(I work in an art supply shop. We sell canvas, paints, and the like. Because we are right next to a really prominent art college, we get lots of customers as we are cheaper than their on-campus shop. We have a lot of regulars and tend to know many by name. One regular, a good-looking man, never says a word to me except to ask the occasional question. He has come in every Sunday for almost a year.)

Me: “Did you find everything you needed? We’ve got a special on charcoal at the moment: two packs for £5.”

Regular: “No, that’s all right. I do have a question, though.”

Me: “Sure, go ahead.”

Regular: “Will you go out with me?”

Me: *awkward* “I’m so sorry. I’ve got a boyfriend.”

Regular: “OH, FOR F***’S SAKE!”

Me: “Excuse me?!”

Regular: “I’ve been coming to this stupid shop for almost a year, buying all this crap, and you can’t even go on a date with me?”

Me: “I’m sorry, but I have a boyfriend. You have to pay for this stuff, and then you have to leave.”

Regular: “I spent so much money on you! I don’t even do ‘art’! I just wanted to be close to you!”

Me: “…”

Regular: “You owe me! I love you!”

(The man proceeded to jump on top of the expensive canvas he was buying, snapping it in half. He also threw the paints he was buying on the floor. One of them burst. His tantrum got louder until my manager finally escorted him out and told me to take my break. The man never came back.)

(I am working at a clothing store that sells very cheap — in quality and price — clothing geared towards young women. It’s a typical evening at the end of the week, bustling with customers in a tiny space. Suddenly, I hear a shout from my coworker.)

Coworker: “Ewwww! I am not touching that!“

(This alarms the rest of the staff, and I see my manager run towards the dressing room where my coworker is, while the others look on in confusion.)

Manager: “Oh, my God! What the h***! Someone get me a plastic bag, now!“

(I see my coworker dash across the store, shaking her head with her face wrinkled in disgust. Seconds later, we see our manager walk out with the plastic bag; in it is a wet, bloody tampon!)

Manager: “So freaking nasty; this is why I hate people sometimes.”

(One day at work, I hear my pharmacist and another technician talking about an unusual prescription that’s come in. Curious, I switch to a computer nearby and find them discussing a dog who’s been prescribed the generic for Viagra. Apparently, a recent study has indicated that it may be helpful for relieving coughing in dogs, for some reason, and we spend some time discussing how it might work in that regard. Later, as I’m working on the computer and she’s filling prescriptions behind me, she glances up and leans toward me, chuckling.)

Pharmacist: “You know, it’s hard enough for a person to talk to their doctor about this type of medication. I’d think it’d have to be even harder for a dog!”

Me: *playing along* “Well, yeah. Besides not being able to talk, it’s gotta be way more embarrassing for them, with everything all hanging out and no way to disguise it.”

(After a few moments.)

Me: “I can totally see the commercials, though. This gorgeous Golden Retriever stud going ‘Once, I was the laughing stock of the breeding kennel. But now, I’m back to being top dog, thanks to Viagra!’”

Pharmacist: *cracking up* “See, none of the other health care professions get to enjoy jokes like this.”

(I love my coworkers.)

(This customer clearly has English as a first language and is wearing a lanyard for a government department. The customer enters the store, I greet her as usual, leaving her to look around for a couple of minutes, and then I approach her again to see if she needs help.)

Me: “Are you all right looking over there? Is there anything I can help you with?”

i

Me: “Absolutely, that’s a free size, and it has a lot of stretch, so it fits from a 6 to a small 14.”

Customer: *looks at price and size tag for a good two minutes* “How much is this?”

Me: “Oh, that’s [price].”

Customer: *still looking at tag* “Oh, I see on here it’s [price], and what does free size mean?”

Me: *internal screaming* “That means it comes in one size, but it’s super stretchy so it fits a 6 to a small 14.”

Customer: “And it’s [price].”

Me: *suppressing the urge to be sarcastic* “Yes, as I have told you, and you can see the size and price on the tag—“ *points to tag* “—just there.”

Customer: “Ooooh, I see!” *waves tag at me* “It says on the tag just here! Okay, I’m off now! Bye!” *dumps item on floor, leaves the shop*

(Y’know when people say things that are so stupid and unnecessary you have to squint a little? Yeah.)

(I am cashiering a customer.)

Me: “Do you have a customer card?”

Customer: *squinting* “Are you a man?”

Me: “Umm, no. Do I look like one?”

Customer: “Are you absolutely sure?”

Me: “Yes…”

Customer: “Okay, I just have to be sure, because my brother just told us he’s gay, and that it was because he was serviced by a man.”

Me: “…”

Customer: “What did you ask for again?”

(I finished the transaction and he moved to leave, but he came back momentarily to ask again if I was “ABSOLUTELY SURE,” actually shouting it at me.)