(I work at a popular home-improvement store. At two minutes to closing time a man comes dashing through the door. This happens regularly, so I think nothing of it.)

Me: *joking* “Better run!”

Customer: *with a huge grin on his face* “Yeah, I crashed my bike getting here!”

(As he runs past me, I see that he’s bleeding in several places on his side and arm, but I have no time to say anything before he’s off down an aisle. A couple minutes later, he comes back with a large box of nails cradled in the crook of his arm.)

Me: “Woah, hold on. Are you okay? Let me get you some bandages—”

Customer: *still grinning* “Nah, I’m fine. I think I dislocated my shoulder, though. Does it look bad?”

(I look, and sure enough, the joint is popped out of its socket. He heads over to the checkout counter, grinning the whole time.)

Me: “It looks terrible! Oh, my god. You need medical attention. Do you want me to call you an ambulance?”

Customer: “Nope, don’t call an ambulance.”

Me: “Are you sure? That looks like it really hurts!”

Customer: *cheerfully* “It really hurts!”

Me: “You’re bleeding and your shoulder is dislocated! You need to go to a doctor or something at least!”

Customer: “Yeah, or something. See ya!”

(He grabbed his stuff and dashed out the door. It was the end of my shift, so my supervisor made me go clock out in spite of my begging her to let me stay to make sure he was all right. When I got back, he was gone. I can only hope the crazy dude got himself to a hospital.)

(I have just gotten a job at the local mall. As it’s a small town, many of my friends also work in the mall at other stores, and sometimes they come by to visit me while I’m working.)

Friend #1: “I’d like to make this purchase.”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir. You’re not allowed to shop here.”

Friend #1: “Well, I never!”

Friend #2: “Am I allowed to shop here?”

Me: “No, [Friend #2], you are not. All of you get out right now before I call security.”

(I look up and notice my manager staring at me in horror and quickly explain the situation. Fortunately, she takes it in good humor, although my friends are more careful about their joking in the future!)

(My manager is at the door controls to close the roller door into our store.)

Manager: “[My Name], I need you to call out the time as soon as it hits 5:30.”

Me: “Okay, it’s 5:30.”

(Manager shuts the door and comes over to me.)

Manager: “You are my witness that the door was closed right on 5:30.”

Me:  “Yes, according to the company computer, but why? You don’t normally do this.”

Manager: “I got an official write-up for closing early after a customer complained to head office. Apparently I closed the door 30 seconds too early.”

(I am working closing shift. The last staff member has left and I am on my own to count the day’s takings. Our store closes at 7 pm on Thursdays, due to it being in a dark, remote area. A man knocks on the door. It’s dark outside.)

Me: “Sorry, we are closed.”

Customer: “But I really need to get something. Let me in.”

Me: “No, I can’t let you in. We are closed.”

Customer: “Just let me in. I’ll be quick.”

Me: “NO. We are closed. The registers are closed down.”

Customer: “Can’t I just pass the money under the door and you get me [item]?”

Me: *knowing I would have to open door to pass the item out* “No, sorry, can’t do that. Our stores in [Location #1] and [Location #2] will be open until 9pm. You need to go there.”

Customer: “But they are too far!”

Me: “NO. I CAN’T HELP YOU!”

(I felt shaken as I finished the count and put the money into the safe. I didn’t have a good feeling about this man, so after turning the lights off I waited 10 minutes out of sight in the hope that he thought I’d left by another door, even though my car – the only one in the parking lot – was right outside the door he was knocking on.)

(We’ve had a customer in store for well over two hours. She’s prevented us from finishing jobs because she’s monopolised our time. She’s wanting to buy fabric for curtains for a holiday home.)

Coworker: “Just letting you know that we are actually closed now. Have you decided what you want yet?”

Customer: “Yes, I’ll take this fabric, I need 20 metres.”

Coworker: “Are you sure it’s the one you want? There is no return on fabric. Maybe you should take a sample home to show your husband.”

Customer: “No, it’s fine. I’ll take it.”

(I am counting out my register while Coworker measures the fabric.)

Customer: “I bet you are just waiting to leave, right?”

Coworker: “Yes, we are, but because we’ve been with you for the last few hours we can’t. We have to finish these jobs before we can leave.”

Customer: “So you can be thankful to me for getting you overtime.”

Coworker: “We don’t get overtime. We get paid only until 5:30.”

(She finally leaves.)

Coworker: “I am so glad she’s gone. She was such a time waster and I have a bad feeling that she is going to try to return the fabric, because she made me choose it for her.”

(It’s after seven before we can finally leave. Sure enough a couple of days later she returns with the fabric because her husband doesn’t like it. My coworker refuses to do it but after insistence by the customer refers her to the store manager.)

Coworker: *to me* “If he returns it, I am going to be so pissed”.

(He did return it, because the customer told him that she was rushed into the choice by us.)