(As weekly sales begin on Wednesdays, we always have middle-aged women who come in on Tuesdays and don’t understand how to read the small print on the new signs and labels. Either that or they’re taking advantage. Needless to say, the store policy is supposed to be, “If the sign says it’s on sale, we have to give the sale price.” I’m ringing up items. The lady points at the screen.)

Lady: “That item is supposed to be on sale.”

Me: *seeing this coming a mile away* “Unless there’s a computer error, it’s not.”

Lady: “Yes, it is. Here. Let me get the sign.”

(She walks off, and I give the husband a look that almost says, “Is she always like this?” He looks as exasperated as I am, almost rolling his eyes at her. She comes back with a big sign in her hands and sets it right in front of me.)

Lady: “See? It’s on sale.”

(The large enough, the “fine print” suggested she was going to have to wait a day, so I called the manager over. Sure enough, she got what she wanted. Call me crazy or a stickler for policy, but I don’t care how busy someone is during the week. Come back next Tuesday and see if we still have it, or come back tomorrow when the sale begins. Don’t show up the sales associate who knows exactly how much of a b**** you’re being.)

(My store sells prescription pet food, but the only reason we’re allowed to sell it is that we have a veterinary facility in our building. In order to buy the food, the customer needs to get a card from our vet with a number that we ring up at our register. One day, the vets call me over to help out a customer.)

Customer: “I don’t know what kind of food I need.”

Me: “It looks like your card says you need [Prescription Food]. I’ll show you where it is. We have two kinds: the regular and the low-fat. They both treat the same problem, but the low-fat is better for overweight dogs.”

(I show her the two types and explain which is which. A few minutes later, the customer goes to the register with one of the bags.)

Customer: “Is this the food I need?”

Cashier: “Um… I’m not sure. I’m not a vet. But it looks like it’s right since it matches what’s on your card.”

(The customer purchases their food and leaves. Five minutes later, she comes back, and this time I’m covering the cashier’s break.)

Customer: “This food is the wrong color. I need to exchange it.”

(I’m annoyed that we now basically have to throw away an opened bag of $40 prescription food after I showed her both kinds, but I go ahead and start to process the exchange.)

Me: “I just need your [vet card] to finish the transaction.”

Customer: “I don’t have it. I left it at home.”

Me: “I need one to finish the transaction, so I’ll just need you to walk over to our vet over there, and they can print you out another card—“

Customer: “I don’t need the card! It’s an even exchange!”

Me: “Unfortunately, my register won’t let me process the transaction without a card. It will only take a minute for the vet to print you out another one.”

Customer: “Just override it! You guys have done it before!”

(We are technically capable of overriding the vet card, but it gets flagged every time we do; we’re only allowed to override it if the customer has proof of a prescription AND the vet’s office is closed. Not only that, but we’re only allowed to override it once per customer, and we always emphasize that they’ll need their card next time.)

Me: “I’m sorry, but we aren’t allowed to sell you this food without a card. You can get another one if you just ask our vet over there.”

(The lady eventually leaves the register and goes to the vet’s office, fussing the entire time. She continues to lecture me when she comes back with a new vet card and the other type of food, insisting that she shouldn’t need a card for an “even exchange,” which it isn’t since the two foods are different and there is a dollar difference in price.)

Me: *as sweetly as I can while I give her the receipt* “Just make sure you bring your [vet card] next time!”

Customer: “I do have a card! It’s in my car— I mean, it’s at home!”

(The best part: two weeks later, she came back with her second bag of food and told us that it was the wrong kind and she needed to return it. She had no receipt. My shift was over, but since I remembered her, I went into the back with my coworker and let her know that the customer did indeed purchase the food. Thanks to my help, my coworker managed to find proof of the transaction and was able to process the return. I later found out that the customer remembered me, as well; she complained about me the entire time I was in the back, calling me “snooty” and falsely claiming that I never gave her a receipt in the first place. We processed the return and lost another $41. Thanks a lot, lady.)

(I work as both a box office and concessions employee at a locally-owned movie theater, where our policy is to have every customer sign their receipt for us. This happens as I watch one of my coworkers finish up a transaction:)

Coworker: “Okay, sir, here’s your card back, and I’m just going to need you to sign right here for me!” *holds out a pen for the customer to take*

Customer: “What, am I supposed to sign with a pen?”

(I can tell right away that the customer is not joking. I let out a tired sigh, and then step forward.)

Me: “No, sir, with your blood.”

(I am currently working the box office shift at a very small, locally-owned movie theater. We are currently in the middle of a showtime, which means we will have virtually no traffic in the lobby for roughly two more hours until the movies end. During these two hours, my manager and I notice the same man exiting his movie several times and entering the bathroom, but think nothing of it. Eventually, another employee goes in to check all the auditoriums and notifies us that the man has fallen asleep. After the movie lets out, we send them back in to make sure he has woken up and left. A few minutes later, they return with a clearly concerned expression on their face.)

Coworker: “The old man left, but he didn’t take his diaper with him.”

Manager: “I’m sorry, what?”

Coworker: “He left his used, dirty diaper on the floor of the auditorium, along with some dirty napkins it looks like he used to clean himself.”

(The coworker ended up having to clean it, and I am still in shock. How can you go to the bathroom so many times and not only take the used diaper back with you instead of throwing it away in a provided trash can, but also leave it on the floor for some poor, underpaid employee to clean up?)

(It is the day after Christmas, and everyone is SLAMMING our little game store. We have a line out the door most of the afternoon, and it is only just slowing down when my boss finally leaves. I’m working with a higher associate and a seasonal worker; I am a basic associate, and one of two girls on staff, the only girl in the store at the moment. A man comes up to my counter with a Tom Clancy game, which is a shooter game that is naturally rated M. It is the law in my state that we MUST card anyone who looks under 35 to 40 for rated-M games, and you MUST be 17 to buy.)

Me: “Good evening, sir! Is this all you need tonight?”

(The customer is a younger-looking fellow with a full beard, who looks to me to be college age. Kind of out of it, he nods to me.)

Customer: “Yes. Just that.”

Me: “All right! And do you have an ID?”

Customer: “No? Do I need to get my friend’s?” *gestures vaguely to the store*

Me: “That’ll work! I just need a valid ID.”

(The man calls his friend over, and I can immediately tell that he is not going to be a good customer. His eyes are red and his brow is immediately furrowed as he gestures at me.)

Friend: “Really? Are we really doing this? What kind of seventeen-year-old has a full beard and mustache?”

Me: *laughs* “Well, sir, I knew a kid in middle school with a full beard and mustache. That’s not really a gauge for me.”

Friend: “Come on. He’s obviously not seventeen.”

Me: “I still need to see an ID. Yours would work!”

Friend: *scowls* “Well. I’m really good friends with the store manager. Do you have to do this?”

(I know I’m dealing with a jerk. Our manager is well known for being a jerk, without meaning to, and also a stickler for rules. He even carded me once, despite having my birthdate on file. I know that my manager would never allow this to slide, so I steel myself and smile sweetly.)

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but it’s the law. I have to card you or it will cost me my job.”

Friend: *uncomfortably shifting* “Well, I guess we could go get a PSN card and buy it online?”

(He won’t. He is buying pre-owned, which is about $20 cheaper than digital.)

Me: *smiling sweetly* “Oh, I can’t stop you from doing that! There’s no problem with that. Would you li—“

Friend: “Well, fine. Thanks a lot.” *dripping with anger* “Let’s go get a card somewhere else.”

(The two turn to leave my register.)

Me: “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you today, sir.”

Customer: “It’s okay; you’re just doing your job.”

Friend: *muttering under his breath about, “Is this really necessary?” and, “He’s obviously not seventeen,” and whatnot*

(After they leave, the store is mostly clear for the first time in hours. I turn to the seasonal kid, who’s been watching with big eyes, as my manager helps the other customer who witnessed it all.)

Me: “If they say they’re good buddies with the store manager in a staff of five but don’t mention his name… they don’t actually know the store manager.”