(In an effort to make people consider reusing bags, the United Kingdom requires all retailers, by law, to charge customers at least five pence per plastic bag used to carry home one’s shopping. Two customers approach my coworker at the cash register.)

Customer #1: “Just this, please.” *drops very large, very heavy book on counter*

Coworker: “All right, your total today is [price]. Would you like a large plastic carrier bag for five pence?”

Customer #1: “Yes, of course—”

Customer #2: *interrupting* “No, you will not! You shouldn’t stand for this! You are a paying customer, and being charged for a bag is ridiculous!”

Coworker: “I’m sorry, ma’am, but, as you may know, the charge is mandated by the government. Giving away free bags is not just against store policy; it is illegal.”

Customer #2: “The law is stupid! There is no reason to pay for a bag!” *turns to friend* “Don’t buy one! That’s what they want.”

Customer #1: “Yes, you’re right.” *to coworker* “I don’t want one. I won’t pay for it.”

Coworker: “That’s fine. Without a bag, your total for the book is still [price].”

Customer #1: *suddenly hostile* “And how am I supposed to carry it?! With my hands?!”

Coworker: *dumbfounded* “Well, you said you didn’t want a bag…”

Customer #1: “Now I don’t want this, either! How dare you, making me hold it?! I won’t carry it!” *grabs smug-looking friend and storms away, leaving book on counter*

Coworker: *speechless*

Me: “I want to know where she intended to put the bag if she wasn’t going to use her hands.”

(We have a staff vacancy advertised in the window. Two people in their early 20s come in: a guy in a torn T-shirt with the word “BROKE” in huge lettering, and a girl. The girl comes up to the counter.)

Girl: “Hi, can you tell me what the hours are like for the job vacancy, please?”

Me: “Sure. It’s a 30-hour contract, but there’s usually extra overtime available. Shifts vary from week to week, but we do need you to be available to work weekends. Do you want to leave a CV?”

Girl: “Oh, it’s actually not for me; it’s him that’s looking.” *to guy* “Babe, did you bring any CVs?”

(The guy has been on his mobile the entire time, walking around the shop, prodding things on the shelves. He doesn’t even acknowledge us.)

Guy: *on phone* “I properly f***ed up on that one, mate… Nah, he didn’t find it yet.”

Me: “Umm, okay, no problem. You can apply online if you go to our website.”

Girl: “That’s great. Is it just [Shop].com?”

Me: “That’s right; there’s a tab at the bottom that says, ‘careers.’”

(The guy is still on phone, even louder now. Other customers are staring at him.)

Guy: “You know what, bruv? You go ahead and smoke it. Might as well get it smoked, innit?”

(He holds the phone to his shoulder to mute it, turns to the girl for the first time since they came in.)

Guy: “We done, girls?”

(The girl gave me a look that says she knew how awful he was, and they left. But not before he clicked his tongue and winked at me. I rather wish he HAD left a CV, so I could have given head office a name to avoid!)

(I work at a popular clothing store in London. We don’t have customer bathrooms, but occasionally if we have a pregnant customer or someone with a child we will take them to the staff bathroom. This is a busy afternoon during the Christmas period, and a bunch of things have already gone wrong today. We are stressed. I notice a lady wandering around with a few items, and her little boy holding her hand.)

Boy: “Mummmmm, I have to gooooo!”

Customer: “In a minute. You just have to hold it.”

Boy: “Mummmmmmm!”

Me: “Hi there. Just so you know, I can take you back to use our staff bathroom; it’s not a problem.”

Customer: “Oh, no, thank you. It’s fine; he’s just bored!” *to boy* “We’ll go soon, I promise, and then we can go to [Nearby Toy Store]!”

(She wanders upstairs to the fitting rooms, and I don’t think any more about it, until a colleague’s voice comes over the walkie about ten minutes later.)

Colleague: “Um… I need a manager in the fitting rooms?”

Manager: “I’m in the office at the minute; is it something I can help with over walkie?”

Colleague: “You might want to come up here. I have a cup of urine.”

(As it turned out, the customer had let her little boy pee into a plastic cup, and she hid it behind the mirror in her fitting room.)

(There is a notice up in the back room for people to apply to a manager position. I am currently an associate, but I have been working at the company for a year while most other employees are brand new. I don’t want to become a manager, though, and the deadline passes with only new people applying. Two days past the deadline, the current manager pulls me aside.)

Manager: “Hey, [My Name], why didn’t you apply?”

Me: “Oh, I’m taking summer school and I’m worried about not being able to balance the two well.”

(She pulls me out for these talks for the next two days until she eventually convinces me I can do it. I submit my application, and two weeks later I get a phone call.)

Manager: “Hey, [My Name], we didn’t go with you for the manager position, but you can reapply in July.”

Me: “Oh, okay… Can I ask why? I mean, you asked me personally for two days to apply, so…”

Manager: “Well, we were worried you’d be so focused on school that you wouldn’t be able to give it your all at the store.”

Me: “Sure, that makes sense, but… I mean… when you asked me to apply, I told you I had summer school, yet you still asked me to apply.”

Manager: “Yeah, I guess I did… Oh, well, sorry about that.”

(I quit two months later because the new manager they hired who “had more time to focus on the store” ended up being a huge screw-up.)

(It is 2015. None of our upholstered furniture pieces have a factory warranty on the fabric or the stuffing for more than one year. I take a phone call in customer service.)

Customer: “Yes, I bought a sofa set from you people, and the cushions are starting to compress.”

Me: “Okay, I’ll just need your phone number to look up your account.”

(I pull up her info and flip through all her bills only to find a sofa set purchased in 2007, which we haven’t carried since 2009.)

Me: “Is this the set you purchased in 2007?”

Customer: “Yes. They actually started doing this about four years ago. My friend said I should call you about it.”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid your warranty expired in 2008.”

Customer: “Well, if I don’t get service on this, I guess I won’t be shopping through you ever again.”

(Yes. That absolutely makes sense. About as much sense as me calling Ford and demanding service cause my 1979 Lincoln leaks oil.)