right about it. I decide to go back to the video store. The line isn’t as long this time; there are only two people. I get the same cashier. I know she won’t remember me, as it has been so busy.)

Cashier: “Hi. Can I help you?”

Me: “Yes, I came in earlier for a number of DVDs and this here earlier.” *pulls out “The Godfather”* “It appears that you forgot to scan it in.”

Cashier: “Oh, my God.” *her eyes start to water and her attitude changes a bit* “Thank you so much for coming back. You don’t know what this means to me. Here, let me get that for you. I’ll let you use my employee discount.”

Me: *taken aback a bit* “No, no, that’s okay. You don’t have to do that. It’s okay. It was just a mistake.”

Cashier: “Well, I’ll let you use this coupon I have for 5% off.” *also puts a few other coupons in the bag* “I really thank you for coming back. A high-price item that big would have gotten me in a lot of trouble.”

(I didn’t get much else about the trouble from her until I saw her about a week later when she was off duty at the mall. She remembered me and told me that she had been working there for less than a month and that her boss was a very hard-nosed guy who blames everyone for everything and would have gotten her in serious trouble for letting a high-ticket item walk out of the store like that. The store closed down in the mall years later when the parent company downsized, but I kept in contact with her throughout the years. I still have the original receipt as a joke nowadays whenever we see each other.)