I show up to work to find it’s extremely busy. As usual, I head over to the service desk to talk to the supervisor to see what they want me to do. The express registers are connected to the service desk, and with how busy it is, the lines to the express registers are so long that customers are blocking the entrance to the service desk.

I politely excuse my way past all the people to get into the service desk, quickly chat to my supervisor who tells me to open up on a bulk register, and turn to leave the service desk again. Once again, the entrance is blocked by a line of customers.

Me: “Excuse me.”

All the customers shuffle out of the way except for one man who’s standing directly in the entrance.

Me: “Excuse me.”

The man doesn’t respond.

Me: “Sorry, can I get past?”

The man still doesn’t acknowledge me, even though I am literally standing right next to him, so I decide I have no choice but to squeeze past him. As I do, he moves forward a bit and I accidentally step on his foot.

Me: “I’m sorry.”

He gives me an angry look but still says nothing, so I begin to walk away.

Customer: “Hey! You there!”

I turn to see the man looking at me.

Customer: “Just say excuse me next time. How was I supposed to know you wanted to get past? You can’t just push through. You have to say something or I won’t know you’re there.”

Not wanting to start anything, I just agree.

Me: “Of course. Sorry about that.”

I head over to a register and start putting some customers through. I think that’s the end of it, but ten minutes later, the customer suddenly wanders up to my register and begins angrily lecturing me on the importance of saying excuse me when someone’s blocking your way, all while I am trying to serve another customer.

Once he finishes, he storms off. My current customer, a sweet old lady who looked shocked through the whole ordeal, turns to give me a concerned look.

Me: “I said excuse me twice and he didn’t move, so I pushed past him and accidentally stepped on his foot.”

Other Customer: “I’d have just told him he’s an idiot who needs to buy some hearing aids, but I guess you’re not allowed to say those kinds of things, are you?”

Me: “Sadly not.”

After Halloween, I am told to finish a stocktake on all remaining themed stock as I pack it to store away. It was started by another coworker and is a time-consuming task, but I finish and submit the stocktake results at the end of the day.

A few days later, a report is sent back with a list of discrepancies. It is a common thing, as shoplifting can impact the numbers, but those are usually a difference of one or two items. This time, there is one item that shows that fifty pieces are missing.

My manager doesn’t particularly like me and will go after me hook and nail when she thinks I have done something wrong. She rants at me as I arrive at work.

Manager: *Thrusting the list at me* “Look at this, [My Name]. I trusted you to complete this properly, and look at how many things you missed counting, especially the first item.”

The first item is fake blood in tubes.

Me: “l don’t remember seeing any fake blood.”

Manager: “Well, you missed counting fifty of them. I asked [Coworker #1] if she saw them and she said that she hadn’t counted them; they were in the area you would have counted.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I do not remember seeing them.”

Manager: “How am I going to explain the loss of all of these? I checked and we didn’t sell even one of them. I want you to go through all of the boxes you packed to find them.”

I start going through the boxes. I was told to just put things in loosely so this is time-consuming, too. I am halfway through the second box when another coworker walks in and asks what is going on.

Manager: “We are looking for stock that [My Name] missed counting.”

My coworker looks at me, sees my face is stony with anger, and gives me a sympathetic smile. 

Coworker #2: “What stock was it?”

Manager: “It was a whole carton of fake blood.”

Coworker #2: “Oh, that’s up on top of the lockers in the staff room.”

Manager: “What’s it doing there?”

Coworker #2: “You told me to put it there, as you didn’t want to have fake blood out on the shop floor.”

Manager: “Oh, I did, didn’t I?”

She then got it down and dropped it into the bin so she didn’t have to explain why the carton hadn’t even been opened. No apology to me. I didn’t last much longer in that job; I handed my notice in a couple of days later.

I am shopping at a large discount department store and I decide to try on a few items of clothing.

Me: “Hello. May I try on these clothes?”

Employee: “Certainly. I see you have five items. Here is the tag—”

A random shopper pushes in between myself and the employee.

Random Shopper: “Can I try these on?”

Employee: “Excuse me, I was helping this lady first.”

Random Shopper: “Oh, okay.” *Doesn’t move*

Employee: “So… could you please move so this lady can get into the fitting rooms?”

Random Shopper: “Oh.” *Moves slightly to the side*

Me: “Excuse me, can I please get into the fitting room?”

Random Shopper: “Oh, okay, can I try these on, too?”

The employee just handed me the tag and gestured me through while rolling her eyes at the random woman.

The store I work at is doing a promotion where you get a special collectible figurine for every $30 you spend. I’m overseeing self-serve when a woman calls me over.

Me: “May I help you?”

Customer: “Yes. I need two of the collectible figurines please.”

I glance at her screen. She’s only spent a little over $30.

Me: “I’m sorry, I don’t think you’ve spent enough for two. Just the one.”

Customer: *Suddenly very irritated* “No, I get one from spending $30, but I want to buy a second one.”

Me: “I’m sorry, you can’t buy them. You can only get them by spending $30. You’ve only earned one today.”

Customer: “No, you can buy them. The store I usually go to sells them to me. I always earn one and then buy a second. I have two kids who collect them.”

Me: “Let me go check something.”

I walk over to the box of figures. As I thought, there is a label on the box saying that they’re not for individual sale, and there’s no barcode to scan. I walk back over to the customer.

Me: “I’m sorry, but I can’t just sell them to you. Even if I wanted to, there’s no barcode for me to scan.”

Customer: “The lady at the other store manually keys them in as $3.”

Me: “We’re not supposed to do that. They’re not for individual sale.”

Customer: “Then go talk to your manager. They’ll tell you you’re wrong.”

I walk over to the nearby service desk and talk to the department manager. She tells me I’m right and that the customer is mistaken. I return to the customer.

Me: “I’m sorry, but she confirmed what I said. I can’t just sell them to you.”

Customer: “Was that really a manager you spoke to?”

Me: “The department manager, yes. She’s the one who knows all about this stuff.”

Customer: “Well, she’s wrong, too. I demand you to sell me one for $3.”

Me: “How about I go get the manager and you can talk to her directly?”

Customer: “You do that.”

I went over and asked the department manager to come talk to the customer when she was available. I then walked back over to the self-serve area to see that the customer had disappeared but had left all of her groceries behind. I told my manager not to worry and put the customer’s stuff off to the side in hopes she would come back to get them. She never did. I guess she decided that not being able to spend $3 on a collectible figurine was worth abandoning $30 worth of groceries over.

I work in a museum. I see a three-year-old child climbing on a display and ask him to come down. The display isn’t designed to be climbed, but more importantly, it’s close to enough to two other displays so that if he fell, he would almost certainly hit his head on the edge or corner of the other tables.

Mother: “God, that’s ridiculous! I don’t understand why they would make a display children can climb and then they’re not allowed to climb it? That’s so stupid.”

Me: “Ma’am, I’m not worried about the display. It’s not designed to be climbed, yes, but he could be seriously hurt if he fell.”

Mother: “So?”