(The chain I work at holds a senior’s day each week for people 55 and older who present their rewards card. Unfortunately, the rewards card doesn’t tell us their age nor automatically applies the discount, and they often don’t remember to tell us despite the copious signage, so we often either have to assume one way or another, or ask directly. I’m not the greatest at judging ages, so this often gets me into trouble. On this occasion, I’m dealing with the very first customer of my shift.)

Me: *feeling pretty safe in my guess* “And do you get the senior’s discount?”

Customer: “No.”

Me: “Oh, okay!” *continues with the transaction*

Customer: *sounding angry* “Thanks. I’m not even fifty yet.”

Me: “Sorry about that. Honestly, though, anyone who’s older than, say, thirty-five, can look just about any age, so I end up asking a lot of–”

Customer: “You should be careful about that.”

Me: *cheerfully* “I try to be.”

Customer: *with no trace of humour* “You’re lucky my husband’s not here. He’d kick your a**.”

Me: *sighs internally, but smiles outwardly as if she were joking*

(I do understand why people get offended in these situations, but I don’t understand why they have to be so rude about it. If I never asked, a lot of actual seniors would be upset because they didn’t get their discount. We can’t win either way. I wish we had a policy that they don’t get the discount unless they bring it up.)

(My dad and I are waiting in line at the checkout of a local grocer. There’s one young woman in her early thirties ahead of us who has been complaining the entire time. The cashier — a young boy no older than seventeen — is doing his best to process her as quickly as possible. To the poor kid’s dismay, the woman starts screaming at him about being too slow. Just a note, I’m a feminist but have zero tolerance for sexism on either side.)

Customer: “You men are all alike! I bet you’re just keeping me here so long because I’m a woman! You think I’m buying these groceries just to get home to my family and cook for them! Well, I’ll have you know I have my husband cook! Let the useless man do something for once!”

Cashier: “I’m sorry you feel that way, ma’am. I think you should know, however, I do not think bad of you–”

Customer: “SHUT UP! YOU USELESS PIECE OF S***! I’LL HAVE YOU FIRED! YOU DON’T TALK; YOU’RE JUST THE STUPID CASH BOY! I’M THE CUSTOMER!”

Cashier: “Ma’am–”

Customer: “I’M A FEMINIST! I’LL HAVE YOU FIRED, YOU BIGOT! NOW HURRY UP, YOU F****** C*** B****!”

(I’ve had enough and step in. I’m six feet tall and I tower a good foot over this lady.)

Me: *to my dad, loud enough for the whole line to hear* “Wow, bigot alert!”

Customer: *whipping around to glare at me* “I’M NOT A BIGOT! HE’S THE BIGOT! GOOD FOR NOTHING MEN!”

(My dad rolls his eyes, figuring it would be best not to step into an argument between me and this woman.)

Me: “Did I say, ‘bigot’? I meant ‘misandrist.’”

Customer: *scoffing as if I’m stupid* “It’s pronounced ‘misogynist’! And how could you turn on your own gender?! Women are supposed to support each other!”

Me: *as sweetly as I can* “Oh, I’m sorry, the discrimination card is two-sided.”

(She turned red and turned around and walked out without her groceries. We heard her storm out of the parking lot. I apologized to the cashier and gave him a tip. A couple of days later, he told me that the woman tried to return to buy the groceries she had left behind. She blew up when she found that they’d been put back on the shelves, and she had to be escorted out when she found out she was banned from the chain! Sweet justice!)

(While I am normally a cashier, at my store everyone works everywhere. I could be in the back, I could be a stock girl, I could be a cashier, I could work guest service counter, etc. Today I am working in the back because we got a HUGE delivery. Because it is always cold in the back, we are allowed to wear non-company sweaters over our uniforms. I get paged to get on cash so I grab my company jacket and get on a cash register.)

Me: “I can help whoever is next.”

Woman: “Are you wearing your uniform?”

(I look down and notice I forgot to zip up my uniform.)

Me: “Oh, yeah, sorry, I was in the back and—”

Woman: “Does your manager know you aren’t following company procedure?”

Me: “Well, yeah, she gave me permission to—”

Woman: “You know, when I worked here, I had respect for the store and its policies. Teenagers nowadays…”

(She droned on for so long that the rest of the line was dealt with by other cashiers. She eventually went and complained about me to guest services. I didn’t realize wearing a university sweater could be so insulting.)

The drivers in my area are astonishingly bad at obeying road rules and it is becoming a serious threat to pedestrians. As a result, I emailed the local police department about it several times. The first time, they agreed to look into it and added a couple of people in their response to me. They changed the timing on the crosswalks and lights. Then, I witnessed an “Oh, my God, how did that not kill you?” moment of driver stupidity and reported it to try to get them a little more enthusiastic about dealing with the local drivers. They agreed to look into it and added a few more people to the list already CC’ed.

Today, months after the first complaint, I got harassed while crossing legally by a driver who was blocking the intersection while stopped behind another car who was one of several stopped in the crosswalk. I made yet another report, this time to the local mayor’s office, his assistants, and everybody from the original emails. Ten emails in total, when I’d only started with one and then added the mayor’s office.

My report bounced back from every one. Apparently, our mayor, his assistants, and everybody in charge at the police station are on holiday for the next month. I’m beginning to see why we have an enforcement issue.

(I work in a clothing store that mostly sells industrial workwear and business casual clothing, but we have a small and very limited section of athletic clothing. A fifty-year-old male approaches me looking for workout clothing.)

Customer: “I need something to work out in. I want to lose weight. I’m heavyset like you; I want to start running and get back into shape. I used to run half-marathons. Can you believe that?” 

Me: *offended he made a jab at my weight* “Yeah, sure, I can. Let me show you what we have for running.”

Customer: “I want to stay warm. It’s getting cold. I need a one-piece running suit with a zipper.” 

Me: “We don’t sell anything like that. You’ll have to buy a shirt and pants.” 

Customer: “What about that?” *points at long johns that have buttons*

Me: “That would work to keep you warm, but you should still put clothing over it.” 

(He keeps insisting I have one in the back. I go “check.”)

Me: “Sorry. We don’t have what you’re looking for. Have you tried [Specialty Running Store]?”

Customer: “They won’t have it.” *starts telling me about his life, realizing I am trying to leave as I can’t help him* “I used to work in a factory before. I went to college. Now I’m retired. When did you graduate high school?”

(Note, I’m 24.)

Me: “Actually, I got my bachelor’s degree.”

Customer: “Well, that’s surprising. Why are you working here?”

Me: “I need the money.”

Customer: “You should get a real job. I need to work out. Find me that running suit. I don’t want health issues. My ex-wife had health issues. We didn’t have kids because of it. Now I feel empty inside. Do you have a partner? You should have kids so you don’t feel empty like me.” 

Me: “Yes, I have a partner but we’ve both agreed to not have kids.”

Customer: “He will leave you if you don’t have kids with him.” 

Me: “If he does, that’s his problem.”

Customer: “How are women so strong? I still love my high school crush. So, where’s this suit? I need it in an XL.”

(I am tired of listening to him, so I call another of our stores in a different city and get them to hold the long johns for him since that store has them in his size. He seems happy and leaves. The next day, he comes back and asks for the exact same product he originally came in for, which we don’t carry. I tell him it doesn’t exist and I’m not calling other businesses to see what they have. He keeps asking about everything in the store. Soon, he asks about shoes. Since I work in clothing, I get my coworker that works in the footwear department.)

Me: *to my coworker, who’s a male and a foot taller* “This is the guy that insulted me yesterday. He doesn’t believe me that we don’t have what he’s looking for. Get him out of our store.”

(I left. I don’t know what my coworker said to him, but I haven’t seen him since.)