My wife is the assistant front end department manager for a grocery chain. She doesn’t drive, and her store is less than two miles from our home in a rural community. Everyone in town knows her and loves her; she’s a complete sweetheart to everyone she meets. By extension, I am well-known in the store by the employees and am genuine friends with several of them. As a result, it is common to see me talking to the associates on a regular basis. Their uniforms are usually jeans or khakis with a white shirt that has the company logo. Managers wear a green or black polo embroidered with the logo.

I work from home as an IT administrator. My usual attire is usually very similar; I like to wear colored cargo pants and either a T-shirt or collared button-down shirt, mostly blue or black. I am often mistaken for store management due to my frequency in the store, talking to associates, the way I dress, and my knack for customer service. I normally just bring the person to the nearest actual manager and apologize for the mixup.

One day, however, there came a cretin creepin’ — a glibly galivanting sort. That day, I was wearing green cargo pants and a blue T-shirt. There really wasn’t a good excuse that day, but the question was nevertheless posed by the man on the mobility scooter.

Man: “Can you tell me where [item] is?”

Obviously, I could. I knew this store really well at that point, as I love to cook and I knew where to find all the best stuff. However, I politely informed him that the grocery manager was only one aisle over, stocking the freezer.

Then came the very odd interaction that made that day stand out. The man accused me of lying to him… and then proceeded to ask me to buy his groceries for him.

Now, I’m sure you, my dear reader, are at this very moment forming an assumption that I have left a detail, some morsel out somewhere. I assure you I have not. His exact statement, to the very best of my fresh memory, was:

Man: “I don’t think that’s true. I know you work here. And if you work here, you have to help me. I can’t afford my groceries, and I was hoping you could buy them for me.”

The very thought sent me reeling around. That’s when I laid eyes on him. I knew him. Well, I knew him in the same way he knew me; I’d seen him around the store. Specifically, I’d seen him in the pictures my wife took of him… to get him banned. This man was infamous in the community for faking injuries, disabilities, illnesses — the works. He refuses to work, instead asking anyone and everyone to buy things for him. He was kicked out of the pizzeria across the lot for it. He’s been banned from two different pharmacies over it.

I looked in his basket. It was full of junk — miscellaneous items of dubious quality. I curled up my lip and narrowed my eyes at him.

Me: “So, you went and filled your cart with [stuff] you can’t afford to harp on anyone in a twenty-yard radius with a sob story?”

He got offended, and with some back-and-forth, he suddenly took it upon himself to take my advice. He miraculously stood up and off his mobility scooter and walked as pretty as you please over to the next aisle, raising the grocery manager.

Some yelling and profanity later, the manager stepped around the corner, took one look at me, and sighed deeply. Upon being told I didn’t work there, the man departed rather swiftly, leaving the clearly crammed-full mobility scooter there in the middle of the aisle. Interesting that embarrassment miraculously healed his ability to walk.

I’ve just been hired as a translator for this company. We agreed on 35,000 baht per month (Thai baht currency). Today is my payday, and they pay me 4,000 baht.

Me: “Why is my pay so low?”

Office Manager: “Because you’re on probation.”

Me: “That’s not stated in the contract, and you did not tell me any of this when hiring me. So, on my probation period, I only get 300 baht (10 USD) a day for my eight hours of work?”

I double-checked the contract, and it also didn’t say anything about me deleting all the work I had done for them: translated contracts, loans, etc.

I deleted every f****** file I’d translated, some due for the government and for viewing the next day or the day after. I deleted them all, I formatted the computer — they didn’t have cloud storage, so nothing was saved online — and I f***ed off.

They called me and asked me to come back to the office the next day so they could “explain” the reason they only gave me 300 a day, and they said they’d like their files back, pretty please.

I didn’t go.

A customer comes through with a basket full of groceries. We chat as I scan and bag them. We get to the end, and it comes to $32.40.

Me: “That’ll be $32.40. Cash or card?”

Customer: “I’m going to give you $50.00.”

Me: “Okay.” *Holds out my hand*

Customer: “Can I have my change?”

Me: “As soon as you pay me, you can.”

Customer: “No, I’ve been short-changed too many times. I need my change before I give you any cash.”

Me: “I need you to give me the cash before I can open the till to get your change.”

At this point, I still have not actually seen the $50.00.

Customer: “You don’t even know how much change I need, do you?”

The customer grabs the bag of groceries off the counter. I suspect where this is going, and I open the intercom to the office.

Me: “When you give me $50.00, then you will receive $17.60 in change.”

Customer: “If you know how much it is, you can give me the change first.”

My boss always shows up quickly when money is involved.

Boss: “I’m sorry, you need to pay first.”

Customer: “Fine, I’ll just put it on my card.”

Me: “…”

Related:
Criminal Or Stupid? We May Never Know.

I studied history in Germany. While there, an African exchange student enrolled, as well. He had a very thick accent and had quite a lot of trouble putting his thoughts to paper. So, when an assignment was due, he asked the elderly professor if he could write the assignment in English, where he had way more ease expressing himself.

The elderly professor didn’t want to admit that his English was rather bad, so instead, he referenced the university guidelines that stipulated that (except for language studies) all assignments were to be written in either German or Latin.

Little did the professor know that the African exchange student had, in fact, been schooled in a Jesuit monastery, so he did turn in the assignment in perfect Latin. Since the professor had specialized in Modern History, he needed the help of a Latin professor to grade the assignment.

The university guidelines were amended a year later: assignments in Latin are now only acceptable for those studying Latin.

I’m scheduled to work at a restaurant on Thanksgiving. I get there at four and it’s absolute chaos. Every table is full and there are people lining up out the door. Okay, cool, maybe I’ll make some good money. I actually do until about an hour before close.

At 8:00 pm, our manager tells us the kitchen is closed and to not seat anyone else. By this time, we are all more than willing because we are tired and dying for a drink and a bathroom break.

Five minutes later, a woman comes in.

Woman: “I have a party of five.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but the kitchen is closed and we’re just doing our closing duties before we lock the doors.”

You’d think I just spit on her grandmother. This woman comes unglued and starts screaming in my face.

Woman: “Do you know who I am?! I’ll have your job by the end of the night!”

Now, maybe it’s because I am tired, or maybe my patience is up after working fourteen hours between two jobs on Thanksgiving, but as calmly as possible, I reply:

Me: “Yeah, I know who you are. You’re the woman who’s going to get the f*** out of my store before I throw you out myself.”

She stormed off, yelling about how she knew the owner and how I was going to get fired.

Well, I still haven’t heard from corporate or my general manager, so I guess I’ll have to wait and see.