(I’m in the break room, waiting for a ride home because I’ve caught a nasty bug. I’m trying to stay in good spirits, and my manager is doing what she can to prevent me from touching too much.)
Me: “[Manager], can I clock myself out?”
Manager: “No, I’ll do it.”
Me: “Can I sign my radio in?”
Manager: “Yeah, I can toss the pen.”
Me: “Can I touch the doorknob?”
Manager: “No, I’ll get the door for you.”
Me: “I’m gonna touch the doorknob.”
Manager: “I’m gonna call the CDC.”
(There are two tiers of cashiers. Stay at the company long enough and you get promoted with extra pay and trained on how to do returns, which are typically handled at the Customer Service desk unless it’s busy. Cashiers on [Registers #1 and #2] may also process returns, but only if they’ve received the training for it. I’m a seasonal hire, so I’m the lowest tier of cashier and don’t have returns training. One day, I’m put on [Register #1].)
Customer: “Hi. I’d like to return this.”
Me: “Oh, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to go to the Customer Service desk to return this.”
Customer: “But I came here the other day and got a return processed at this register. Why can’t you do it?”
Me: “It has to do with the cashier, not the register, I’m afraid. I haven’t received the training to do returns. Whoever did the return for you last time must have had the training. But both of the ladies over at the Customer Service desk can help you today.”
Customer: *annoyed* “I still don’t see why you can’t do it… I came here last time.”
Me: *sigh*
(I work at an extremely well-known big box retailer known for having virtually everything and a very lenient price-matching policy. However, if I am told a price that I think is incorrect, I am allowed to ask what store it’s from and make sure it’s not ludicrous.)
Me: *preparing to scan an item*
Customer: “…and that’s [price that seems too low].”
Me: “Okay, sir, and which store is that from?”
Customer: “I don’t have to tell you that! The [Company] policy says I don’t have to tell you!”
Me: “Actually, sir, I can ask, and the store you are asking me to price match must be within 50 miles of this store.”
Customer: “No, it says in the policy I don’t have to, and I happen to know insider information about this kind of thing because my ex-wife is the store manager of one of these stores in New York, so you are wrong. I have the personal phone numbers of all sorts of people in the corporate office, and I can get anyone I want fired.”
(I go ahead and give him the price — it is busy and my supervisor has asked me to send someone home at another register — finish out his order, and give him his receipt while he continues to tell me his story.)
Customer: *becoming more smug by the moment* “Once, a cashier at another store, not here, wouldn’t honor the sign saying the pants I wanted to buy were $3 and told me I’d have to pay $15, and it was 3:00 in the morning, mind you, and I made her get her supervisor. Her supervisor told me that I couldn’t pay $3 for the pants and would have to pay $15, and I asked her if she was sure about that because there are laws in this country that require companies to have truth in advertising, and she said she was just doing her job. I told her I had the personal number of [Executive that does not actually exist], and I would be perfectly happy to call him, and I did, and he screamed at her on the phone and told her she’d be fired if she didn’t make me happy! Then she had the cashier change the price for me.”
Me: “Ah, yes… I—”
Customer: *positively gleeful* “Then, that manager told me I am a horrible person! And if you think that’s bad, when my wife was an assistant manager at a [Company] in California, her boss was a gay man who decided he hated women and sexually harassed my wife, and I called [Executive that doesn’t exist], and he not only fired that man and promoted my wife, he made that gay man unemployable in the state of California!”
(I was completely unable to figure out how to extricate myself from this conversation, which actually took over 15 minutes and nearly cost me my break, and in addition, the person I was supposed to relieve wound up being sent home by the supervisor because I couldn’t get away from this man. I found out later from a friend of mine that he comes in all the time and tries to pull that crap on people, and none of it is true.)
(I work as a security guard at a large retail chain. One day, I am standing at the front door with a colleague when a customer comes up to us.)
Customer: “Excuse me. My daughter just dropped two £10 notes and the guy behind us has lifted them.”
Me: “Did you see him pick them up?”
Customer: “Well, my daughter dropped the notes and turned around, and he was picking something up and claimed it was a handkerchief. But I know it was her money. Can you do anything?”
Me: “I don’t know if there is anything we can do because we didn’t see it ourselves; we only have your word for it. We will call the manager.”
(My colleague calls the manager and explains the situation.)
Colleague: “The manager isn’t sure what to do. He is going to phone another manager and then call us back.”
(While we wait for the manager to call back, the customer who is suspected of taking the money pays for his items and leaves the store.)
Customer: “I’m going to go and speak to him; I am not happy that he can do this to my daughter.”
(I take control of the camera to watch the customers outside the store while my colleague stands at the door, in case the situation becomes violent. As I watch the situation, the mother approaches the customer and they speak. The customer then hands the mother something and walks away. I see that it is two £10 notes. She re-enters the store and hands the money to her daughter.)
Me: “What happened there?”
Customer: “Oh, I just told him that security had him on camera taking the money. I know you didn’t, but he didn’t know that.”
(I work at a confectionery shop. It is one of the first gorgeous days of summer, so we are packed, especially at the gelato counter. We make our own waffle cones but have run out, and my coworker and I are making them as fast as possible to order. I have this exchange with a female customer:)
Customer: “Can I get a scoop of pistachio in a waffle cone?”
Me: “Sure thing. Just to let you know, our waffle cones are being made to order right now as we catch up; it will a couple minutes and the cone will be warm so your gelato will melt faster.”
Customer: “Oh, yummy! That sounds great!”
(While we’re waiting, I scoop for a lot of other customers who aren’t waiting for cones and the woman keeps interjecting to make chit chat with me:)
Customer: “Do you have bacon ice cream?”
Me: “No, ma’am, we only carry [Local Brand] gelato and I don’t believe they have a bacon flavor.”
Customer: “Oh. Well, the shop near my house in [Town] has a bacon ice cream, and it’s delicious. You have to try it.”
(Whenever the customer refers to [Town], she stresses it as if it were an exclusive, private community. It just so happens to be where my boyfriend lives and I know exactly the shop she’s talking about.)
Me: “Oh, you’re talking about [Ice Cream Shop]? My boyfriend lives right by it; we walk there a lot. I’m a fan but also a vegetarian, so I’ll have to take your word for it on the bacon.”
(The customer gives me a raised eyebrow about being a vegetarian and continues to tell me all about the neighborhood, dismissing anytime I acknowledge that I’ve been somewhere she mentions, and then makes another comment about the ice cream shop she previously mentioned.)
Customer: “You know, they make their own cones at my shop in [Town]. I’ve never had to wait this long.”
Me: “Well, ma’am, we’ve been making cones all morning to meet the demand on this gorgeous day.”
(Finally, her cone is ready and I let her know. My coworker passes me the waffle cone and I scoop her gelato. This all takes place while the customer is watching, and I pass it off to her.)
Customer: “What are you trying to pull!?”
Me: “I’m sorry?”
Customer: “This cone is warm; my ice cream is cold.”
(My coworker and a couple of other customers who’ve been waiting on waffle cones all let out a laugh because the situation had been clearly explained and demonstrated to this customer. She huffs toward the door, stops, and turns back to us.)
Customer: “It’s. Not. Funny! STUPID IDIOTS!”
(The customer then huffed away, slamming shut the door that had been propped open behind her, and I had a good laugh about it along with my coworkers and the other customers that had been waiting.)
