Back in the late 90s, I worked Saturdays at a stationers/newsagent (convenience store). It was a typical day, most of the customers were nice, but there were a lot of them, and I’d been on my feet for quite a while. In the queue was a young man, maybe seventeen or eighteen, but certainly, within the range of asking for ID – you had to be over sixteen to buy cigarettes at the time.

Which I did. He didn’t have any, so I said I couldn’t serve him. He wasn’t happy, and shouted at me, then stormed off.

I assumed that was the end of it, and carried on with my work, serving customers, restocking the cigarette display, etc, when about half an hour later, he shows up again, cigarette in hand, and proceeds to blow smoke right in my face.

Customer: “See, I told you I was old enough.”

And with that he stormed off again, as I called after him:

Me: “It’s no smoking in the centre.”

Obviously, his having been served cigarettes elsewhere in no way proved his age. He just came across as incredibly immature and petty to come all the way back (the nearest other tobacco shop was outside of the shopping centre), just to blow smoke at a seventeen-year-old shop assistant.

Due to changing my availability, it has been my first time being scheduled on a Sunday. I am busy pushing a huge pallet of small kitchen appliances when an older lady comes to me.

Customer: “I feel sorry that you have to work on Sunday, a rest day as proclaimed by our Lord!”

I am still half-asleep — it’s around 9:00 am — but I ask her:

Me: “Why are you here, then?!”

Her eyes grew large as saucers, and then she walked away. I never heard anything from management but I am still waiting for a write-up!

I am having a rough day with my store’s new manager changing my availability — the opposite of what we talked about, so I am crying about it during my lunch break. I get back from lunch and this is the first customer I help.

Customer: “Having a rough day?”

Me: “Yeah.”

Customer: “I can tell. That’s unfortunate.”

I smile at him.

Me: “That will be $4.00.”

I ring the customer up and he pays. I am handing him his receipt.

Customer: “$4.00? The card says $2.99.”

I go to point out the tax on his receipt when I notice he donated $0.73 to kid-cents which basically just donates money to kids by rounding up to the nearest dollar.

Me: “Oh, you must have pushed the button—”

Customer: *Interrupting me* “I didn’t push a button.”

Me: “The only way for this to show up on your receipt is if you pushed the button—”

Customer: *Interrupts me again* “Where is your manager?”

Me: “I am—”

Customer: “I want corporate’s number.”

Me: “Sir, I can return—”

Customer: “Corporate’s number and your name.”

I give corporate’s number.

Customer: “And your name?”

I’m staring at him because he flipped a switch from being super nice to being aggressive and demanding.

Customer: “Don’t just stare at me.”

Me: “My name is on the back of the receipt.”

I show him where.

Customer: “Tell me your name!”

I tell him my name.

Customer: “Now was that so hard?”

I turned my body so he could only see the side of my face and I locked my register. My cashier was standing behind me witnessing all of this. I was physically shaking and holding back tears. I heard the customer leave, and as soon as the doors closed, I started sobbing. I excused myself to the office and cried there for fifteen minutes. This guy knew I was having a rough day and decided to make it worse.

CONTENT WARNING: Death

About ten years ago my grandfather passed away suddenly from a heart attack. I received the phone call as I got into my car to leave for work. I was completely blindsided by the news. In hindsight, I should’ve called out and not worked my shift, but being a teenager in a very poor family, I decided to tough it out to keep my younger siblings fed.

Less than an hour into my shift, a man came to the window to purchase gas. Our intercom wasn’t the best, so if the customer didn’t speak up, it made them difficult to understand. Without giving me the chance to even greet him, he threw a twenty-dollar bill in the tray and turned to walk away. As he turned away to walk to his truck, he said:

Customer: “Twenty dollars on pump [unintelligible].”

Not wanting to put his money on the wrong pump, I left the register and jogged out in the direction he walked to confirm which pump he was parked at. When I found him, he was already trying to pump his gas, and was becoming frustrated.

Customer: “Why isn’t this f****** thing working?”

Me: “Sorry, I didn’t hear which pump you were at when you paid, so I came out to see where you were parked.”

Customer: “Were you not paying attention? I told you I was on nine. Can you not f****** handle a minimum wage job that a monkey could do? Wake the f*** up!”

I was completely caught off guard by his hostility, and all I could think to do was apologize.

Me: “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause a problem for you. My grandpa just died, and I’m having a hard time processing it.”

Customer: “Grow up, man. People die every day. If you can’t handle someone dying, you might as well off yourself now, cause things aren’t going to get any easier for you. Now do your dumb f****** job and fix my f****** pump.”

I didn’t respond to his rant and just went back to the register.

While putting his money on the correct pump, I saw the man walking in circles, gesturing wildly, and talking on his phone. I couldn’t hear what was said, but after about thirty seconds the man stomped back to his truck and peeled out of the parking lot, completely forgetting about the money he left behind.

Rather than have an overage in my drawer, I sat the twenty-dollar bill to the side and hoped he wouldn’t return to look for it. About an hour from closing I decided to add the twenty to the pump of the next customer that I thought might really need it. It was risky, but after what had transpired earlier, I didn’t care.

About ten minutes to closing, a mother and several kids in a beat-up car pulled up to the pump closest to my window. Through the car’s side window, I could see that her and the kids were counting change, and I decided that they would be today’s lucky winners. After a few minutes, one of the kids came to the window with a dejected look and asked for $2.71 on their pump. I told the kid that I would take care of it, and to tell the mother to pump $22.71. The mother came to the window to ask what was going on, and I told her that it was just my way of doing something nice and that all I wanted in return was for her to pay it forward. She thanked me profusely and pumped the gas.

The man never did come back, and while that day may have been one of the worst days of my life, I did my best to make it a great day for someone else.

I ring a guy up for beer that totals out to $19.66. I make it a point to verbally say a customer’s total as well as the cash that they give me to avoid any confusion.

The guy gives me $20.51 and, repeating it back to him, I hand him his 85 cents in change.

The guy looks at his receipt, his change, and back at me in confusion.

Guy: “What the h***? What am I supposed to do with all this change?”

Me: “Your total was $19.66. You gave me $20.51. Your change is 85 cents.”

Guy: “Wow, thanks a lot, man. Unbelievable. Didn’t you see I was counting all the change in my hand?”

He stormed off like a large, angry child.

I get not wanting to get a ton of change, but that basic math skill is on you as a customer. I don’t know what your intentions are. Maybe you need more quarters for laundry? Maybe you just wanted to get rid of the one penny you had? It blows my mind how minor inconveniences like these will set some people off into a full-on tantrum in public.