A mother is checking out with her young child, who is having a tantrum about not being able to buy candy. I shoot the mother a look of sympathy as I know it can be trying in moments like this.

Mother: *To her child* “I’m sorry, sweetie, I’d love to buy you some candy but…” *shoots me a quick look* “…but the mean old lady in the checkout doesn’t want you to have any!”

Me: “What?!”

Child: *Looking at me through watering eyes* “But whyyyyyyyy?!”

Mother: “Yeah, it’s such a shame that the mean old lady isn’t letting me; otherwise, I’d buy you so much candy!”

I don’t know if what I did was appropriate, but I didn’t think much about it until after.

Me: “Well, since the only barrier to getting candy is my permission, I grant you permission to get candy, little guy!”

Mother: “No, wait…”

The child stops crying and just stares at me, sniffing. We have a deal for four candy bars for $1.99, so I know I can swing that with my staff discount.

Me: “I’ll let you have four of these candy bars! Pick any four you want! And since your mommy is giving me the power to grant permission, you can have all four of them to eat right now, and you don’t have to have dinner tonight or eat any nasty vegetables!”

Mother: “Now, wait just a minute!”

Me: “Ma’am, I know it’s tough being a mother, but we could have just gone through this transaction in silence, and you would have had my respect. But you made me the bad guy instead of dealing with your child, so now I’m going to be the bad guy.”

Child: *Hugging four candy bars* “I’d like these ones!”

Me: “You got it, little man!”

The mother protests silently (not wanting her child to hear), but I run the candy through using my staff discount and I top up my checkout with my own cash: $1.69. The boy skips toward the exit with his candy bars.

Mother: “This is going to be so much worse because of you! I’m going to have to take those away from him.”

Me: “That’s what you get for bringing me into your parenting.”

Lucky for me, she didn’t complain!

Did the checkout clerk go too far? Let us know what you think in the comments! For some perspective, here are another 23 Stories Of Truly Terrible Parent Customers!

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I am shopping in the frozen meat aisle. I am perusing the shelves when another woman is slowly making her way down the aisle while on her phone. She is speaking loudly, which doesn’t usually bother me, but what she is saying is.

Customer: “Yeah, I need to get the chicken thighs to make that [n-word] fried chicken that they seem to like down at church. You know, the [n-word] kind that has all those spices.”

Shocked at her brazen use of a racial slur (she’s white), I stare at her for a moment, which is when I catch the eye of an employee who is walking past, also in shock from what they just heard. The customer continues.

Customer: “Yeah normally I wouldn’t eat any of that ethnic crap but the kids seem to like it and one of the kids is – y’know – slow and special and they’re bringing that [r-word],[n-word] friend that they seem to like. Put the [n-word]s and [r-word]s together in the corner and they stay out of trouble for the rest of us.”

Still in a trance about how much more offensive this woman can be, I realize I am standing in front of the frozen chicken thighs. Without even thinking, I grab all nine packs and put them in my cart. The woman finally makes it to the thighs section and sniffs in disappointment when she sees that they’re all gone. Then she sees my trolley.

Customer: “Hey, you don’t need all those thighs, do you? I needed some.”

Me: “Sorry, I kinda do. I’m feeding a bunch of special and slow people who also happen to be black. You know how it is.”

Customer: *Eyes wide.* “That was a private conversation!”

Me: “Not at the volume you were speaking, lady.”

Customer: “Give me some of those thighs!”

Me: “Sorry, they’re in my trolley. They’re mine.”

The customer turns to the employee and points to him.

Customer: “You! She’s taking all the thighs! Tell her to give me some.”

Employee: *Who is black.* “Sorry, I’m just a slow [n-word] that doesn’t know anything.”

He walks away and so do I, leaving her sounding like she’s about to screech.

When my husband asked over the next few months why we were always eating chicken thighs I told him we were fighting discrimination.

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Thanks to some assistance and other factors, I end up going to a high school that usually costs a lot of money. It’s a big deal in my family that I get to go! While the vast majority of the costs are covered, I still don’t want to be a burden on my family, so I get a part-time job on the weekends working the checkout at a grocery store.

The grocery store, like my school and most things in the area, is quite high-end and so attracts a certain “type” of customer.

I am scanning items when I hear my name called. I look up, and the customer I am serving is with one of my schoolmates.

Schoolmate: “Oh, hey, [My Name]! I didn’t know you worked here!”

Me: “Yes, just at the weekends to help out the family.”

Schoolmate’s Mother: “[Schoolmate], how do you know this…” *gives me a quick look up-and-down, her disapproval palpable* “…person?“

Schoolmate: “Mom, this is [My Name]. I know her from school.”

Schoolmate’s Mother: “Do you work there, too? The cafeteria?”

Schoolmate: *Laughs* “No, Mom! Silly! Remember I told you that I got extra help in science the other day? That was [My Name]!”

Schoolmate’s Mother: “Oh, so you’re a teacher’s assistant?”

Me: “No, ma’am, I am a student, same as [Schoolmate]. I helped her with a science project the other day.”

Schoolmate’s Mother: *Looking like she’s having a stroke* “But… but why are you working?“

I want to say, “Because I’m poor,” but she’s still a customer, so I pull out some BS to get this conversation over and done with.

Me: “Oh, I just think it will make me a more open-minded person and allow me to appreciate the value of hard work.”

Schoolmate’s Mother: “Nonsense! I’ve never worked a day in my life, and look how I turned out.”

Schoolmate: “Mom… that’s not the flex that you think it is.”

Later that year, this crazy lady actually complains at an open parents’ night that “people like me” shouldn’t be allowed in the school and certainly shouldn’t be mingling with the “real students.”

A few months later, she ends up in my checkout lane again! I don’t think she notices me at first as she is on her phone, but she realizes something is up when I’m not touching any of her items.

Schoolmate’s Mother: “Well?”

Me: “Oh, hi there, Mrs. [Schoolmate’s Mother]. Sorry, I would love to check you out, but I can’t. I’m not real, y’see. You said I wasn’t a real person, so there’s nothing I can do.”

The penny has dropped; she remembers.

Schoolmate’s Mother: “That’s not what I meant, and you know it! Check me out or I will call over your manager.”

Me: “Oh, well, y’see, we could do that, but I’m seventeen and I am amazing at my job here, just like I am amazing at school — y’know, that same school where I don’t belong — and I think I am safe at both. Now, please feel free to use another checkout where real people exist, but since I am not real and therefore unable to serve you, you’ll just be talking to yourself. Bye!”

She stormed off, and she must have complained to my manager; said manager came over near the end of my shift to give me a high-five after I explained my side of the story.

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(I’m working as one of three cashiers for a buffet restaurant. None of us are allowed to leave the registers, even when it’s pretty dead. A manager stops by.)

Manager: “What are you losers just standing around for?”

Coworker #1: “Well, we aren’t allowed to leave the registers.”

Manager: “What, you don’t think I know that?! I’m the manager. You are the losers who work here. I mean, why would anyone WANT to work here unless they were too much of a LOSER to get hired somewhere else?”

Coworker #2: “Actually, all of us have second jobs.”

Manager: “EVERYONE WHO WORKS HERE IS A LOSER!” *stomps off*

Me: “Wait, so… he works here.”

(Two days later, I decide to quit. I go in to pick up my paycheck from the same manager, drop my uniform on the desk and start to leave.)

Manager: “Wait! You can’t quit. I put you on the schedule for this week! You have to let me know in advance if you’re quitting!”

Me: “Sorry, I thought only losers worked here, so guess I can’t!”

(I work in the bedroom department. My job is to approach passers-by and ask about what they’re looking for. A couple I ask takes an interest in a headboard.)

Husband: “That’s no good for us, sweetie.”

Wife: “Why not?”

Husband: “Well…” *looks at me directly* “…there’s nowhere to put the handcuffs!”

(I worked in Ann Summers for a year, and whilst I was unemployed did paid reviews on BDSM and other such toys.)

Me: *smiling sweetly* “To be honest, the under-bed cuffing systems work so much better, especially the German makes. Plus they’re a lot more discreet. But if you’re infrequent users you may want to try bondage tape, it’s a lot cheaper in the long run, and it doesn’t like any visible marks or pulls on hair.”

Husband: *turns red*

Wife: *to her husband* “You had that coming.”