(I work for a store in a well-known chain of drug stores. I am working the front register when a customer comes up and puts down a small bag of nuts and a drink. I have a habit of asking if they would like a bag if their purchase is small or it looks like it will be eaten right away. I ask because we don’t have small bags, just the regular-sized grocery bags. Most customers don’t want to deal with a bag in this situation.)

Me: “Would you like a bag for this?”

Customer: “Well, it’s more than one item, so yeah. Wouldn’t you say?”

Me: *smiles, thinking she’s joking* “You don’t have to have one; it’s really up to you.”

Customer: *straight-faced* “No, it’s not. It’s your job.”

(I bag her items, a little stunned. I’d never had anyone demand a bag.)

Me: “Here you go. Have a nice day!”

Customer: *takes her bag and leaves without saying a word*

(I found out later that the same customer called to complain about me, and claimed I refused to give her a bag. My manager is cool and just laughed it off. I wonder what that customer would do in places like California where, due to a ban on plastic bags, they don’t ever give you a bag!)

I work in a midway arcade. Most of the time, I get assigned to run a game booth, and a few times I have had to run the treasury where you redeem tickets.

This night I am sent to Viking, a water gun racing game. I have to kick the foot pedal in front of the gun that’s being used, then press a button to turn on the water. The water is sprayed into a target, and little viking ships come down.

It’s a pretty easy game, and usually not too much hassle. Among our prizes are emoji pillows, including poop ones and yellow faces with various expressions. I do get the best laugh from a really corny joke. A woman plays twice with her son. The boy gets a yellow face, and she takes a poop emoji.

After second game, she says to me, “I can’t wait to sleep on my piece of s*** tonight! Not my husband, my pillow.”

(I work as a groomer in a large pet retail store that also offers grooming services. One day, a woman comes in with a Pomeranian. She shows me a picture of the same dog with a slightly different cut.)

Customer: “I want my dog to look like this but with two differences: don’t touch the feet — I like the ‘Grinch’ feet — and don’t touch the mane.”

(The cut is very simple so I agree. We fill out the paperwork with the exact details, and she signs it and leaves. When the dog is done, I call her. She returns, and has obviously been to the gym because her hands are taped up like a boxer. I go to get the dog, and as I am walking out, I notice that there is a small patch of stray hairs that I missed when trimming his tail. This happens from time to time and is a simple fix.)

Me: *to my coworker* “Hey, can you get these stray hairs I missed on his tail while I hold him?”

Customer: *in an inhumanly high-pitched voice* “WHAT THE F***?! WHAAAAAT THE F***!? HOW COULD YOU CUT HIS TAIL?”

Me: “Ma’am, the instructions sa—”

(She starts clenching her taped-up hands and shaking them.)

Customer: *not so high-pitched or crazed* “How could you… Wh… Wh… Why would you cut his tail?”

Me: “I’m sorry; it is standard practice unless we are specifically asked not to.”

Coworker: “Pomeranians usually have their tails trimmed during grooming.”

Customer: “But he’s not an ordinary dog, and we have pictures tomorrow. Now we can’t…” *again with the banshee scream* “WHAT THE F***?! I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS. I… CAN’T BELIEVE THIS! THIS IS OUTRAGEOUS!”

(This goes on for several minutes and by this time, it has drawn a crowd of people from all over the store to stare through the glass doors and see what’s going on. My coworker and I finally calm her down and she leaves. We are both dumbstruck and start discussing it. I have my back to the door.)

Coworker: “She’s coming back.”

Me: “Don’t even try—”

Coworker: “No, I’m serious. She’s coming back.”

(I prepare myself and turn around as the customer is walking in. I don’t even get a word out.)

Customer: *extremely happy and friendly* “Other than the tail, you did a great job!”

(She puts a $20 tip on the counter and walks out.)

Me: “Whatever she took when she went out to her car, I want some.”

(My father and I are customers in this story. He and I are running errands and stop into a local paint shop looking for a particular type of wood stain. We make our selection and make our way to the registers. Just as we reach the counter, a woman rushes up with a handful of items — rollers, trays, etc. — and drops them on the counter. One of the items she’s placed on the counter is a gallon of clear wood sealant, the packaging of which has “TRANSPARENT VARNISH” in large block letters.)

Woman: “I need to return this. I put two coats of this on my front deck and it doesn’t look like I’ve done anything!”

Cashier: “Well, you only really to apply one coat of this.”

Woman: “I know! But I put this on my deck, and it doesn’t look like I’ve changed anything! It still looks the same!”

Cashier: “Well, it’s clear varnish.”

Woman: “Well, can I exchange this for something darker?”

Cashier: “Um… Sure.”

Woman: “Here, I’ll show you.” *starts scrolling through her phone* “I know you believe me, but it doesn’t look like I’ve done anything after putting this on.”

(By that time, my father and I had purchased our wood stain and left the store. We laughed for a good ten minutes about the whole exchange. If she purchased transparent wood sealant, what did she think was going to happen? Was she expecting the clear varnish to turn her deck black?)

(I work in retail. Normally, I’m a cashier, but on this particular day my managers have assigned me to work the sales floor. The day starts off normally, and when it slows down, I make my way up to the front register to take a break. The head cashier sees me as I’m walking up, and I notice she looks slightly panicked.)

Coworker: *excited* “There are two city homicide detectives here.”

Me: “What?!”

Coworker: “Yeah, they’re in the manager’s office right now. They took a box of [Expensive Brand] boots in with them.”

Me: “Why?”

(One of my managers walks over and joins in on our conversation.)

Manager: “They found something.”

(My manager then told me that a week earlier, a family had entered our store and stolen a pair of high-priced fashion boots. They had taken off their old, worn boots, slipped on the new ones, and then put the old ones in the shoebox and left it on the shelf. Unfortunately, the old boots had bloodstains on them that had come from the victim of a homicide. The police had managed to track down the family, and one of them must have admitted to leaving the evidence shoes at our store. Those bloody boots had somehow managed to stay on our shelves, in the box, for nearly a week without anyone noticing. Even creepier, our store had surveillance footage of two other employees — and me — serving that family on the day of the theft, not knowing that we were talking to people who probably had intimate knowledge of a murder. Needless to say, I didn’t sleep well that night.)