I’m scanning a customer’s groceries. It’s a sale weekend, and some items are coming in at weird, random percentages cheaper than the shelf price.

Customer: “Wait, stop! How much are those checking out at?!”

Me: “Uh, those are… they’re $6.67.”

Customer: “That’s awfully close to $6.66!”

Me: “Haha, I guess.”

Customer: “On the shelf, they were $7.67!”

Me: “Then I guess… It’s a good thing?!”

Customer: “How is it a good thing! It’s bringing me closer to The Devil! Change the price!”

Me: “Only a manager can do that, sir.”

Customer: “Then get one!”

I call my supervisor over, and the predicament is explained to him. I’m amazed he was able to keep a straight face.

Supervisor: “I’ll be happy to adjust them back to the shelf price for you, sir.”

He does so, and because the customer is buying five of the items, his total goes up by five dollars.

Customer: “Wait, stop! Why did it go up?”

Supervisor: “$6.67 to $7.67 is an increase of a dollar.”

Customer: *Squinting.* “Oh. Well… can you put it back?”

Supervisor: “And risk putting you into contact with The Devil? I wouldn’t dream of it, sir! Will that be cash or card?”

Customer: “…”

The customer pays and sullenly walks out. I’m not sure what price he was reading to get him so numerically confused, but I’m glad he survived his test of faith!

Related:
A Price For The Devil To Pay, Part 10
A Price For The Devil To Pay, Part 9
A Price For The Devil To Pay, Part 8
A Price For The Devil To Pay, Part 7
A Price For The Devil To Pay, Part 6

Caller: “Hello, yes, I’m expecting a check to be sent to me for my refund.”

After checking the account info:

Me: “Yes, I can see that the $7 check will arrive by Monday next week.”

Caller: “That’s cutting it awfully close to the apocalypse.”

Me: “The… apocalypse?”

Caller: *Nonchalant.* “Yes, the world ends on Tuesday, and I need to make sure my house is full of supplies. Not for me, mind you, I know I’m being raptured, but I’m pretty sure at least one of my kids isn’t going to make it, so I need to make sure they have enough Cheerios.”

Customer: “A table for six, please?”

Me: “Do you have a reservation?”

Customer: *Affronted.* “No?! This is a simple diner! Why would we need one?”

Me: “Well, it’s early Sunday afternoon, and we get the after-church rush around this time, so some people book ahead. We can squeeze you on a table at the back, but it’s close to the kitchen doors, so it will be—”

Customer: “—Are you discriminating against us because we came from the church?”

Me: “Sir, look inside the diner. You see those two hundred plus customers? They’re almost all from local churches. Does this look discriminatory to you?”

Customer: “So then how come they all got booths?”

Me: “They were all here before you, sir.”

Customer: “Well then, you’re discriminating against more devout Christians who stayed until the end of the sermon and didn’t sneak out the back to get a better table!”

Me: “Sir… do you want the table at the back or not?”

Customer: “We’ll take it, but we’re not happy about it!”

Next Sunday rolls around, and I see this same family pull up to the diner a good hour and a half earlier than the previous Sunday. This time, they easily get a booth.

Me: “Good to see you again, sir! Did the sermon run shorter today?”

Customer: *Shocked that I recognized him.* “Uh… yes.”

Customer’s Young Son: “Dad! Why did you sneak us out the back if the sermon was gonna finish early?”

Customer: *Goes red.*

When that boy ordered cherry pie à la mode, he got an extra scoop from me.

Related:
When They Wear Their Sunday Best Expect The Sunday Worst, Part 3
When They Wear Their Sunday Best Expect The Sunday Worst, Part 2
When They Wear Their Sunday Best Expect The Sunday Worst

I worked for several years as a civilian contractor on a naval base. Our particular building had an auditorium used for various conferences. One day, as the elevator doors closed, I heard many sets of hurrying feet and ‘Hold the elevator, please!’, so I stabbed the Open-Doors button.

Suddenly, the elevator filled with almost a dozen Army, Navy, and Air Force Padres (military chaplains), apparently attending a conference in the auditorium. Considering the assortment of friendly faces and diverse religious symbols, I was struck with the presence of mind to ask:

Me: “…Going up?”

I will forever cherish the joyful noise that followed. Padres are awesome.

I work retail in a grocery store. My state was a hotbed for white supremacists just a few decades ago, and the whole country is experiencing a resurgence, so when people display racist behavior, we try to come down hard and fast for everyone’s safety.

One morning, I’m working when I see a customer come through the door, wearing something that catches my eye. I love seeing customers’ weird outfits, but as soon as I turn to look, I freeze. The customer is wearing a white robe, exactly the kind of thing I saw photos of in history classes as a child, but those were paired with white hoods.

I speed towards him, mentally freaking out and hoping to prevent him from even SEEING any of my non-White coworkers, because if he’s wearing that robe in public AND showing his face, he has no fear and is probably dangerous, and I would never forgive myself if he hurt someone and I didn’t try to stop him. I stand in front of him so he can’t get further into the store and keep my voice down, so I don’t scare anyone nearby.

Me: *Panicked, but still in customer service mode.* “Sir, PLEASE tell me you are not wearing what I think you’re wearing.”

Customer: “What do you mean?”

Me: “PLEASE tell me you are NOT wearing a KKK robe!”

The customer goes from confused to alarmed in the space of half a second.

Customer: “Oh, no! No, no, no! I’m a friar! I work for the Church! These are just my clergy robes!”

Me: “…Oh! Oh, thank goodness. I saw the white robe and just about had a heart attack.”

I have never gone from calm to panicked back to calm so quickly. And yes, I did apologize to the friar before I went back to my station to stew in embarrassment. But please, dude, if you’re going to wear the robe in public, at least keep one or two of the other vestments so we know you’re not dangerous!