(I work at a restaurant and I’ve just gotten done with an 11-to-close shift. It should be noted that, with a shift like this, my filter tends to disappear due to stress and fatigue, especially with no customers around. After finishing the shift, I head to do some shopping at a retail store that is open until midnight. My restaurant’s uniform is a black shirt with the company’s logo, a black pair of slacks, and black slip-resistant shoes. The store’s uniform is basically blue shirts or vests with the company’s logo in the back and the store name tags. A man approaches me with his girlfriend while I am shopping.)

Customer: “Excuse me, do you know where I can find Peter Pan?”

(It should be noted, we are in the family movie section, where I would wager Peter Pan is.)

Customer’s Girlfriend: “Dude, he works at [Restaurant), not [store]. Leave him alone!”

Customer: “Let him speak. He probably has something to say about this.”

(He turns to me expectantly.)

Me: *chuckling lightly* “I just love how all of us food service and retail workers are supposed to know everything about every store ever.”

(The customer begins to blush and avert my gaze, but I’m not done.)

Me: “And I am off the clock, so I am at complete liberty to say that.”

(The customer blushes further, then turns and leaves with his girlfriend. As they are leaving, I hear this:)

Customer’s Girlfriend: “You’re an idiot.”

(I work in a well-known catalogue shop; you browse for items in the catalogue and write down the product codes to purchase them. We sell almost anything from housewares to toys and in between. We frequently get customers who don’t do this for a variety of reasons so we can help them find products by searching the computer for them. An elderly couple approaches my till while it’s quiet.)

Me: “Hi there.”

Gentleman: “Hello. I’m looking for a vibrator.”

Me: *blank expression, thinking I’ve misheard him, as we have never sold that kind of thing* “I’m sorry what was that?”

Gentleman: “A vibrator.”

Me: “Um…”

Gentleman: “For my legs.”

Me: “Oh, a circulation booster!”

(The rest of the interaction was perfectly normal, and I was proud of myself for not laughing in the poor guy’s face.)

(I had only been working for a couple of months, and had already heard lots of odd things from customers. On this day, a customer comes up to my register and notices my name tag.)

Customer: Oh, [My Name]?

(I’m used to hearing comments about it, since I’m named after a state capital that’s also a Native American tribe, and is spelled the same. I’m used to comments about the spelling, whether I’m from there, or how many they’ve known. I wasn’t prepared for this customer, however.)

Me: *prepares for a usual response, just in case* “Yes.”

Customer: “Your parents must’ve been hippies.”

Me: *slightly shocked* ”Um… “No, sir. My dad is just southern.”

(I’ve still never figured out why my parents must be hippies for my name, and a year later I’ve never been asked it again, but my mom got a laugh out of it!)

(A customer comes into our cell phone retail store holding a ziplock bag containing several pieces of a completely destroyed smart phone, and places the bag on the counter.)

Customer: “I need a refund.”

Coworker: “What seems to be the problem?”

Customer: “Yesterday, [Coworker #2] put a screen protector on my phone, and when I woke up today it looked like this.”

(He gestures to the bag of phone parts.)

Coworker: *long pause* “The screen protector did this?”

Customer: “Yes. He must have loosened the screw or glue or something. Now the phone is broken and I need a refund.”

Manager: *hears and comes over* “So, you’re saying that you placed a completely whole and unbroken phone on your nightstand last night, and woke up this morning with it looking like a truck ran over it.”

Customer: “Exactly. And it’s [Coworker #2]’s fault.”

Manager: “No. That did not happen. You are not getting a refund, because you ran over your phone. I will gladly sell you a new phone, or if you have insurance, you can file a claim if this type of damage is covered.”

Customer: “NO! I WANT A F****** REFUND ON THIS PHONE!”

Manager: “Get out. Don’t swear at me. Why don’t you leave and cool off, and come back tomorrow when we can talk about this more rationally?”

Customer: “NO! I AM A VETERAN AND I HAVE PTSD; IF I COME BACK I’LL BE ARMED.”

Manager: *without breaking eye contact, picks up phone and dials 911* “Yes, hello. I am the manager at [Store]. A customer just threatened me, and my staff. Yes, he is still in the store. Yes, I think the threat was credible. I asked him to leave, and he said he would come back armed, and that he has PTSD. Great. Thank you.” *hangs up*

Customer: *staring silently* “Did you really just call the police?”

Manager: “Yeah, they are on their way.”

(After some more ranting, the customer dithered for a minute, and then turned to leave. By the time he got to the door, a police car had pulled up out front. The guy had a history of making threats. He was arrested for breach of peace, and trespassed from our store, which is the only one for about 200 miles.)

(I have just turned eighteen, and I am out in a mall department store when a couple of sales people walk up to me with a large box of makeup and skincare samples.)

Sales #1: “Hi there! Would you be interested in signing up for a [Store] rewards card?”

Me: “Not really. I don’t shop here much.”

Sales #2: “Are you sure? If you sign up for this rewards card, you get this box of samples for free now!”

(I spot a couple things I wouldn’t mind trying in the box, and figure there’s no harm in getting it.)

Me: “Well, okay. Just to clarify, though, this isn’t a credit card, right?”

Sales #1: “Oh, no no no! Just a rewards card.”

(I start signing up. The pin pad screen then asks for my drivers’ license.)

Me: “Hold on. This isn’t a credit card, is it?”

Sales #2: “No, no, just rewards. It’s just easier to get information from your license than from asking you to spell everything out.”

(I keep going. The PIN pad then asks for my social security number.)

Me: “I’m just making totally sure; I am not signing up for a credit card, am I?”

Sales #1: “No, don’t worry! It’s not a credit card.”

(I finish the application.)

Sales #2: “Okay, you’ll find out whether you got the card in seven to ten business days. Thank you so much!”

(She bags the sample box and hands it to me with a big grin, and I continue on my way. A week later, an envelope from [Store] credit services arrives at my house.)

Me: “What the h***?”

(I opened and read it, and found out that I had been approved for the [Store] credit card, and the card itself was enclosed. I immediately called the number on the letter and cancelled the card. I really wish I had thought to call the store and complain about those dishonest sales clerks.)