(I go to a store in the mall to buy shoes. I know exactly what I’m looking for and buying. I grab the shoe I’m purchasing and walk up to the counter to get my size.)

Me: “Hello, can I get this in [my size], please?”

Employee: “Sure! Will that be all for today?”

Me: “Yep, that’s it! Thank you.”

(There is another customer lurking near the counter, looking relatively confused. She walks up to the employee who is helping me, who hasn’t had the chance to go and get the shoes I’m purchasing.)

Customer: “I would like to speak with your manager, please.”

Employee: “I actually am the manager; how can I help you?”

Customer: “I would like you to know that I have been standing here for twenty minutes, and not a single employee has come forward to ask me if I need any help.”

Employee: “I apologize for the inconvenience. Let me go get her shoes and I will be right out to help you.”

Customer: *getting angry* “You know what? Forget about it. Obviously you are looking at the people who you can get the most money out of; you are looking for a specific ‘type’ of person. I will have you know that I have more money than anyone else in this store, and you have just lost my business! I have more money that you could make in your entire life!”

Employee: “I apologize for the inconvenience, ma’am.”

(I hand off my shoes to another employee.)

Employee #2: *ringing up my purchase* “I apologize for that; it doesn’t happen often.”

Me: “That’s all right. I’ve dealt with a lot worse, since I work in food service!”

Related:
If The Shoe Fits…, Part 9
If The Shoe Fits…, Part 8
If The Shoe Fits…, Part 7
If The Shoe Fits…, Part 6
If The Shoe Fits…, Part 5

(At my job, we handle hundreds of thousands of customers per day, across five different programs that barely talk to each other. It’s long been considered one of the low points of the job. Although I work at home, I’m the office “girl Friday” who can fluently work across all five programs, so when one team in my department needs help, I’m usually the first asked to move teams. Within the last month, the company has announced a new program that supposedly consolidates all five, reducing the back-and-forth we all have to deal with. As it starts next week, I text my husband about it on my break.)

Me: “I have OT on Tuesday for the training before it rolls out.”

Husband: “Sad face.”

Me: “It rolls out next month. Hopefully it lives up to the ‘All in One’ thing they’ve been telling us.”

Husband: “The one program to rule them all?”

Me: “That is the hope.”

Husband: “Three programs were given to the trainees, their eyes full of hope, seven to the second tier, in their offices of white. And nine programs were thrown upon the work-from-homers, doomed to multitask.”

(I was laughing so hard I was late getting back from my break. I love that man!)

(I work in a head shop, where we sell various knick-knacks, as well as adult novelties and smoking accessories. We have a beautiful sugar skull bust that sits on top of our humidor, which is not for sale. He is our unofficial store mascot, and we’ve named him Poe. Unfortunately for us, people have a hard time accepting that he is not for sale. We have a couple who comes in once a month and always makes a fuss about it.)

Woman: *gesturing to Poe* “I love this guy.”

Me: “As we’ve told you, ma’am, Poe is not for sale. We do have some sugar skulls over on the black shelving.”

Woman: “I remember. We were here about a month ago and I bought that sugar skull painting. I collect skulls.”

(I know all of this, as I’m the one who sold her the painting, and refused to sell her Poe then.)

Me: “We did get a new one in, down the bottom. It’s a bank.”

(The couple continues to shop while I watch them from behind the counter.)

Man: *trying to be funny and speaking loud enough for me to hear* “I could distract her, and you could grab him and make a run for it.”

Me: *getting really fed up because I don’t find jokes about stealing funny* “Go right ahead. But I will warn you: I have multiple tasers, pepper spray, and batons right next to me. I’ve been dying to try them out.”

(I flashed them my sweetest smile and pointed to the shelf. They both looked at me for a beat, then at the shelf full of weaponry right next to me, then continued to browse for another minute, before leaving empty-handed. I am happy to say, I haven’t seen either of them since!)

(I work at a big-name shipping and retail store. The store is run by the owner, me, and one other coworker. Today it is just the owner and me. A few days previously someone had broken in after-hours and stolen several high-value packages off the shelf in the back. We had filed a police report and reviewed the security footage. We did not know this person but our cameras clearly showed her face. Fast forward to today and she comes back. The owner and I instantly recognize her, and the owner goes to the back to call the police while I stall her. The customer storms in and slams down a large box containing a smart TV on the counter; I can hear glass rattling inside.)

Customer: “I picked this up the other day and it’s broken! You owe me $2,000!”

Me: *stalling for time and playing along* “I’m very sorry to hear that; let’s take a look.”

Customer: “It’s broken! What else matters?”

Me: “Well, depending on the extent of the damage, we may be able to replace it. If the shipper insured it, we will have to file a claim describing the nature of the damage.”

Customer: *sighs loudly, clearly annoyed* “Fine, but I don’t see why you can’t just give me the money.”

Me: “Well, unfortunately, false claims are very common. Some people will run scams in order to get free stuff. I know it’s a pain, but before we can pay out we have to make sure the claim is legitimate and that the damage was caused by our drivers.”

Customer: “So, I might not get my money back, then? That’s f****** ridiculous! You broke it, so you should pay for it! What kind of dishonest bulls*** is this?”

(This goes on for a good ten minutes with the store’s owner standing by to defuse the situation if it gets out of hand while we wait for the police. Finally, they pull in to the parking lot. At this point the customer is becoming more irate.)

Customer: “I JUST WANT MY F****** MONEY BACK NOW! DO YOUR G**D*** JOB!”

Owner: *chimes in as two officers enter the store* “He has been, ma’am; he did an excellent job stalling you.” *then to the police* “This is her, officers.”

(All the color drains from her face and her mouth drops open to a perfect comical O shape.)

Customer: “Wha… what’s this about?”

Owner: “It’s about the security footage from last Saturday.” *pointing to the cameras*

Police Officer #1: “Ma’am, I need you to put both hands on the counter, and spread your feet.”

(Her eyes dart around rapidly before she makes a break for the front door. [Officer #2] tackles her and she goes down hard, yelling something about police brutality.)

Me: “Looks like they can add resisting arrest to your charges now.”

Owner: “And next time you steal something, it’s probably best not to try to return it to the same store.”

(The total value of all the packages she stole — coupled with a list of other charges from other retail stores in our area — turned out to be enough to send her to prison. The majority was from the smart TV she was trying to get us to cover.)

Related:
Not-So-Smart TV

(In my country, not all stores accept Amex — American Express. One evening a middle-aged woman and her daughter are shopping, and at the counter she takes out her card.)

Customer: “Can I use Amex?”

Me: “Sure, but there’s a 2% surcharge.”

Customer: “That’s fine.”

(Most customers flinch a bit, or outright say they’ll use another card, but some do still use Amex despite the surcharge. Because of her words and tone, I assume that she means what she said, so I don’t notice her switching her cards as I bag up her items and wish her a good night. Ten minutes later, I find her hovering at the front, face like thunder, holding her receipt. I approach her and ask her if everything’s all right.)

Customer: *coldly shoving her receipt in my face* “Care to tell me why you processed that sale as an Amex when I explicitly told you I was using Visa? I want the surcharge refunded!”

(It’s less than a dollar. I’ve only got about a year’s retail experience under my belt, so I take one look at her expression and decide I am not nearly battle-hardened enough to deal with the fury she clearly wants to unleash upon me.)

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry, I made a mistake. I don’t even know if it’s possible for me to refund that to you with our system, but I’ll ask my manager and find out for you.”

(I find my manager. When I explain the situation, and the surcharge amount, the customer starts acting very sheepish.)

Customer: “It’s just the principle of the thing…”

(For the next ten minutes, as my wonderful manager attempts to find a way to refund the surcharge, the customer mutters that line over and over. Eventually my manager finds a way to refund the surcharge, and the customer leaves, still sheepishly muttering her line.)

Manager: “Wow.”