I’m the author of this story. It seems this runs in the family!

My mom just told me about a time she was at the grocery store with my brother when he was a baby. Included in her purchases were a loaf of bread and a few jars of baby food.

Cashier: “Hmm, baby food. You know, it’s a lot better to make your own. Cheaper, too.”

My mom is bouncing my brother on her hip as she responds.

Mom: “I guess. I’m excited to have him try these foods.”

Cashier: “I mean, it’s just a better choice all around to make your own. It’s not like it’s hard.”

Mom: *Rolling her eyes* “Okay, then. I’m ready to pay.”

Cashier: “That’ll be [price way higher than Mom expected].”

Mom: “That… seems a little high.”

Cashier: “Your total is [same price].”

Mom: “Can you print out the receipt for me to check it?”

The cashier prints out a receipt, which my mom studies.

Mom: “You charged me for twenty-three loaves of bread when I only have one.”

Cashier: “Um, oops…”

Mom paid the correct total, and my brother survived just fine on the food Mom fed him, jarred or not. And she still keeps an eye on receipts and totals in case someone’s too busy judging her to properly ring her up.

Related:
Can I Return This Judgy Cashier, Please?

I’m at the doctor’s office, and a woman comes in crying and shouting.

Woman: “I can’t find my daughter’s prostate!” 

The nurse calmly explained to her what the prostate is for and why women don’t have them. The woman left, looking humiliated.

I’m a nanny and I’m taking my charge to her basketball game, played at the local elementary school. Even though we get there early, the parking lot is packed, so we find street parking a block or two away and walk to the school. As we near the gym, I notice one of her teammates arriving with her dad, parking in the last open spot, right by the gym — one reserved for people with disabilities. The car has no disabled parking license plates or tag on the rearview mirror.

I know invisible disabilities exist, and it’s possible the dad has a heart condition or something that prevents him from walking a long distance. But I find it odd that he has no tags for parking there in that last open spot of the lot, so I call out to him.

Me: “You forgot to put up your disabled parking pass. My mother-in-law got a big ticket when she forgot.”

She had taken my disabled nephew to a park, and she got the ticket dismissed after showing the parking pass.

The dad didn’t say anything to me but said something to his daughter, and she went into the gym on her own while he got back in the car and drove off to park elsewhere.

I am working as a store manager for a national mattress retailer. It is mid-summer and we are having a “Tent Sale,” in reference to sidewalk and parking lot sales that take place UNDER tents. This is exclusively a mattress store; ‘mattress’ is IN the company name.

A young woman from a nearby restaurant, probably in her mid- to late teens, comes in, I am guessing on her break.

Me: “Welcome in! What can I do for you?”

Guest: “Well, I have a friend going camping soon, and I just thought I would stop in to look for her.”

While not common, I have had people coming in to look for camping pads before, so this doesn’t strike me as terribly odd. Still, I don’t like to presume until a guest has said what they want.

Me: “All right, I’d be more than happy to help you out! My name is [My Name], and what are we looking for?”

Guest: *Looking around* “Well… I was wondering what kind of tents you have?”

Me: “E-excuse me? Tents?”

Guest: “Yes, your signs say you’re having a tent sale.”

Me: “Oh! I apologize for the confusion, but that’s just the name of the sale. We don’t sell any tents, just mattresses.”

I motion to the sales floor of virtually nothing but sixty-plus mattresses on display.

Guest: “That is really misleading. That’s false advertising.”

I can only describe her tone as deeply offended, as if I have personally disrespected her ancestors.

Me: “Again, I really am sorry, but it’s in reference to sidewalk sales, not the actual sale of tents. We only sell mattresses and mattress accessories.”

The guest starts walking out, somehow even more offended than before.

Guest: “You need to change your sign! It’s really misleading!”

Me: *Thinking* “Yes, I, a lowly store manager, will be sure to have corporate rebrand the entire sale for all of our 3,000 stores across the nation.”

It is worth noting that this “misleading sign” showed a circus-style tent, not a camping one. Nowhere else does it mention a tent. This has not been the only occurrence of this, however; a coworker at another store had a similar experience where a guest started trying to barter for the canopy that corporate provided. I am happy to no longer be in a customer-facing job.

I’m out doing my grocery shopping. An older man enters the aisle I’m in, and we both browse in silence for a few moments, until…

Old Man: “Do you know where the [item]s are these days?”

I have a vague idea of where they are, so I try to be as helpful as I can.

Me: “I think they’re two aisles over.”

I point in the direction I think the items might be.

Old Man: “They’re always moving things around and putting things in weird places!”

This store has recently gone through a minor reorganization so I can understand his frustration. I just nod and make a vaguely sympathetic noise, and he wanders off in the direction I pointed him in.

I don’t think any more about it until it comes time for me to check out, and I end up in line directly behind the same man.

Old Man: *Seeing me* “Oh! I’m sorry, I thought you worked here!”

I look down at my black tank top, black skinny jeans, bright pink hair, and shopping cart full of items.

Me: “Um… no. No, I don’t.”