I’m checking out a customer at the register when a man comes in and makes a beeline for the soda fridge we have in the next-in-line area. He then walks off into the store.

Me: “Sir, you need to pay for that.”

Customer: “It’s okay. I’ll pay when I leave.”

Me: “No, you need to pay for it first.”

Customer: “Don’t worry; I promise I won’t drink it.”

His girlfriend comes in.

Customer’s Girlfriend: “What’s going on?”

Customer: “She says I have to pay for the soda before I can start looking around.”

Customer’s Girlfriend: “Seriously?! They don’t even do this at [Local Grocery Store Chain]!”

I let them go, since I’m still with a customer at the register and I figure that I can just have somebody keep an eye on them. As they go further in the store, I hear the girlfriend say that they should “report it to her manager”. The woman I’m checking out tells me that I was right and that she’ll back me up if they do get my manager.

I do seek out my manager on the floor and ask him if we’re allowed to let them do that — take a soda and let them pay for it later — and he says that it’s not ideal, but it’s better to avoid a fuss. I see them on the floor, too, but make a point of giving them a wide berth.

At a later point, the man comes to the register to check out, and he has clearly drunk out of the soda. He puts down his items and the first words out of his mouth are:

Customer: “So, are you single?”

He keeps hitting on me through the whole transaction. Thankfully, nobody, customer or otherwise, is nearby, so I can get away with not even trying to be friendly. I’m not rude, mind you; I just say everything through gritted teeth. At the end of it, my manager comes by just as I’m saying, “Have a nice day.”

Me: “Yeah, this guy just started hitting on me.”

Manager: “What?!”

Customer: “Sorry, sorry, she was just being so mean. I had to try and loosen her up a little! She’s such a b****, am I right?”

My manager then takes him into the vestibule near the register and says something to him — I can only make out the words “very special girl.” Afterward, he comes in, apologizes, and then leaves. My manager then comes to me.

Manager: “Are you all right?”

Me: “Yeah, just mad. He’s that guy I was telling you about.”

Manager: “With the soda?”

Me: “Yeah. It had clearly been drunk out of when he brought it up. And he came in here with his girlfriend, too!”

Manager: “Yeah, I think the girlfriend might have been responsible for these.”

He shows me a bunch of packaging for power banks, earbuds, etc.

Me: “And he drank the soda before he paid for it, too!”

We contacted the other stores to let them know about him and his girlfriend. Thankfully, he had easily identifiable and hard to conceal facial tattoos. But really, the nerve of some people!

I work part-time at an office supply store and we get a bunch of crazy and rude people, but this one stands out. I only have an hour left in my shift and my manager has me doing the monthly training when the delivery driver for a major parcel company comes looking around for the manager and just settles on talking to me.

Delivery Driver: “Well, today just got weird.”

Me: “What happened?”

Delivery Driver: “This lady over there—” *points to the printing department* “—is accusing me of stealing her faxes.”

Me: “Like you picked up her papers?”

Delivery Driver: “No, like I took her fax off the ‘airwaves’.”

Me: *Staring in confusion* “The airwaves?”

Delivery Driver: “Yeah, she thinks I’m stealing the info off the airwaves.” *Chuckles*

Me: “That’s not how that works. That’s not how any of this works.”

My manager comes in and he tells her the story, too. We both chalk it up to just another customer that doesn’t know how technology works, so we go back to what we are doing for the next ten minutes, and the driver goes back outside to his truck to finish picking up the packages

The customer the driver pointed to approaches my manager.

Customer: “Hi. I need to talk to you about the driver.”

Manager: “Yes? What’s the issue?”

I’m still doing my training but fully paying attention to this conversation from only six feet away.

Customer: “I don’t appreciate him being next to me while I’m sending these documents. They are very important, and I don’t want him pulling the information off the airwaves.”

Manager: “…”

My manager takes great care to not anger customers and to make sure they leave happy.

Customer: “I know he’s in his truck with his equipment stealing my information. I can feel the magnetic pulses off his truck. You know?”

The manager pauses and then nods.

Manager: “Okay.”

Customer: “These are very important documents that I need to send to the feds. He’s over there with all his equipment, stealing my info, because I have critical information that [Delivery Company] is running a drug cartel, and now everyone in here knows it!”

Manager: “…”

Me: “…”

By this point, I wasn’t even doing my training anymore; I was just fully looking at her, wide-eyed. She continued on, saying things like, “I work for a tech company; I know what I’m talking about,” and then trying to explain how a fax works using “airwaves” and how you can pull information with magnets

My manager, who I think was on autopilot, just kept saying whatever she wanted to hear and trying not set her off. The conversation lasted a good five or ten minutes. The customer eventually left, my manager and I had a laugh about it, and I went home not long after.

But wait! There’s more!

I was talking to my manager about this event later, and she told me that [Delivery Driver] had to take some time off because that nutjob followed him and attacked him, getting herself arrested. I hope she got that talk with the feds she wanted.

I work at a print shop/office supply store that serves as a shipping and drop-off location. I’ve finished typing in the sender and receiver information and I’m moving onto the security features. Every shipping has this.

Me: “Would you mind giving a declared value of the contents? We need to know for insurance purposes.”

Customer: “Why do you need to know?”

Me: “For insurance purposes.”

Customer: *Hesitantly* “Let’s say… um… a thousand dollars.”

Me: “All right, and could I get a description of the contents? Just to make sure we aren’t shipping anything illegal or hazardous.”

Customer: “I kind of feel like this is an invasion of my privacy.”

Me: “Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t ship it unless I know what is inside. If it’s documents, you can just say documents; you don’t need to be specific.”

Customer: *Hesitantly again* “Let’s put down… computer.”

We couldn’t ship the computer anyway because of the lithium battery, but I want to ask the third security question.

Me: “Before we can ship this out and have you pay for this label, I’ll need to see a valid ID. We use this for legal purposes and making sure customers are liable for the contents of the package.”

Customer: “Oh, you know, I left my wallet in the car. Could you ship it without my ID?”

It’s suspicious to not bring money in for something he knew he was paying for.

Me: “Sir, we can’t ship this package out unless you pay for it and show me a valid ID.”

Customer: “You know what? This was a s***ty service today. I’ll just go somewhere else for this. I hate my privacy being under attack.”

Me: “Um… okay… You can leave, then.”

I kind of wonder why he was so hesitant to say both $1,000 and a computer. It didn’t even weigh that much, and the size of the package wouldn’t have had room for a desktop or laptop.

I am in an office supply store buying some notebooks for my classes that just started. I’m walking toward the checkout when I hear an exasperated voice.

Lady: “Ma’am. MA’AM!”

I turn and see a little old lady with a Ziploc bag of ink cartridges in her hand and her mask around her chin. She waves me over to her and starts asking me if “we” have any of whatever specific ink cartridge she is looking for. She claims to have been looking for several minutes, but she doesn’t see it, so could I maybe look and help her, or go look in the back?

I am wearing a long sweater and some black leggings, and I have on my Halloween mask in January. I am dressed for a job I neither have nor want.

Me: “I don’t work here, but I can go get someone who does for you!”

It falls on uncaring ears. She physically grabs my forearm as I try to turn away.

Lady: “Will another brand work with a [Brand] printer? I need to print!”

I tell her, truthfully, that I have no idea, but that I can find an actual employee who does. Apparently, this is the wrong answer.

Lady: “Why in the h*** do you work here if you don’t know anything?!”

Me: “Again… I do not work here.”

Lady: “Whatever. Go get one of your little friends from behind the counter; maybe they’ll know since you don’t. This place hires people without even seeing if they know anything about computers.”

Honey, first of all, a computer and a printer are very different. Secondly, I cannot speak to this store’s hiring process or their candidate vetting. Lastly, and perhaps most importantly… I STILL DON’T WORK HERE. So, I go grab my “coworker” and explain the situation to him. We share a little laugh over it, and he goes to receive what I am sure is more abuse. I proceed to the checkout, thinking my adventure over and lamenting that my boyfriend isn’t here to laugh about it with me.

However, while I’m checking out, on the CUSTOMER side of the counter, I hear a very elderly and accusing voice.

Lady: “THAT’S her!”

I turn and, of course, there she is, a manager in tow. She’s pointing at me, blaming me for being incompetent, rude, underdressed, inappropriately masked — every nitpicky thing you could imagine, all to this poor employee who obviously has no idea who I am.

Manager: “Uh. Ma’am. She… she is a customer here. She’s not one of my employees.”

She called the MANAGER on me, a customer, over INK. She ranted for a few minutes, insisted that we were all lying about me not working there in order to “cover up” the problem, and then stormed out with her little Ziploc bag of used cartridges. And I gained a funny little story to tell my friends at Dungeons & Dragons that night!

I work in the print department of an office store, and I’m in charge of the [Shipping Company] shipping station, as well. Customers can ship packages in our store or drop off packages if they have a prepaid [Shipping Company] label. One day a customer comes in with a box, onto which she has written the address and return information. I greet her, thinking things will go normally.

Me: “Hello! What can I do for you today?”

Customer: “I have a package for [Shipping Company].”

Me: “Am I shipping this out for you, or do you have a label?”

Customer: “The label is right on the package.”

Me: *Looks for it* “There’s no label here. I can create one for you, but you will have to pay for shipping.”

Customer: “Why would I have to pay for shipping? Can’t I just drop it off?”

Me: “No, I would have to create a label because it has to be a [Shipping Company] package.”

Customer: “This is a [Shipping Company] package.”

I was silent for a few seconds. I don’t know how she got the idea into her head that she could just write down the information on the box to mail it through [Shipping Company]. I explained, again, how shipping services work, just for her to leave the store because she didn’t want to pay for shipping.