I am outside a classroom, waiting for the class to start. Since the activity we perform in the class is rather loud, most of us wear earplugs.

One of the attendees searches in his bag and sighs:

Attendee #1: “Oh gosh, I have forgotten my earplugs! Does anyone have a spare pair?”

Another attendee searches in his backpack, pulls out a little box, and hands it to the first one:

Attendee #2: “Here they are; they are brand new.”

Before the receiver can say anything, the giver continues:

Attendee #2: “No need to buy a replacement pair, just wash them and give them back to me at the next class.”

I take a mental note to never borrow anything from him AND to double-check that I never forget my earplugs.

This story is from a long time ago, so it is somewhat paraphrased.

At a movie theater, for specific holidays, it doesn’t matter how many people you have scheduled. It doesn’t matter if everyone shows up. You’re still shorthanded.

Usually, one person would work the counter and the other would get the food ready. So, you’ve got two people per register. 

I’m one of the more senior people working this holiday outside of management, most of whom are currently helping to clean the theaters so we can admit the huge crowds in time. It should also be noted that even though I am not management, I am one of the longest serving workers here, and am trained on certain tasks that even some managers cannot do. This meant that when something came up in the back that threatened to delay the making of popcorn, I had to go take care of it.

A coworker tapped me on the shoulder, informed me of such an issue, and I’m about to go to the back, and some guy standing in line yells out:

Customer: “Don’t leave the register! It’s slow enough as it is and I’m f****** hungry!”

Me: “Sir, I understand much better than you what it’s like to be hungry since I haven’t eaten all day, so that I can serve you and everyone else here.”

Customer: “Then you should hire more people!”

Me: “Sir, we could stand here and argue that point, but if you want me to come back as quickly as possible, then I have to be allowed to do my job. You can either wait or take my place.”

Customer: “Well… hurry up, d*** it!”

I mentally roll my eyes as I go to deal with whatever the issue was. I fixed that within five minutes, and when I came back, the same customer was getting served his popcorn.

Customer: “I’m finally getting my food, no thanks to you!”

I glance at his movie ticket.

Me: “Enjoy the movie, sir, that you’re getting to enjoy because as the only available person trained to deal with biological waste, I was able to get your auditorium ready in time.”

Customer: “Bio… logical?”

Me: “As in something that came out of a human. As for what it was, and what seat it landed on, I simply don’t have the time to tell you! This line needs to be served! Enjoy the movie, sir!”

I get back to getting customers their popcorn and snacks, and the customer slowly walks into his theater, seemingly less excited about the movie than he was before.

Coworker: *Quietly.* “Eww, was it pee, poo, or vomit?”

Me: *Also quietly.* “Nah, the lights weren’t turning off, so I had to reset them. But he’s about to spend the next two and a half hours worried that he’s sitting in a seat that might have been exposed to any of those three or worse, and the thought of that will sustain me until I get some actual food myself.”

Sometimes it’s the little things that get you through the day…

I work at a bakery in a food court in a large superstore named after a bullseye symbol. Our doughnuts and muffins are put in a small case near the register, about the size of two bread boxes side by side. It has a little door that opens in the front and a removable back to take the tray out.

I normally ask the guests which doughnuts or muffins they want so that I can grab them with gloves on. There was a regular guest who had a four-year-old who constantly jumped up and picked his muffin out, touching each and every one.

Me: *To the mom.* “Ma’am, I’ve told you to please not let him do that, because now I can’t sell any of these ones.”

Customer: “Ugh, you’re the only one who has an issue with it! I shop here every week!”

Me: “And every week you get me. Please don’t let him do it again.”

Next week, she comes back in, and I turn the case around because he’s already diving for it.

Customer: *To her son, but glaring at me.* “Oh, sorry hun, we aren’t allowed to do that when that mean man is here.”

She then snaps at me.

Customer: “Such an overreaction! You turning that case around the second you saw us, like we got a disease or something!”

Me: *Trying to ignore her and get the transaction back on track.* “He cannot reach in and get it. If he tells me what he wants, I will get it.”

The little boy is getting frustrated at being unable to stuff his hand into the case, and because his mom is letting it happen (practically encouraging it), he breaks down into a full-blown tantrum.

Customer: “Now see what you did! You’re an evil man! We’re not gonna buy any muffins from you anymore! We’re gonna buy them from Walmart next door!”

She walked away with a smug look as if that was in some way hurting me.

In the department store where I worked, if you were under eighteen (such as I was at the time), your name on your name tag was highlighted red.

Two guys, easily mid-to-late thirties, come in and beeline straight for me.

Guy #1: “Where’s the underwear department?”

Me: “Fourth floor.”

Guy #2: “No, that’s the guys’ underwear. Where’s the underwear for the ladies?”

Me: “Second floor.”

Guy #1: “Wanna come with us and maybe try some on for us? We’ll buy you the ones that look good on you.”

Ick.

Me: “No, thank you.”

I immediately turn to get away, and I think it’s apparent how freaked out I am about their behavior based on how quickly I want to get away.

Guy #1: “Hey! You gotta help us!”

Me: “No, I don’t.”

Guy #2: “Yeah, you do, or we’ll tell your manager you’re being an absolute b****.”

Me: “And I’ll tell my manager you’re trying to get a sixteen-year-old girl to strip out of her underwear.”

They both look a combination of horrified and shocked.

Me: “So back off, dumba**!”

They both got out of the store so fast it was practically a sprint.

I told my manager about it, and he found their faces on the store camera footage and added them to the banned customer list. The faces also go on a wall of shame that we keep near the entrance to help greeters identify banned customers.

I wasn’t here for this next part, but my manager told me that a woman wanted to speak to a manager to ask:

Woman: “Why is my husband’s face on that wall?

The manager told her. She did not look happy… or stay in the store very long after finding out.

Actions have consequences, d***-head!

I really fancied burritos, so on my way home from work, I popped into my local small supermarket, grabbing the ingredients as I went along. There was only one pack of tortillas left, but when I picked it up, the contents were visibly rotting. There was green and blue mould all over the top and bottom tortilla, and black water gathering in the bottom of the packet.

I hastily changed my mind (I went and got nacho chips instead – basically the same recipe) and went to check out, taking the ex-tortillas with me. 

At the checkout, I handed them to the assistant.

Me: “I picked these up, but as you can see, they’re not doing very well!”

She looks at them, looks at me, looks at them again, then puts them through the scanner.

Me: “No, I don’t want them! I just thought they shouldn’t be on the shelves; they’ve obviously gone off!”

Assistant: “So you don’t want them?”

Me: “No, they’ve gone bad. Look at them.”

She picks them back up, looks at them, looks at me, looks at them again, then voids them from the scanner and puts them behind her.

All well and good.

Until almost a week later. I still wanted burritos, so on my way home from work, I went into the supermarket again. 

The packet of rotting tortillas was back on the shelf, now almost entirely liquid. 

I abandoned my basket and have never been back.