I work in a small store, and we have a regular customer who is a veteran. I can’t give him too much hate since he was shot in the head a long time ago and still has the scar to show it. This has led to him having, um… special privileges. Let’s just say that he can get more than a military discount from the local bakery. Don’t mistake this as me hating him for his condition. I respect him for his service, and he usually is kind. He just… has his moments. Today is one of those moments.

He comes into our small store and starts sweeping through, grabs about $300 worth of stuff, and hauls it up to our only till. Now, when I say $300, I mean $300-plus after the military discount and state taxes; it is honestly closer to $330.

Me: “Your total is [amount].”

He nods his head, mumbles something, and pulls out a thick wallet, full to the brim with credit cards — thicker than two thumbs of cards and nothing but. He doesn’t even look down and pulls out the frontmost card.

A few seconds later, my screen flashes: “DECLINED.” No problem; we can do the next card. What can possibly go wrong?

“DECLINED.”

“DECLINED.”

“DECLINED.”

“DECLINED.”

Me: “Perhaps we should do cash or a check?”

He shakes his head and motions that he doesn’t have either. On to the next card!

“DECLINED.”

“DECLINED.”

“APPROVED!” …for $20 only. Yep, it’s a gift card. On to the next card.

Three more cards decline.

“APPROVED!” …for $19.91. We have less than $300 to go.

Two more cards decline.

At this point, I’m getting a rare sight in this small store: a line. We have three people waiting. I’m on the only till, and I’m the only employee.

“DECLINED.”

[Veteran] is getting mad. I don’t blame him. We are now out of bank-approved cards, and we’re into “special funds” from “special clients” cards.

“DECLINED.”

“APPROVED!” …for $5.

Three more cards decline.

There are five people in line now, and the guy behind [Veteran] is giving me the look a hungry [Entitled Customer] gives when she knows there’s a weak retail worker with no manager nearby to feast upon. And more people are coming in.

“DECLINED.”

“DECLINED.”

Can you tell I’m in Hell yet? Several more cards decline.

Finally, the last card… guess what?

“APPROVED!” …for $25. Another gift card.

[Veteran] lets out a long sigh and reaches into his pocket, pulling out ANOTHER WALLET! It’s full of fifties — about three fingers thick! He pays the rest off, and all of the bills pass the UV and marker tests. I give him his change and his bags of stuff, and I am about to turn to the next customer when he says:

Veteran: “Auugh Uuu Ggoo Krrr Hsss?”

Me: *Thrown off* “I’m sorry, could you please repeat that?”

Veteran: “Auugh Uuu Ggoo Krrr Hsss?”

Yep, I didn’t mishear him. He wanted me to carry his bags out to his car — as the only retail worker in the store and with five or six people behind him. Thankfully, a nice guy from the line realized what [Veteran] wanted and volunteered as tribute. He carried out [Veteran]’s stuff as I rang up everyone else’s purchases.

Bless you, [Nice Guy]; he told me after coming back to buy his things that [Veteran]’s car was three blocks away. [Nice Guy], please know that if I could have made your purchases any cheaper, I would have, but I do hope that you accept the secret military discount I snuck into your purchase.

I want to elaborate again that I do not hate [Veteran] for who he is. He is a chill dude, but dang, some days he’s so frustrating!

Living in Japan, you will see that most of the convenience stores have either Vietnamese staff or foreign workers from Nepal, Bangladesh, Sri Lanka, India, Pakistan, etc. Service jobs are greatly understaffed there, so you will mostly see one Japanese worker and multiple foreign workers at the minimum-wage jobs.

I, an Indian, worked at a [Convenience Store] for three years part-time during university. In my third year there, I was made “leader of the night shift”, which meant running the whole store at night by myself. The night shift is very different from the day shift. Besides serving a large number of customers, you have to sort out the accounts, record and check the inventory, liaise with supply people, do deep cleaning of equipment, stock up, cook, etc.

Fast forward to a couple of years later. I am in the Japanese corporate world. I get an apartment in Azabujyuban, a posh, high-income district in Tokyo, famous for being populated by white ex-pats. It’s two in the morning, and I go to the nearby [Convenience Store].

It is a big store, and it’s full of irritated, drunk salarymen and rich brats. The only employee there (Japanese) is confused, panicking, and overworked. The supply truck guy is yelling. Salarymen are yelling. It’s mayhem.

The employee eyes me and yells:

Employee: “Hey, what took you so long?! Come and help me a bit.”

I almost lose my temper, but then I smile and think, “Let’s do this! Tomorrow’s Saturday, anyway.”

I first meet up with the annoyed supply guys. They have to bring their trucks to every store in Tokyo, so staying at one store for more than a couple of minutes will disrupt the whole schedule. I have the supply checked, dial in the records, get the Hanko from the usual place, stamp it, and finish the procedure.

Next, I call a taxi for some passed-out people and escort them to a safer place. Then, I take up a register, and in the next ten minutes, all the customers are served and the store is empty.

The employee gives a huge sigh of relief, closes his eyes, and gets on his knees. I quietly go to stock the ice cream supply in the cold cases. After a bit of a rest, my dude calls out:

Employee: “Thank you for the efficient help! By the way, you’re not wearing your [Convenience Store] jacket. Could you wear it, please? Otherwise, it would be super unprofessional.”

Me: “I don’t have a jacket. I don’t even work here.”

Employee: “What? Didn’t my manager send you as a replacement?”

Me: “Nope, I live in an apartment a block away and came here to shop. I used to work in a [Convenience Store] many years ago, so I’m familiar with the procedures.”

The employee was very, very embarrassed and said sorry and thank you in around twenty different phrases of polite Japanese.

Me: “Chill, man. I am gonna come here often so Yoroshiku ne.” (I am in your care.)

I felt good overall in the aftermath, and this reminded me that, as a senior guy in corporate headquarters, I must always be mindful of the mental and physical health of the people on the frontlines. They are the ones who represent the big company to the world and do the actual work.

I work multiple jobs, and in my free time from my main job, I work for a delivery service.

[Delivery Service] has a uniform for their drivers, but they don’t require us to wear them. I am wearing a rainbow-striped tank top, blue-jean shorts, and flip-flops.

I have just finished shopping for a customer at a chain retailer and have just processed the order. [Retailer] is nice enough to have a stand with lots of bags for [Delivery Service] drivers to bag their ordered groceries. In this particular [Retailer], it is a closed register lane.

As I’m bagging my order, in a lane with a sign on the conveyor belt that says, “Closed,” a guy starts to unload his cart onto the unmoving belt. I look at him with confusion, and he gives me the same look. I’m wondering why he placed his stuff on a clearly closed belt, and he’s wondering why I’m not scanning his stuff.

I mean, I get it. I clearly look like a [Retailer] employee what with my red shirt (rainbow striped), nice long brown pants (blue-jean shorts), and closed-toe work shoes (flip-flops).

Customer: “Aren’t you gonna scan my stuff?”

Me: *Confused* “Dude, this register is closed, and I don’t work here.”

I could see the gears turning in his head as he finally noticed the “closed” sign and my clearly not-[Retailer] outfit. He said nothing as he reloaded his cart and went to an actually open register.

I chuckled as I left the store. I get it. On autopilot, you see a person’s presence behind a register and assume that you can go there without actually looking at the details of your surroundings. It was still pretty funny.

Related:
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 44
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 43
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 42
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 41
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 40

I work at a restaurant that closes from 3:00 to 5:00 pm for a break and to get ready for dinner. A customer comes up at 3:05; we stop seating at 2:45.

Customer: “Hi, we were just wondering if we could get something!”

Coworker: “I’m sorry, we actually closed at 3:00.”

Customer: “Yeah, I see that.”

I’m thinking, “Okay, so why are we having this conversation?”

Me: “We do reopen at 5:00 for dinner.”

Customer: “Yeah, we’ll be gone by then.”

Me: “Sorry about that!”

Customer: “It’s okay, we understand. You don’t want our business!”

I’m already annoyed at this point. I’ve been working our stand at a local farmer’s market since 8:30, and I am trying to help get us through the end of the lunch shift so I can take a break before working dinner. I turn to the customer, put a huge fake smile on my face, and raise my voice.

Me: “It’s really not that. It’s just that we’re closed! Have a great day!”

Customer: “It’s okay. You just haven’t figured out how to stay open those extra two hours!”

I just stared at my coworker, who then shut the door. I’m so done with people who act like this, and I don’t understand why they do. What does it get you? Do they think that if they treat us like s***, we’ll suddenly hop to and obey their every command? It’s tourists like these that make people have such a bad attitude toward all of them.

Like many Canadians, my friend worked in a famous coffee chain named after a hockey player. These restaurants can get very busy during the peak times of the day, so patience can run a tad thin in the workers.

[Friend] lived in a small town with a high retiree population, so this coffee house gave a senior’s discount, and the seniors knew about it. It was common for them to request their discount along with their order to ensure they got it.

One day, a senior woman came in during the afternoon rush, and [Friend] greeted her as he normally did.

Friend: “How may I help you?”

Old Lady: “I want a small coffee and my senior’s discount.”

[Friend] began pouring the coffee into the cup.

Friend: “Okay, what would you like in your coffee?”

Old Lady: “I want my senior’s discount.”

Friend: “Yes, ma’am. I will give you your discount. How do you take your coffee?”

Old Lady: *Getting more demanding* “I want my senior’s discount!”

Friend: *Getting exasperated* “Ma’am, I understand. I will give you your discount, but I first need to make your coffee. What do you want in your coffee?”

Old Lady: “MY SENIOR’S DISCOUNT!”

My friend had reached his end. The senior’s discount on a small coffee worked out to be about $0.10, so he reached into the cash till, picked out a shiny new dime, dropped it into the coffee, put the lid on, handed it to the old lady, and said

Friend: “Okay, ma’am. One small coffee with the senior’s discount.”

He immediately went for a break and never came back.

As far as [Friend] could tell, the lady didn’t have any kind of mental issue; she had the full capacity of all of her functions and was just being demanding due to entitlement.