(At my store, men’s boxers are sold in a box. They are sealed, and the size and a size guide are printed on the box. Our policy is that underwear is non-returnable. A man walks in and approaches the register with an open package of snowflake-pattern boxers.)

Customer: “Hi. I was wondering if I could return these?”

Me: “I’m sorry, but we don’t accept returns or exchanges on underwear.”

Customer: “Okay, but I bought the box that said medium, see? But the boxers inside were XL. I can’t wear them.”

Me: “That’s weird. Can I take a look?”

(Sure enough, the box and waistband tags don’t match. The boxers also are obviously larger than mediums. The receipt says he bought mediums. I guess it could be a convoluted scam get $9, but it seems unlikely. Also, the boxers are still crisp and clean.)

Me: “Let me call a manager and see if he can make an exception.”

(I page the manager and when he arrives, I explain the situation and show him the boxers, box, and receipt.)

Manager: *to customer* “I’m sorry, but we can’t do returns or exchanges on underwear.”

Customer: “Sure, but these are sized wrong.”

Manager: “No, I’m sorry. No returns on underwear. It’s printed on your receipt.”

Customer: “But the store made the mistake! And I never wore them; I can’t use them.”

Manager: “No returns or exchanges on underwear. I’m sorry.”

Customer: “Are you kidding me?”

Manager: “I’m sorry. We can’t accept any underwear back…”

(It continues in this vein until the poor guy gives up and leaves with his too-big boxers.)

Manager: *turns to me* “What was his problem? Doesn’t he like snowflakes?”

Me: *internal facepalm*

(There is a specific store where I usually go to buy rabbit food. They have some sort of rewards program, and this exchange happens every time I check out. Note that my name is unusual and the spelling and pronunciation do not match particularly well.)

Cashier: “Do you have a rewards account? We can look it up by your phone number.”  

Me: “Yes, I do. It’s [number].”  

Cashier: *punches it in* “Okay, that’s [Mispronounced Name]?”  

Me: *sigh* “[Correct Pronunciation].”  

Cashier: “Oh, did we spell it wrong?”  

Me: *perhaps internally* “No, my parents did. Just ring up the rabbit food.”

(A new hire, still in high school, is clearly working his first job. A few weeks go by and everything is fine. Then, one Monday he doesn’t show up for work. Calling him doesn’t work; no one answers. Tuesday, same thing: no-show and no answer when called. He still doesn’t show up on the third day; however, he answers his phone.)

Coworker: “Hey! Where have you been? You should be at work!”

Employee: “What? Why? I’m on vacation. It’s spring break!”

(I work at a big store that sells merchandise for your bedroom, bathroom, and everything in between. I am a friendly, sweet person and usually happy to help any customer find what they are looking for. One day, on my way to clock out, I get a call on my walkie that someone needs help in the sheets department. Since every other employee is either at the register or with other customers, I decide to walk back and help out one last person for the day. It is an older woman in her eighties and her two young granddaughters in their early twenties. The girls already have looks on their faces that let me know this may not be an easy customer experience.)

Me: “Hi there. What can I help you find today?”

Customer: “I need some 100% Egyptian cotton sheets, and I don’t see them anywhere around here. It doesn’t say anywhere what kinds of sheets these all are. You need to find me some Egyptian cotton sheets.”

(Please note that in front of every different sheet display, there are eye-level signs stating the brand, sheet type, size, price, and quality. I confidently walk her over to a full wall display. I realize two of my next words are a mistake.)

Me: “Yes, right over here. I believe these [Popular Store-Featured Affordable Brand] sheets are 100% Egyptian cotton. Let’s take a look—“

Customer: “Well, are they or aren’t they? If you don’t know, then I don’t want you helping me. This is ridiculous. You need to get someone who actually knows what they’re talking about to help me.”

Me: *taken aback by her vitriolic tone, noticing her granddaughters looking further embarrassed* “Um, certainly. However, these are our best-selling Egyptian cotton sheets in the store right here. But I can call someone else for you if you like.”

Customer: “Yes, call someone who knows what they’re talking about. God, I can’t believe this… I just want some Egyptian cotton sheets, and nobody knows anything! This is ridiculous. Just ridiculous…”

(I walkie for a coworker to relieve me in the sheets section, and luckily they take over so I can clock out. The next day, I see my same coworker and apologize for leaving her with that nasty lady in sheets.)

Me: “I don’t know what her problem was. I was just trying to help her, and I showed her exactly what she was looking for, and she just had a horrible attitude. I’m not sure why.”

Coworker: “Oh, are you the ‘stupid girl’?”

Me: “Wait, what?”

Coworker: “I rang her up yesterday, too, and she said, ‘This stupid girl had to call someone else to help me because she didn’t know where anything was.'”

Me: “Wow…”

(I am supposed to come into work at two pm, but I come a little early to get some paperwork done. No big deal. I come in, and immediately I’m hearing this woman yell profanity at her kids. As it turns out, she is really cheap. She is only looking at the clearance shoes. That’s understandable — kids grow out of shoes fast — but there’s plenty of shoes for like $19.99. But no, she wants the $5 to $10 ones. I walk in and my manager’s working. I say hi, and I go to the back to clock in and everything. Realizing I’m not going to be able to do paperwork, I head out to the sales floor. There is no one else in the store but this family. I say to myself, “Oh, boy.”)

Me: *to manager* “Hey. How’s it going?”

Manager: “Okay. I’m going to take my break after they leave.”

Me: “I do not blame you. How long have they—“

Manager: “At least twenty minutes now.”

Me: “Ouch. Okay. Maybe I can help.”

Manager: “No. I tried that a few times already. She’ll come up here if she has any complaints.”

(Ten minutes go by. This woman does NOT CARE ONE BIT what happens to her kids. Why? She’s on her phone. She has four kids with her who are tearing up the kid’s section, and she’s on her phone. After another five minutes, I notice something happening by the front door.)

Me & Manager: “MA’AM!”

Manager: “MISS, YOUR CHILD IS RUNNING OUT OF THE STORE!”

Customer: “Oh, d*** it!”

(Her toddler wearing diapers not only runs out of the store, but she makes it across to the parking lot. The toddler almost got hit by a car passing by, and then by another trying to back out of a spot. What does this woman do? You guessed it. She comes back into the shop, apologizes, and keeps shopping while talking on her phone. A SECOND ATTEMPT is made by the toddler, trying to leave, but her mom stops her that time, only a second after she has opened the front door again. My manager goes in the back to do some paperwork of her own. No one else has come in this whole time, so we both get kind of bored. I go up to the mom again and she asks me about a shoe. We walk up to the register, get everything rung up, and she leaves. Once she leaves, I tell my manager, and we clean up the whole store because the kids got in the women’s section, too. Shoe boxes and random thrown shoes are everywhere.)

Manager: “If she comes back, I’m telling her to get off her phone or leave.”

Me: “I’m just going to tell her to leave.”

(She did end up coming back a few hours later, because I had goofed, so that was fine. But once she started to shop, I literally followed right behind her until she saw what I was doing and left. I think she got the hint. I encourage mom’s everywhere: if you’re in a store with your kids, whether it’s a big store or small store, YOUR PHONE CALL CAN WAIT, NO MATTER WHAT IT IS!)