(I work at a popular national home improvement store, and started out as a temporary cashier. This was a particularly busy Sunday afternoon and, as usual, we were short-staffed for cashiers. A customer comes up to me and asks me to page a lot loader to help her load mulch. I do and the lot loader calls me on the register phone and tells me that he’ll help the customer when he’s done loading another customer. Later, the customer comes back with her mulch inside a large wheelbarrow as well as other items inside of it.)

Me: “Got everything you need?”

Customer: “Yes, but I’m not happy. The loader never showed up to help me. I had to use this because there’s no flat carts left!”

Me: “Well, ma’am, there are carts under the annuals and perennials tables—”

Customer: “There weren’t any when I needed them!”

Me: “Well, I apologize for the inconvenience, ma’am. I’ll call the lot loader again and get him to help load the wheelbarrow and the rest of your purchase.”

Customer: *annoyed* “Didn’t you hear me? There weren’t any flat carts left. I don’t want this. I’m not paying for it.”

Me: “All right, then. I’ll grab a flat cart and I’ll just put your items on there and—”

Customer: “Why? It’s already in here. Just ring me up.”

Me: “Ma’am, if you’re not going to buy the wheelbarrow, you can’t take it out of the store. That’s why I offered to get a flat cart to—”

Customer: *throws her hands up* “Just ring me up! I’ll bring the d*** wheelbarrow back.”

(The customer continues to ramble as I ring her up. I call an associate, but tells me he’s busy with another customer. I explained my concern over the fact that the customer could steal a $200 wheelbarrow. Since the customer was urgent to leave and another cashier had come to relieve me for a break. I told the customer I would load her purchase for her. She led me to her mini-van and opened the back door. She had bought an iron rod used for hanging plants which sat on top of the pile of mulch. I placed it at the far side of the wheelbarrow so that I could load her mulch. Just as I load the first bag—with my back to the wheelbarrow—I hear a loud clang.)

Customer: “Ow!” *holds her right ankle*

Me: “Are you okay? What happened?”

Customer: “The iron rod fell on me. I’m sorry. I have a low tolerance for pain. That really hurt.” *heavy tears begin to well up in her eyes*

(I pick up the iron rod and scratch my head, perplexed at how it could’ve fallen when I put it out of the way. At this point, my coworker comes and finishes loading the customer’s purchase and lets her fill out an incident report. I continue working, but the assistant manager calls me into his office. Note: this manager is the asset protection manager.)

Manager: “Hey, do you mind filling out the incident form?”

Me: “Sure. Is the customer okay? She was crying pretty bad.”

Manager: “She has a small bruise on her ankle, but she’s claiming that you dropped it on her.”

Me: *staring, stunned* “Are you serious? After going to the whole trouble of helping her load her purchase? I didn’t want her to steal that wheelbarrow!”

Manager: “Oh, I know. I checked the cameras that survey the parking lot. She dropped it on herself.”

Me: “…seriously?”

Manager: “Hey, you have no idea how far some people will go.”

(Now that customer goes out of her way to let me ring her up. I’ve since been promoted to a higher ranking position, but I steer clear of her to make sure she can’t drop anything else on herself and blame me again.)

(We wear headsets at my work place to hear each other across the store. I tend to talk to myself while I put away clothes or tidy up, i.e. ‘Where do you go? How did you get on the floor?’ etc. This all happens over our headsets.)

Manager: “So we just got a customer complaint that one of the girls putting away clothes was talking to herself.”

Coworker: “Seriously?”

Manager: “Seriously. This is not a joke.”

Me: “So, that was me.”

Coworker: “Great job, [My Name]. Way to scare the customers!”

(Now every time I talk to myself at work, we joke that I should be careful or else someone will complain.)

Coworker: “We had another shoplifter yesterday. Another one of our regular customers that we always look after.”

Me: “Really? Who?”

Coworker: “This guy who brings a bike in.”

Me: “Oh, I saw him as I was leaving yesterday. Had a funny feeling about him.”

Coworker: “Yes. He shopped for about half an hour while I stayed at the counter and kept an eye on his bike. He then came up to ask if we had soap making kits. I told him no but when he bent down to pick up the bag he left by his bike I saw a package with a pair of scissors in it, stuffed down his pants.”

Me: “Down his pants?”

Coworker: “Yes, the back of his pants. I told him he needed to pay for them so he pulled them out and threw them on the counter. But when he turned I noticed another item down his pants so I asked for that as well and he pulled that out. Then I noticed he had something in his pocket so I asked him what that was. He claimed it was something of his. I told him to show me and he pulled out more of our stock and threw it on the counter.”

Me: “I knew I had a strange feeling about him.”

Coworker: “Yes, and I was doing him a favour by watching his bike. I have no idea what else he bought. I watched him leave and saw him go in the fishing shop, so I raced up to warn them. They warned other shops as well. Each made sure he was followed in the store.”

Me: “Hopefully he won’t come back.”

Coworker: “Me, too, but the weirdest part was not long after there was a phone call. It was his voice asking if we had soap making kits.”

Me: “Thank you, Ma’am. Now I need your address so we can mail your order out to you.”

Caller: “I live at [Street, City, State, USA].”

Me: “OK, ma’am, I have all that. May I have your ZIP code, please?”

Caller: “My what?”

Me: “Your ZIP code. It’s part of your address. After your address.”

Caller: “After my address? No, I don’t have one.”

Me: “Everyone has a ZIP code. It’s the number that follows your address. If you live in the USA, you have a ZIP code. All addresses have one.”

Caller: “And I’m telling you I never heard of such a thing, I’ve lived in this house for 15 years and there’s no ZIP code here.”

Me: “You live in [City], right?”

Caller “Yes. In [City] in [State].”

Me: “Then your ZIP code is a five digit number and would probably begin with [number].”

Caller: “You’re out of your mind! I am looking out my window RIGHT NOW at my house number, on the front porch and there is NO ZIP CODE!”

(I work at a horse supply/tack store. We don’t sell any sort of animal.)

Me: “Hello. How can I help you?”

Customer: “Hi. Do you sell pigeons?”

Me: “What’s a pigeon?”

Customer: “You don’t know what a pigeon is?”

Me: “Well, like the bird, pigeon?”

Customer: “Yes.”

Me: “No, we don’t sell birds.”

Customer: “What type of store is this that you don’t sell birds?”

Me: “Uhm, a horse supply store.”

Customer: “Oh, the yellow pages didn’t say anything about that!”