I work in a cellphone store inside a high-end mall. I sometimes think we’re out of place nestled between all the Pradas and Balenciagas, but then again some of the high-end smartphones aren’t cheap, either.

Three women walk in: a grandmother, her daughter, and her granddaughter in her mid-teens. The grandmother is old money (I can tell from working in this mall) with the hat, the bag, and the shoes, each one likely worth more than my annual salary. She is looking around the place with an air of disdain.

The following conversation has been drastically shortened for brevity, but all the important points are intact.

Granddaughter: “I’d like an iPhone, please!”

Daughter: “She’s just starting high school at [Fancy Private School], and she doesn’t want to be the only one without a phone.”

Me: “Haha, yes, I remember what it was like when I was her age.”

Grandmother: *Scoffs* “You were nothing like her when you were her age.”

I ignore the WASPy grandmother like I’ve learned how to do; it comes with the territory from working at this mall.

Me: “Let’s get you set up.”

Granddaughter: “It will be nice to finally be on Facebook.”

Grandmother: “Facebook? Like what Imelda uses? No, no, you can’t be seen doing that!”

Granddaughter: “What are you talking about, Grandma? Imelda said she wanted to send me a friend request.”

Daughter: *To me* “Sorry about my mother. Imelda is the daughter of my mother’s maid. She has some… outdated ideas.”

Grandmother: “I’m sure Imelda is a lovely girl, but she lives in her world and we live in ours. Can we get a phone that has a better Internet?”

Me: “What do you mean, ma’am?”

Grandmother: “Do they do like, high-end phones? With Internet for a more… sophisticated clientele?”

Granddaughter: “Grandma! I already told you, there’s just the one Internet!”

Grandmother: “Yes, but I just don’t understand. I want you to only be using the finer parts of the Internet.” *To me* “Does the Internet have an executive lounge?”

Me: “Well, we just sell the phones here, ma’am. How our customers use the Internet when they purchase it is not our business.”

Grandmother: “So, everyone is just out there… using the same… the same Internet?”

Me: “Well… yes?”

Grandmother: “No, no, no. This simply will not do! No granddaughter of mine will be fraternizing with… with the rabble!”

She walks out with a confident stride, but this falters when she turns around and sees that her daughter and granddaughter aren’t following her. I’ve witnessed moments when the matriarch of an old money family realizes she’s not getting her way, and it’s beautiful.

Grandmother: “Did I not make myself clear? We’re leaving!”

Daughter: “We will, as soon as [Granddaughter] gets her phone.”

The grandmother makes a delicate little “harrumph” noise and calls for a manager. She explains her “situation” to him.

Manager: “So, let me get this right. You want me to refuse service to your daughter and granddaughter because they’ll be using the same Internet as everyone else?”

Grandmother: “Yes. I just need to take them home and have the time to explain to them why this isn’t appropriate.”

Manager: “Well, from what I understand, you’re purchasing an iPhone today, yes? Those are pretty expensive, which makes them exclusive. While everyone does use the same Internet, it runs faster and… uh… prettier on the iPhone, so it’s still a ‘first-class’ experience.”

Grandmother: “Hmm, I don’t know. I’m still not comfortable with this.”

My manager goes into more detail about parental controls, the high-quality finish of the iPhone, and such, but he continues to word things in a way to make it seem that the granddaughter would still be exhibiting her wealthy means and status. A 120Hz screen refresh rate becomes “an upper-class refreshment experience”, and iCloud storage becomes “an executive digital lounge only accessible to those with membership privileges.” It is a thing of beauty.

While all this is happening, I am processing the sale, and I ask the mother:

Me: “If you don’t mind me asking, how does your mother use a phone?”

Daughter: “She has a personal assistant who has one and then passes it to her when she needs to use it. I don’t think her fingers have ever actually dialed a phone since the old rotary phone days.”

Me: “Oh… my.”

We got the daughter set up on her new iPhone. I hope she makes more nice friends who don’t need an “upper-class Internet”!

Related:
Sooo Not Ready For The Internet, Part 6
Sooo Not Ready For The Internet, Part 5
Sooo Not Ready For The Internet, Part 4
Sooo Not Ready For The Internet, Part 3
Sooo Not Ready For The Internet, Part 2

I work at a retailer that cashes paychecks at the customer service desk. A woman comes up to my register with one of those large Bluetooth earpieces, talking the whole time.

Me: “Hi, how—”

She just drops a check on the countertop.

Me: “Okay. Do you have—”

Customer: *Flicks her ID at me* “I have to catch the bus. Can you hurry?”

Me: “Sure.”

I go through my process while the woman talks to the person on the phone. I finally get to this part of the process:

Me: “Are you loading any of this on a card today? The $3 fee is waived for doing it in one transaction.”

She states a number, a partial amount of the check.

Me: “Are you loading that, or is that what you want in cash?”

Customer: *Heavy sigh* “Is this really that difficult?”

Me: *With a big old customer service smile* “I’m just asking for clarity to give you the best service possible.”

Customer: “Give me my f****** check back. I’m done with your r****ded a**.”

Me: “The system has already processed it. I—”

Customer: “Give me the f****** check!”

Me: “It’s already cashed. I can’t.”

Customer: “Jesus f****** Christ. [Store] only hires the mentally handicapped, and you are their queen. Just give me the whole thing in cash and I’ll fix your mistake later.”

I finish the transaction, and she snatches the cash from my hand before I can count it for her. She storms off, and I call for a manager immediately. I explain the situation and ask for my drawer to be counted. It is spot on. An hour later, the woman returns and corners the manager.

Customer: “Your f****** a**hole over there wouldn’t cash my check, and then she stole my money!”

Manager: “If she wouldn’t cash your check, how could she steal your money?”

Customer: “She stole—”

Manager: “We already checked the cameras. You snatched the money from her hand and left without counting it.”

Customer: “Which means you don’t know if she did short me! I want her fired!”

Manager: “Fortunately, we already counted the drawer. It’s correct. If you’re missing money, that is not our fault.”

Customer: “F*** every single one of you!”

The woman stormed out again. She tried to kick over a display but missed and ended up on her butt. She got up quickly and ran out the door.

One thing our company is known for is a mobile rewards program, which gives you a variety of coupons to use at checkout.

I’m working the register, covering for a coworker who had to run to the bathroom. A woman comes up carrying a small coffee and has her phone out, showing a coupon for “$1 any size coffee”. I ring up the coffee and scan the coupon.

Me: “Your total is $1.07, ma’am.”

She gives me a very confused look.

Customer: “But… it’s a dollar.”

My coworker keeps a stash of extra change at the register, so I volunteer it for if she doesn’t have the seven cents (added for tax). She gives me another confused look and tries to walk out of the store.

Me: “Ma’am, you still have to pay.”

Customer: “But it’s a dollar.”

Me: “Yes, the coupon makes it so the cost is only a dollar. Add the tax and you get $1.07, which you still have to pay.”

Customer: “But… it’s a dollar?”

At that point, I was debating getting just letting her go, but I once again pointed out that the coupon only made it so her coffee cost a dollar, plus tax. She still had to pay for the coffee. She seemed reluctant to pay, but in the end, she used her phone to pay and proceeded to walk out. I could hear her muttering “But it’s a dollar” as she stepped outside.

Related:
Taxing Taxing, Part 18
Taxing Taxing, Part 17
Taxing Taxing, Part 16
Taxing Taxing, Part 15
Taxing Taxing, Part 14

One Saturday morning, I visit my local supermarket for my weekly shop. When I go to the checkout, I notice that there is a long line already. This is nothing new, especially since it’s the weekend when everyone shops. I notice that there is a woman arguing loudly with one of the cashiers.

She keeps repeatedly pointing and gesturing toward a newspaper advertisement. It appears that there was some promotion on orange juice that she wants, which is now ended, but she is still demanding the discount. The line is getting longer, and people are becoming frustrated. Neither the woman nor the employees are backing down, and of course, a manager gets called!

Another annoyed-looking customer walks over to the checkout while the woman is still whining and arguing.

Other Customer: “What is going on here? People are waiting!”

Customer: “I want the two-dollar discount on this orange juice, and they’re not giving it to me!”

Other Customer: “They explained that the promotion has ended; just let it go!

Customer: “No! I have the flyer; they need to honor it!”

Other Customer: “That flyer is expired, lady! Just pay for your stuff and leave!”

Customer: “No!”

Other Customer: “Look, all of us here are probably very busy and have places to be! Can you just stop this and pay for your groceries?”

Customer: “No, they need to give me the two dollars!”

Other Customer: “If I give you two dollars for this, will you please just go home?! I really need to leave here.”

The woman goes silent for a moment and ponders his offer. Then, she defiantly crosses her arms and pouts.

Customer: “No… they need to give it to me! It’s the principle!”

Other Customer: “Seriously?”

Customer: “It’s the principle!”

Thankfully, a couple of staff members opened two new lanes, and everyone got checked out relatively quickly. As I left, the woman was STILL arguing about the two dollars. It’s ludicrous how much trouble people will cause over such tiny amounts of money. I hope it is worth the trouble, lady!

I used to work for a small, locally-owned supermarket chain with a small level of bureaucracy and a high focus on getting stuff sold.

After a few years, we were taken over by a national chain, which introduced much bureaucracy where emails and phone calls from the bottom to the top would be lost to the ether and left unanswered. Their focus was heavily on image, with staff at the head office who seemingly worked to ensure similar-sized products sat next to each other on each shelf so that it looked nice.

They also changed the shop managers’ incentives; their bonuses were the operating budget of their store minus wages, expenses, and written-off stock. So, obviously, we were now operating on a shoestring budget so the managers got as much money as they could.

Before the takeover, we had an award-winning butcher department that worked with local farms and catered to customer requests. The new firm immediately closed the counter and filled chillers with pre-packed sliced meats, instead, which we frequently discounted to prevent them from going to the bin.

One time, we received a dozen cases of a high-end cut of meat. It was way more than we would usually stock of an affordable packet, and it was therefore at risk of running past its sell-by date and being thrown out.

As it was a new product, we didn’t have a price label for it. After waiting a weekend for the system to update, I emailed the head office for a label and filled the chiller, using a pricing gun left over from the takeover to label each individual packet.

We had sold a few by the time I came back in the following week, but I was pulled aside by the management. The area manager had been in to inspect the shop, was “horrified” at the “ugly” labels, and demanded they be taken off the shelves until a label was ready.

I explained the issue, but they wouldn’t have it, so I took the packets out as instructed and left them in the big fridge at the back of the store. They sat there for a month until they expired, after which someone else recorded them for disposal.

A few days later, someone at the head office noticed the enormous increase in wastage and reported it. Down the chain it came, and the red-faced area manager stormed in to shout at the stern-faced store manager, who in turn called over the tannoy for me to drop everything and get to his office.

“I’m just waiting for the label,” I told them both, as they searched for a scapegoat for the £3,000 write-off.

I’ve since had similar experiences at other employers where department heads had bonuses tied to sales but didn’t like me pricing up produce, so hardware would sit and gather dust. I’m paid by the hour with no bonus, so I’m not going to argue the case.