A customer who I had served about an hour ago comes back into the store.

Customer: “Can I get a price adjustment on this? I just bought it.” *Shows me the receipt.*

Me: “Yes, sir, I remember you. What price adjustment are you looking for?”

He shows me his phone, where he has taken a picture of the same item being sold at a Lowe’s.

Me: “Oh, I didn’t know there was a Lowe’s around here.”

Customer: “There isn’t. I drove to [other side of the city] to get a price comparison, found that theirs was cheaper, and came back for an adjustment.

Me: “Oh… I’ll be happy to do that for you, sir.”

So… this guy spent an hour of his day and gas money to get his adjustment.

Me: “Sir, those thirty cents you saved will be credited back onto your payment card in the next three to five days.”

Customer: “Thanks!”

I went to a school where most of the students were privileged; many were the children of millionaires. This was in the 1970s, when having a million dollars put you in the top 1%. Often, the families had inherited their fortunes.

History class was covering the Great Depression, and the lesson included a picture of a breadline. One girl asked:

Classmate: “Why are people standing in line to get free bread?”

Teacher: “Because they didn’t have any money.”

Classmate: “If they didn’t have any money, why didn’t they just sell some of their stock?”

Last Friday, it was business as usual at the register when a man strode up with purpose, holding a crinkled receipt in one hand and a store flyer in the other.

Customer: “I need a refund.”

He announced firmly, with the air of someone about to right a great wrong.

I glanced down at the receipt, just two days old. The item in question? A can of soup. The refund he wanted. Eight cents.

Before I could ask why he was so insistent, he pointed to the flyer. Apparently, the soup was supposed to be eight cents cheaper, and he was there to make sure he got the advertised discount. He said, with a serious look in his eye:

Customer: “It’s not the money. It’s the principle.”

I tried explaining that the register couldn’t process refunds this small, hoping he’d laugh it off and move on. But he just stood there, arms crossed, resolute.

So, I sighed, reached into my pocket, and pulled out a dime. Placing it in his hand, I kept a straight face and said:

Me: “Here you go, sir. Keep the change.”

He blinked for a moment, clearly not expecting that, then pocketed the dime with a satisfied nod.

Customer: “Thank you. That’s all I wanted.”

With that, he turned and strode out of the store.

As soon as he was out the door, I couldn’t help but chuckle to myself. Sometimes, customer satisfaction really does come down to the smallest of change.

I had eye surgery recently, and one of the lingering side effects is light sensitivity, so I got permission to wear sunglasses inside, especially in the morning, because the sun glares right into the cash registers.

Most people don’t pay much attention to it when I wear sunglasses, but not this old couple, who pulled into my lane with several sheets of drywall and lumber.

Customer: *Whispering not as quietly as he thinks he’s being.* “Figures, insane DEI, a blind girl checking us out, what will they think of next?”

Woman: “Hush, I’m sure she can do her job. It’s better than her driving one of those forklifts.”

I rolled my eyes as I gave my spiel and went to count the drywall, touching it as I tend to get a better bead on the number when I do.

Me: “It’s [Couple hundred dollars and odd change].”

Customer: “Here is [Couple hundred dollars rounded up to the next dollar].”

Woman: *Scandalized.* “Dear?!”

I looked down and saw he gave me a couple of tens. Oh, no, you don’t, Buster, but I’ll give him one chance at an out.

Me: “I’ll need the rest.”

Customer: “It’s there, trust me.”

Me: “Sir, this is thirty dollars. One, I heard what you said to your wife, and second—” *I pushed up my sunglasses and stared at him.* “—I’m light-sensitive, not blind. Now, do you wish to pay the correct amount, or should I bring a manager over?”

The man grumbles as he takes the tens back and pays by credit, while his wife scolds him on the way out for trying to trick a blind girl. I did let my supervisor know about his attempt to shortchange me, so they’ll be on alert the next time he comes in.

I’m meeting a friend in a public space. I spot him across the square and walk toward him. I see him talking to a charity volunteer. My friend pats him on the shoulder and gives him a few coins.

When we say hello and start walking to our destination:

Me: “Did you give that charity guy some money?”

Friend: “Yeah.”

My friend is so tight that when he drops a penny, it hits him on the back of the head. I’ve never seen him give money to charity, ever. I voice this observation.

Friend: “Yeah, but I felt sorry for him. He said he was collecting money for the “British Fart Houndation” and I figured he was at the end of a very long day.”