A local grocery store makes artisan bread in its in-house bakery that I really like. Today, I stopped by the store to grab a loaf. I picked up the last one on the shelf, grabbed a large bottle of juice that I also needed, and proceeded to the self-checkout lanes.

I scanned the juice first, put it in the carry-out bag, and then tried to scan the bread. Nothing happened. I looked closer and noticed that the bakery had not put a scan code sticker on the bag of bread. There was no manual price tag on it either.

I pressed the ‘call attendant’ button on the self-checkout screen, the light above my lane started flashing, but there was no one around to notice it. After a full minute with no response, I got tired of waiting, cancelled the transaction, then picked up the bread and juice and went to a lane that had a cashier who was just finishing up with a customer.

I placed my items on the belt, and the cashier scanned the juice, put it in the bag, and then tried to scan the bread.

Me: “There’s no barcode on the bread and no price tag, either. It was the last loaf on the shelf.”

The cashier looks at all sides of the bread bag and tries to scan it a couple of more times just for fun, but nothing happens.

The cashier then looks up at me.

Cashier: “You know what this means, right?”

After reading all the stories here on NAR, I just raised my eyebrows at him.

Me: “I’m not gonna say it. You’re probably tired of hearing that joke all the time.”

Cashier: “It means we’re both blessed today.”

He drops the bread in the bag with the juice and rings up the total, charging me for the juice only. 

I pay, thank him, and walk out with my bread that was free because it didn’t scan.

When I was young, maybe four or five, my mother showed me a $2 bill for the first time. It was, and still is, a decently rare bill at the time, and I had fun looking at it and admiring the Trumbull painting on the back. 

My mom, noticing me looking at everyone, decided to spring this on me:

Mom: “Oh, have you found the hitchhiker on there yet?”

Me: “A hitchhiker? Someone who sticks their thumb out for a ride?”

Mom: “Yup! He’s back there, see if you can find him!”

I then spent probably ten minutes looking for this elusive “hitchhiker”, getting more and more confused. Finally, after giving up:

Me: “Mom, I can’t find him. Where is he?”

Mom: “He isn’t on there? Well then, I guess he got a ride.”

Student: “They put me in British Lit this semester. But I just don’t get it. They haven’t even taught me the language yet.”

Me: “What do you mean? What language?”

Student: “The British language. Everything is just in English.”

Right out of college, I worked for two years in a high-end home electronics store. On day ten of my employment, a well-dressed, professional-looking man walks in and starts asking me about amplifiers. I do my job (qualifying questions, needs, budget, the usual) and eventually I lead him into one of our private display rooms.

The room is filled with amps mounted neatly into built-in nooks, all wired into an expensive, fully functioning demo system. Within ten seconds of getting in there, the guy starts yanking on one of them.

Me: “Sir, those are connected.”

He ignores me and keeps pulling.

Me: “Sir, those are part of our display system. They’re wired in.”

Still nothing. He keeps tugging harder. Now cables start shifting.

Me: “Please don’t do that. You’re going to damage the equipment.”

He doesn’t even look at me. Now he’s reaching, grabbing, and pulling at multiple amps, literally tearing loose cables and equipment that cost more than my monthly rent. I’m no longer polite.

Me: “Sir, stop! You’re breaking the display!”

Nothing. Finally, I grab his arm.

Me: “SIR!”

He spins around and takes a swing at me. That’s when confusion turns into fury. I yell for my general manager and tackle the guy. He keeps reaching past me, still trying to grab more.

His eyes are glassy. He isn’t fully there. 

A moment later, my general manager runs in, sees us practically wrestling, and freezes.

General Manager: “Oh s***… It’s HIM!”

A few minutes later, the police arrive. They take one look at the guy.

Cop: “Hey, buddy.”

They address him BY NAME and gently escort him out; I’m assuming straight to some psych ward. 

Turns out, Houston has a well-known high-end electronics fetishist, and nobody thought to warn the new guy.

I am working the checkout line at Costco. A man reaches the front of my queue with a cart overflowing. I reach out my hand for his card.

Me: “Good afternoon! Could I see your membership card, please?”

Customer: “I don’t have one. Just ring me up.”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but we’re a membership-only warehouse. I can’t open a transaction without scanning a valid card.”

Customer: *Voice rising immediately.* “Are you kidding me? I’m standing here with hundreds of dollars’ worth of stuff! You’re going to turn away money because I don’t have a piece of plastic?”

Me: “It’s our store policy, sir. It’s how we keep our prices low. If you’d like, you can head over to the membership desk and sign up right now.”

Customer: “I am sick of this! Everything is a membership or a subscription these days! I have to pay for Netflix, I have to pay for Amazon, I have to pay for my gym, and now you want me to pay for the ‘privilege’ of buying my own groceries? It’s a scam! It’s all a corporate scam!”

Me: “I understand the frustration, but it’s literally the business model of the store. How did you get past the greeter at the front door?”

Customer: “That doesn’t matter! This is America! I should be able to buy a f****** cheese without being on a government-style registry!”

A manager, hearing the shouting, walks over and tries to de-escalate.

Manager: “Is there a problem here, sir?”

Customer: “Yes! Your employee is refusing to take my money because I’m not a ‘member’ of your little cult! I just want my groceries!”

Manager: “Sir, the membership is what allows us to operate. Without it, we aren’t authorized to process the sale. It’s the same for everyone in this building.”

Customer: “Well, the customer is always right, and the customer says his money is green! Just hit the ‘skip’ button or whatever you do for people who aren’t sheep!”

Manager: “Sir, there is no ‘skip’ button for the foundational pillar of the store’s global business strategy.”

Customer: “Fine! Keep your stupid chicken! I’m going to the Walmart down the street where they don’t treat food like a VIP nightclub!”

He storms out, leaving the full cart behind. I look at my manager.

Me: “There’s a Walmart down the street?”

Manager: “Kinda. It’s a Sam’s Club.”

Me: “Walmart’s membership-only warehouse club?”

Manager: “Oh, to be a fly on THAT wall…”