I worked in a store during a big console launch. Our store had only gotten enough to fulfill preorders, so they were all locked in the office, bagged, with the customer’s details taped to them so that the customers’ copies of the paperwork could be matched up to their orders. All staff attended a training where this was made very clear, and they were reminded about it afterward.

A customer asked for a console.

Cashier: “I’ll go grab you one.”

I stopped them and turned to the customer.

Me: “Can I see your preorder slip?”

Customer: “Oh, I didn’t preorder it.”

Cashier: “It’s fine; we’ve got plenty.”

Me: “No, we don’t.”

Cashier: “Yeah, there’s loads in the office. I’ve already sold six!”

They’d been asking other managers for access to the office. Those managers were assuming no one could be that stupid. They assumed wrong; the cashier was tearing the paperwork off and binning it.

I work in a [Sandwich Chain] inside of a [Big Box Store]. One of my friends gives me a [Big Box Store] lanyard so I can stick my keys and stuff on it. I get off work one night and decide to do some shopping.

A customer proceeds to whistle at me like a dog. She does this for a minute or two before she decides to walk over to where I am.

She starts screaming at the top of her lungs at me for not asking if she needed help.

After letting her rant herself out:

Me: “Ma’am, I don’t work at [Big Box Store].”

Screaming Woman: “But you have one of those necklaces the people that work here wear!”

Me: “Ma’am, I am also wearing a neon orange shirt with [Sandwich Chain] across the front — and the back — in huge letters.”

Screaming Woman: “That’s beside the point! You’re wearing a [Big Box Store] necklace, so that should be all I need!”

As I tried to process the nonsense level of that statement, she huffed and stormed off without another word.

I, and several friends, are in a [Big Box Store] far from home, some time ago. For the record, I’m black, as are my friends.

I am looking at cookware, totally oblivious to most of the world around me. Out of nowhere, an old white lady begins to screech at me, demanding that I get a box down from a high shelf. 

Me: *Clearly and precisely* “Ma’am, I don’t work here.”

I go back to my shopping.

The woman launches herself down the aisle at me, screaming at the top of her lungs, saying things about how I’d better do what she says or she’ll have me fired. Now I’m annoyed, but I’m also curious to see what she’ll do next.

She reaches me, raises her little handbag as if to strike with it, and then stands there like that, as though I’m supposed to cower. I’m halfway between disgusted and wanting to pee myself with laughter. I cross my arms and look at her, only a little “bring it on” in my eyes. I mean, she’s barely up to my chin.

A manager comes running, apparently having heard the screeching. 

Old Lady: “The [n-word] girl didn’t come when I called. What are you going to do about it?”

The manager, apparently not too bright a bulb himself, immediately begins to dress me down, yammering about how the customer is always right and how dare I. Eventually, he winds down.

I stick out my hand for the manager to shake.

Me: “Hi. We’ve never met. My name is [My Name]. We’ve never met because I don’t work here!“

I then hand him, one at a time, all the things in my hands, which I intended to purchase, so he’s standing there, mouth hanging open, with this awkward armful of product.

Me: *To the manager, very calmly* “You’re an idiot.” *To the old lady, smiling* “Piss off, you decrepit old hag.”

By this point, we’ve drawn a bit of a crowd, including my friends who were several aisles away when it all began.

Me: *To my friends* “We will not be purchasing anything here, as apparently, [n-words] aren’t particularly valued, as customers or employees.”

Everyone in my friend group promptly abandoned everything they’d been carrying, and we all walked out the door empty-handed. I don’t know if the manager tried to call after us, as I had a ringing in my ears that blocked out anything else but my own anger.

We never returned to that location since it was far from our homes, but we did make a phone call about what had happened to us. The store practically fell all over themselves apologizing and promising to take care of it.

Related:
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 43
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 42
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 41
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 40
I Don’t Work Here, Does Not Work Here, Part 39

We have an old regular who likes to stay and chat a bit with the cashiers. When we’re quiet, we are happy to chat, but during busy times, she knows to chat only during the transaction so as not to hold anyone up. Basically, she’s lovely.

I’m ringing her up, and there is another old fellow in line behind her, so we’re just chatting while I’m ringing her up.

Old Lady Customer: “So, I finally finished making those Christmas stockings for everyone that’s coming for the holidays.”

Me: “That’s amazing; you made them so quickly!”

Suddenly, the older gentleman customer grumbles loudly.

Old Man Customer: “We’d all be going more quickly if you did your job and stopped yammering on at work!”

Without skipping a beat, the old regular barks back:

Old Lady Customer: “Oh, calm the f*** down, you s***-lozenge. We’re just talking about what it’s like to have people over for the holidays, but I’m sure you know nothing about that, do you?”

The old fellow just stares angrily for a second before moving over to another checkout. The old lady turns back to me as I ring out her last item.

Old Lady Customer: “You hear me, lassie, customer service be d***ed. You get an old fart like that, you tell ’em to bite yer bawsack and be done with it.”

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I work in a small company that isn’t a chain store, fielding calls.

Me: “[Company #1].”

Caller: “[Company #2] transferred me here; they said you would have all of my information.”

I’m confused, because our store doesn’t have the ability to transfer calls, and [Company #2] is a completely different business, so there is no way for us to be on a network where they could be transferred.

Me: “I’m sorry, but that’s not the case. [Company #2] and [Company #1] are not affiliated. Could I have your name?”

Caller: “You should have it! It’s in the system.”

Me: “Well, what are you calling about?”

The caller mentions a random issue we don’t handle: think calling a hardware store for a return on a prom dress kind of difference.

Me: “I think you have the wrong number, ma’am.”

Caller: “No, I don’t. I called [Company #2] and they told me to call here.”

So, first, she was transferred, now she was told to call here, and a completely different business said that we would automatically know everything? I get the feeling I’m on a prank call but do my best to keep professional.

Me: “I’m afraid we can’t handle that issue. This isn’t [Company #2]; this is [Company #1].”

Caller: “WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY SO, YOU B****?”

Me: “I did, twice; at the beginning of this call.”

Caller: “Liar!” *Clicks*

The majority of my employed life has firmly instilled the belief that people are nitwits and nobody listens to a thing you say if you’re on the other side of the counter.