(I work in a clothing store aimed predominantly at teenage girls. On this particular day a mother comes in with her daughter. I am wearing a knee-length bandage skirt, a tank top, and an unbuttoned denim shirt.)

Me: “Hi, ladies! Is there anything I can help you with today?”

Mother: “Yes! I’m trying to find an outfit for my daughter to wear to a party this weekend.”

Me: *addressing the daughter* Not a problem! Did you have anything in particular in mind? A dress, maybe?”

(The daughter starts to speak, but her mother interrupts her.)

Mother: “I want her to look classy, but also a little bit slutty. Not really slutty, just a little bit, like you!”

(The daughter looked mortified, and I tried to hide the shock on my face. Needless to say, I was hesitant to help them after that, but they did end up spending over $200.)

(I work in a retail sporting goods store, where we sell a variety of footwear. Requests for men’s size 14 shoes occur frequently. Though the styles are limited, we do carry this somewhat uncommon size.)

Me: “Can I help you find anything, sir?”

Customer: “No. You don’t have what I need.”

Me: “Well, if you let me know what it is, we might.”

Customer: *clearly skeptical* “I need size 14 shoes.”

Me: “Oh, we do actually carry them! I know it’s a tough size to find, but we do have 14s in select styles—”

Customer: *cutting me off mid-sentence* “’Select styles’ just means ‘no.’” *walks away without waiting for an answer*

(I’m still not sure how he expects to find shoes with that attitude!)

(I work for a well-reputed cosmetics company in a small shopping centre. We’re rather busy at the best of times, but Saturdays in the store are packed, so queues for the tills often reach the entire length of the — admittedly small — store. While both of the tills are in use, a girl comes up to me with a block of soap and asks if she can have the cheapest piece possible. Company policy doesn’t allow us to sell cuts of soap below 100g, which I tell her, and offer to try to cut the soap as close to 100g as I possibly can for her to avoid undercutting, as all undercuts need to be logged and wasted off.)

Me: “This piece here weighs 142g and is [price]. Would that be all right?”

Customer: “Couldn’t you make it a bit smaller?”

Me: “Okay.”

(I have to cut from a new piece, since cutting the previous one would end up with an undercut.)

Me: “Well, this piece is 112g, which comes to [cheaper price].”

Customer: “Any chance you can get it any smaller?”

(After two more tries, we end up with a piece of soap that weighs 104g, which she’s finally happy with. I print out the label for her and wrap the soap before handing it to her.)

Customer: “Can’t I just pay for it now?”

Me: “I’m afraid we’ve only got two tills on, you see. I’m very sorry, but we can’t really let people skip the queue.”

Customer: “Well, can’t you just… Can you not just put it through for me?”

Me: “I’m afraid I can’t, but the line does seem to be going down rather quickly! I’ve put the code and price label on the soap for you, so you’ll have a minimal wait at the till, but you’ll really have to join the back of the queue, if that’s all right.”

Customer: “Well, no, it’s not all right, but…”

(She begrudgingly made her way to the back of the queue, clearly muttering angrily to her friend beside her. Barely three minutes passed. I’d just finished rearranging the soap display with the smaller pieces I’d previously cut for the girl, when suddenly she came pushing back through the crowded shop and slammed her wrapped and priced piece of soap back onto the shelf with an indignant mutter of, “F*** this!” before she and her friend flounced out. The best thing was that if she’d have waited about another 30 seconds, she’d have been next served at the till.)

(I’m 4’11” and relatively thin. I’m in my 30s but I’ll occasionally get mistaken for a child at first glance. This is one of those times. I am at a retailer for high-end mobile devices and computers to get a new band for my watch. [Employee #1] takes my name, checks me in, and says that someone will be with me shortly. I go to the island where the watches and bands are on display. I am wearing my watch on my left wrist. I pick up another watch of a different size and hold it to my right wrist to see how it would look on me. Within seconds, another employee comes running up to me.)

Employee #2: “PUT THAT DOWN! THOSE ARE EXPENSIVE!”

Me: “I was just–“

Employee #2: *takes the watch from my hand* “I don’t think your parents would appreciate if you broke this. It may look like a toy to you, but it’s several hundred dollars!”

(The employee then sees my watch I’m wearing and claws at my wrist to take it off. I jerk my arm away from him.)

Me: “Hey! This watch is mine! I’m just here to get another band for it!”

(Since I’m getting concerned that the employee is going to take my watch, my voice is a bit raised and panicked. This causes the people in the area I’m in to take notice, including [Employee #1], who comes running up.)

Employee #1: “What’s going on?”

Employee #2: “This kid is trying to take our display watches!”

Employee #1: “Uh, she isn’t a kid. I checked her in, and I saw her wearing the watch she has on now when she came in. She said she wants to buy a [Specific Band] for it.”

(Finally, [Employee #2] actually LOOKED at me, realized I’m older than I appear, and turned a nice shade of red. He was pretty quiet for the rest of the transaction.)

(I’m a backup cashier at my store; mostly I stock, but I ring when the store gets backed up. With a line to the back of the store one day, I’ve spent most of my shift at my register, when a woman comes up with two or three items at a dollar each.)

Customer: “Oh, I can’t find my ten. Here’s a twenty.”

(I continue ringing up her items as she fishes through her purse. She lays a bill on my belt. It’s one of the new ten-dollar bills that are bright yellow, and look nothing like the green-and-pink twenties.)

Me: “Oh, you found your ten?”

(The customer says nothing, and I give her the change.)

Customer: *bristling* “Um, excuse me. You owe me another ten dollars.”

Me: “I’m sorry? You gave me a ten.”

Customer: “I gave you twenty! You owe me ten dollars in change!”

(She continues to make a scene as the line backs up further; the person behind her is looking at her like she’s insane. The manager comes over and opens my drawer. There are no twenties anywhere; we keep them under the drawer, which I know I didn’t lift. At this point, she is threatening to call the police over ten dollars. The manager reassures her that we’ll audit my drawer. The computer spits out the number I should be at and we count the money. Sure enough, it’s spot on, not a penny over.)

Customer: *now getting huffy* “Well, obviously, something is wrong with the machine. I gave you a twenty. I’m returning everything and calling the police.”

(As she reached into her wallet, where she had stuffed her receipt, what should fall out with it but a twenty-dollar bill. The manager just stared until she left.)