(There’s a regular who comes in once a week or so and talks my ear off the whole time. He talks at me, doesn’t ask me anything about myself, and doesn’t seem to listen to me when I do get a word in edgewise. I listen politely for as long as I can, but I am at work so I usually excuse myself after twenty minutes or so. Then, he comes in again.)

Regular: “Hey! I need to talk to you.”

Me: *currently with other visitors* “Okay. Sure. Give me a second.”

Regular: “Will you go out with me?”

Me: *stunned but not wanting to be mean* “Uh… We can discuss that but I have to finish helping these people.”

Regular: “I think you and I have a real connection. I’m in love with you.”

Other Visitor: “You know what? We’ll… we’ll wait, if you want to deal with this. It’s okay.”

Regular: “I’m in love with you.” *raising his voice* “I love you!”

(There’s several visitors nearby and all of them look over.)

Me: “Uh. Okay. Cool. That’s very nice, but I have a boyfriend.”

Regular: “But he doesn’t love you like I love you! You and I are perfect for each other!”

Me: “Dude. Look. I’m very flattered, but I don’t feel that way about you.”

Regular: *completely unembarrassed and smiling* “That’s not true! I know you love me, too. We understand each other.”

Me: “We really don’t. Please stop.”

Regular: *laughs* “Don’t be silly. Come on.”

Me: “Seriously? I am at work, I have a boyfriend, and I am not interested. Okay?”

Regular: “But your boyfriend doesn’t get you like I do!”

Me: “Oh, really? Hey, quick question: What’s my name?”

Regular: *smile fading* “What?”

Me: “What’s my name?”

Regular: “Oh. Uh. It’s… Um…” *getting flustered* “Well, that doesn’t matter. I love you! I don’t need to know your name to love you!”

Me: “I’m going to walk away now. Please leave.”

(He kept shouting how he loved me while I walked away and went out into the store room. One of the security guards had to come over and explain to him that a woman being nice to you while she’s at work doesn’t mean anything. He hasn’t come in since.)

(I work in a pawn shop. I’m working on the retail floor when a customer approaches the counter and presents a phone and a receipt, complaining that the phone doesn’t work, and asking for a refund.)

Me: “Oh. Where’s the battery casing?”

Customer: “It came that way.”

(This sets off alarms in my head, since I normally work as a buyer in my store, and I know I’d never accept a phone that had an exposed battery, even to sell for dirt cheap. I look up the item with the information on the receipt.)

Me: “Huh, my system’s saying this phone was already refunded on the same day it was bought.”

Customer: “What? No, it wasn’t! Can’t you just give me the refund?”

Me: “I can’t, man, because of what the system’s saying. I’ll have to have a chat with my manager.”

(I go to my manager with the phone and receipt, and he notices something I didn’t: the photo on the system from when the phone was purchased is slightly different from the phone I’m holding, and we confirm it’s definitely a different phone of the same make. I go back to the customer.)

Me: “Sorry, man, I can’t do the refund. See here? The model number is different, the serial number is different, and the photo we have in the system is different. That phone is actually on our shrinkage bay right now. If you bring me back the right receipt, I can give you a refund though.”

Customer: “Bulls***! Give me my refund! Why would I still have this receipt if it was refunded?”

Me: “We don’t need to keep the receipts, dude; we just need to see them to do the refund. But again, if you bring me the receipt for this phone, I can do the refund for you.”

Customer: “Bulls***! It’s the same phone! Give me my refund!”

(This pretty much repeats back and forth about six times. I’m honestly close to laughing at this point. It’s so painfully obvious from his reaction that he’s trying to scam us, but I’m not about to directly accuse him. I continue playing dumb and tell him that if he brings me the right receipt I totally can do the refund.)

Customer: “F*** you guys. Bunch of f****** thieves.”

(The customer stormed out, continuing to swear loudly. He also called us snitches, for some reason. No idea how that works.)

(I’m working on the express lane checkout one afternoon. I have been serving a woman no older than 30 years of age without incident until this:)

Customer: “Um, that’s the wrong price.”

Me: “Which item is the wrong price?”

Customer: “The chicken breast. It’s supposed to be $7.99, and you’ve only charged me $3.45!”

(I look on the screen, and look at the item to see that it’s $7.99 per kilogram, but as the customer doesn’t have a full kilogram, the price on the packet of chicken breast is, in fact, only $3.45.)

Me: “See on the packet how it says that it’s $7.99 per kilogram? Next to that is the price of this packet of meat, which is $3.45 as you don’t have a full kilogram.”

Customer: “Are you going to fix the price?!”

Me: “I’m sorry, I’m confused. You want to pay $7.99 rather than $3.45?”

Customer: “I don’t like your attitude, and I demand to see a manager now!“

(My manager happens to be in earshot and comes walking over. I explain the situation to her, and she explains things to the customer just as I have done.)

Customer: “I want to pay the correct price as I am not a thief!”

Manager: “The meat is only $3.45, not $7.99; you will be paying the correct price at $3.45.”

Customer: “I don’t want it anymore. I suggest you fix your stupid system and train your f****** staff better!”

(After the customer stormed off mumbling under her breath, my manager rolled her eyes and we just laughed.)

(I’ve just arrived at work.)

Supervisor: “Morning. Can you hop onto a bulk register?”

Me: “Sure. Which one?”

Supervisor: “Doesn’t matter. Any of them will do.”

Me: “Any of them?”

Supervisor: “Any of them.”

(I walk up to the closest register: number eight, only a few feet away. I inform a pair of customers queuing at register seven, the only other staffed register, that I am opening and that they can start unloading their shopping on my belt, which they do. When a register isn’t in use, we park trolleys in them to stop customers leaving through them. When we go to open one, we usually just move the trolleys back to the trolley bay and are good to go. This time, however, I notice that the trolley has been chained to the register with a padlock.)

Me: “Uh, [Supervisor], is there a key to unlock this trolley so I can move it?”

Supervisor: “Why?”

Me: “So I can open up on register eight.”

Supervisor: “Register eight isn’t working today. Go on a different register.”

Me: “You did say, ‘any register.’”

Supervisor: “Obviously I meant any register except number eight. Open on six.”

(By now, of course, the customers had unloaded most of their shopping onto register eight’s belt, and were quite annoyed when I told them they’d have to load it all back into their trolley and move down to register six!)

Lecturer: “Kip Keino ran with gallstones, arguably the second most painful experience in the world. Who can guess the first?”

The Answer: “Childbirth.”

My Answer: “MENSTRUAL CRAMPS!”