(I work in a low-budget supermarket. I am stacking the alcohol aisle while also being in charge of the self-checkout machines right next to me. I live in the highlands of Scotland where a lot of English people have relocated. An elderly English couple approaches me; I can immediately tell they are snobby. The lady of the couple approaches me while I am putting away an immense amount of alcohol.)

Customer: “Do you have the recommended wine from the August 2015 edition of ‘Home & Country’ magazine?”

Me: “Do you know the name of the wine?”

Customer: “No, why should I? You work here; you should know!”

Me: “Why should I know what third parties recommend from our products?”

Customer: *looking angry and huffing her breath loudly* “Well, you do work here, don’t you?! You should know these things! Have you not even been trained on what wines people would like to know about?”

(The self-service tills have started to bell for me to help the customers. We also do not get training on third-party recommendations, as that would be ridiculous; we just put out what we get sent.)

Me: “No, we do not. How would I be able to know every third-party recommendation? That is like you saying, ‘Do you have the wine my friend Mable told me about at the church bake sale?’ I have to go help at the self-checkouts now; I will be right back.”

(I go to help the other customers while she is left gaping and turning to her husband to complain. I come back after a few minutes to see them both still standing there, glaring at me.)

Me: “Did you find the wine yet? Or remember anything about it so I can actually help you?”

Customer: “Of course I haven’t! This would not happen if we were in England! Get me your manager.”

Me: “Lady, if that is what you prefer—” *points south* “—England is that way. Go back there if that’s what you prefer.”

(I left, with her now hurling abuse about how all Scottish people are inbred and cannot speak properly. I got my manager, and explained everything while we were walking up to the couple. We get a lot of these type of people coming in with ridiculous requests. My manager told them exactly what I said about third-party recommendations, and that if they didn’t like what we had, then maybe they should go back to England. The customer grabbed her husband, leaving her shopping trolley full, and stormed out the store. My manager and I just laughed when she was gone. We get far too many of these for it to be out of the norm.)

(I’ve just ordered a coffee and have been asked to provide my name for to be called out.)

Me: “Laura.”

Cashier: “How is that spelled?”

Me: “L.”

Cashier: “K.”

Me: “No, L as in ‘Lima.’”

Cashier: “That doesn’t start with a K.”

Me: “I know. It starts with an L.”

(She shrugged and wrote something down on the cup. Several minutes went by and everyone’s name except my own was called, until there were no customers waiting. I asked about my order and the same cashier presented my cup. When I looked on the cup, my name was spelled “Korra.” I can’t remember if I heard it being called, but it sounded familiar enough that I Googled it. It’s from an “Avatar: The Last Airbender” spinoff. I guess the cashier was a fan.)

(My store has wooden platforms covered in carpet to display stock on. My male manager and I, a female, have just pulled one out of storage to prep for display. My manager plugs the vacuum cleaner in and starts cleaning. He’s interrupted by a tap on the shoulder.)

Customer: *points at me* “Shouldn’t that be her job?”

Manager: “Not really, no.”

Customer: “But vacuuming is woman’s work!”

(The kicker? The customer was female.)

(My flatmate and I are stopping in at the supermarket to get a few bits and pieces of grocery shopping after class. My flatmate is mostly buying something for breakfast, which she’s very particular about. She also recently began working a job that starts at five am before her classes at nine am, and has been a bit crabby of late. We’re in the bakery aisle.)

Flatmate: “Where are they?”

Me: “What’s up?”

Flatmate: “The tattie scones! They’re all out of tattie scones! They don’t have a single pack! There’s usually three different brands, and they haven’t got a single one!”

Me: “Oh. That sucks.”

Flatmate: *unintentionally loudly* “They don’t have the expensive ones! They don’t even have the ‘soft potato cakes’! What am I supposed to do? What’s my life come to?! What is the point of a supermarket that doesn’t even have tattie scones? All I want are some bloody tattie scones!”

(After this outburst, just as we’re leaving the bakery aisle, there’s a voice behind us, musing to herself.)

Customer: “Gosh. I haven’t had a tattie scone in ages!”

Flatmate: *pause* “I did not realise I was being that loud. I am so sorry. I’m just really passionate about scones.”

(The company I work for is doing a promotion where you can get an antivirus software– which retails at £60 — half-price if you buy a new product they are promoting for only £10. Common sense suggests doing this as it means essentially getting both items for £30 less than the anti virus alone. I am at the checkout.)

Me: “Good afternoon.”

Customer #1: “Just this, please.”

Me: “Actually, if it helps, you get this half-price if you buy—”

Customer #1: “I’m not interested.”

Me: “But if I can just explain it actually—”

Customer #1: “I said… not… interested.”

Me: *very quickly* “I can give you £20 off and a free item with it.”

Customer #1: “Look. I’ve said no. Just f****** ring it up.”

Me: “So, to clarify you want to pay the full £60 and not get the cheaper price with the free gift?”

Customer #1: “YES! NOW JUST PROCESS IT THROUGH. THAT’S THE ONE I WANT AND I’M VERY BUSY! NOW JUST DO YOUR JOB!”

(I put through the software as the customer insists, and she storms off. The next customer comes up holding the same product.)

Customer #2: “Sorry, I may have misheard, but can I get this for £40 with a free item?”

Me: “Yes, absolutely.”

Customer #2: “And she didn’t want that?”

Me: “Apparently not.”

Customer #2: “Wow… Some people are idiots… I’ll take the £40 deal, please!”