It is recently post-Brexit Britain, and it’s also around the time the world is slowly emerging from lockdowns and the shut-down of the tourism industry. Our little corner shop is open and we’re selling newspapers with similar headlines:

Headline #1: “The EU reopens for tourism, but not to unvaccinated Brits.”

Headline #2: “UK residents require proof of vaccination to enter the EU.”

One of our regulars (one of the few who took issue with wearing a mask) is reading them.

Regular: “F*** the EU! I’ll go to Spain, instead!”

Me: “Did you vote for Brexit?”

Regular: “Yeah.”

Me: “Thought so.”

Regular: “Can I have my [Brand] cigarettes?”

Me: “That’s [price].”

Regular: “The price has gone up again?!”

Me: “Well, they’re made in Poland.”

Regular: “What’s that got to do with the price?”

Me: “Poland is part of the EU. We’re not. Import prices are increasing.”

Regular: “Why?”

Me: “Ask yourself!”

I see a woman park in our fire lane (actually sprawled out over that AND one of our disabled parking spots) and then just wander in like it was nothing.

Me: “Excuse me, ma’am?”

I know she heard me, but she’s ignoring me. I speak louder.

Me: “Excuse me, ma’am?! You can’t park there.”

Customer: “I can park wherever I want. I’m a sovereign citizen.”

Me: “A what?”

Customer: “I’m a sovereign citizen. Your laws don’t apply to me.”

I’ve heard about these entitled crazies. They think the laws do not apply to them and they don’t recognize the government, or something like that.

Me: “Well, the parking bays and fire bay aren’t a government thing; it’s a store policy. You can’t park there.”

Customer: “Watch me.”

And off she goes, smugly walking into the store. Of course, I immediately call our towing company (we have them on speed dial), who are only too happy to be there within fifteen minutes to make a little extra money.

Our sovereign citizen is approaching the checkout, sees her car being towed, and runs out the door cussing and screaming. I am overseeing the car being towed, so I witness this.

Customer: *Shouting at the tow truck driver* “Give me back my car! You have no right to take it!”

Me: “Ma’am, I warned you that you couldn’t park here. You refused to move your vehicle, so I had no choice.”

Customer: “You b****! I am a sovereign—”

Me: “—citizen, yes, you said. That means nothing, I’m afraid. Here is the card for the towing company. I believe they can release your car for $200 if you claim it on the same day.”

Customer: “I’m going to call the police!”

Me: “I thought you didn’t believe in the police?”

Customer: “I’m going to… I’m… Urgh!”

She screamed and started kicking the tow truck. Thankfully, she started doing this in front of our store cameras, the footage from which came in very handy when we actually DID call the police due to her escalating unruliness. 

I haven’t seen her since, but I hope she found a way to move to her sovereign nation and leave the rest of us alone?

I am working the customer service desk, and a concerned-looking customer approaches me.

Customer: “I think there might be some Taliban in the store!”

Me: *Hoping I had misheard* “I’m sorry, some what in the store?”

Customer: “Taliban! Terrorists!”

Nope. Sadly, I did not mishear. I sigh internally.

Me: “And what makes you think that, sir?”

Customer: “I saw some people come in, and one of them had that towel thing on their head! Look, there he is now!”

He points, and I sigh outwardly this time.

Me: “Sir, that’s a Sikh.”

Customer: “Seeking what?”

Me: “Probably groceries?”

Customer: “What?”

Me: “That’s not a terrorist, sir. That’s just someone who wears a turban as part of their religion, and he’s going about his day just like you are.”

Customer: “So, you’re not going to keep an eye on him?”

I try not to get involved in politics, but I can’t help but notice that this guy has a Confederate flag tattoo on his forearm. I’d best try not to argue back.

Me: “Thank you for bringing this to our attention, sir. Please go about your shopping and leave this with us.”

Customer: “You’d better do something about it!”

He finally leaves, and I feel like I should alert my manager as my years of experience in retail are giving me a feeling that this might not be over.

Lo and behold, less than half an hour later, my manager is called over due to an “altercation” at the self-checkout. I glance over, and I can see Mr. Confederate verbally abusing our Sikh customer.

My manager and the cashier later relayed to me how the conversation went down.

Manager: “Sir, I have told you twice to stop bothering our customers. Please leave the store.”

Customer: “But look at him! If he didn’t want to be bothered, he shouldn’t dress so suspicious and un-American!”

Manager: “Sir, are you saying I should kick out customers if they look suspicious enough to the point where they could be a threat to America?”

Customer: “Yes!”

Manager: “I’m glad we agree! I would like you to leave based on your presenting a flag that was recently associated with an attempted take-down of our government.”

Customer: “You can’t do that! I’m a real American! I was born here!”

Sikh Customer: “I was born in Chicago, a**hole!”

Manager: “Get out, sir.”

I was told the customer finally did leave, cursing the whole way. My manager apologized to the Sikh customer, but he actually thanked the manager, saying it was rare for someone to stand up for him and that he’d earned a loyal customer that day!

All of the women in my family are short. At barely 5’2″, I’m the tallest one. My brothers were much taller, the same height as my dad, about six feet tall. Our mom blamed her mother for our shortness. Grandma was 4’10”. We have a family story about her.

Grandma turned twenty-one the year the women got the vote. That summer, she visited her cousins. There were seven kids in that family.

They were all out in the yard when a political representative drove up. He started yakking about his candidate and handed out brochures. He kept talking and giving his spiel. Then, one cousin started laughing, and then another, and soon, everybody was laughing.

Representative: “What’s so funny?”

A cousin piped up:

Cousin: “You gave all of us a brochure except for [Grandma], and she’s the only one old enough to vote!”

In the golden age of CDs, I get a call from a customer asking when she can order a new album from a famous Canadian singer.

Me: “Yes, ma’am, I can order that for you on Friday, when it comes out.”

Caller: “But the poster said it comes out on Wednesday!”

Me: “Yes, that’s the Canadian release date. They get it a few days ahead of us.”

Caller: “But America should get it first! Not Europe with all those socialists!”

Me: “Canada isn’t in Europe.”

Caller: “I heard Canada is socialist, so it’s in Europe!”

Me: “Canada is in North America, ma’am.”

Caller: “Canada is not in America! I know you don’t need brains to work in a store, but Jesus Christ, the public schooling system has failed you, boy!”