(I work in a thrift store. It’s the day before our driver goes out to people’s houses to pick up furniture, for those who don’t have the means to donate them directly. This means that we aren’t taking furniture donations, since we’re going to be massively full tomorrow, anyway. A lady drives up to the donation door with her truck, hauling a trailer with a piece of furniture in it. She has driven past our sandwich board declaring that we can’t take furniture right now, and has walked up to the door, with a sign that says we can’t take furniture, and rung the doorbell. Then she has stood in front of the door for the few seconds it has taken me to get to the door from the sorting table I was working at. I get to the door and take a deep breath to politely decline her item, and she cuts me off before I can get a word out.)

Woman: “So, what will you give me for this?”

Me: “Uh…”

Woman: “You are a retail establishment, correct?”

Me: “We are a non-profit thrift store, ma’am, and we take donations, which we then sell, yes. The money goes to the local animal shelter.”

Woman: “Yeah, yeah. So, how much will you give me for this?”

Me: *gives it a cursory glance* “Nothing.”

Woman: “Excuse me?”

Me: *shrugs at her* “For one thing, we do not buy anything from our donors, ma’am. People donate their things. You know–” *I add, as she looks entirely blank* “–they give them to us for free.”

(She looks blank, like I just started speaking an alien language. Realizing that she is no longer “poetry in motion” but rather “gibberish in neutral,” I try to continue to another point.)

Me: “For another, we’re not accepting any furniture right now, ma’am, so we can’t give you money for it, and we can’t even take it for free right now.”

Woman: *slowly, like the speed of the words are the problem, not the content* “I don’t think you understood what I’m asking. I’m asking you how much money would you give me for this.”

Me: “I cannot give you any money, ma’am. We cannot take furniture right now. We never buy things the way a pawn shop does, and we do not sell items for consignment.”

Woman: “What. Will. YOU! Give. Me. For This.”

Me: “Nothing. I don’t want that item, thanks. Neither does the store. Here’s a list of other businesses in the area. Try them.”

Woman: “I… Well… You… FINE!” *she jumps into her car and drives off*

(There’s a pawn shop about a mile down the road. I’ve been there. It does not have a drive-thru, either.)

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(I’m a cashier and have only been one for about a week at this point. I’m out of fives and ones, so my manager is off to get me some more change for my register when this guy comes up with a few books. My manager is within twenty feet of me.)

Me: “I can help you in just a moment, sir; my manager’s bringing me more money for my register.”

Customer: *angrily* “I don’t need money; I’m paying with a card!”

Me: “Well, I need the money for anyone behind you, so if you could wait just one more moment…”

(My manager gets to me and then realizes she doesn’t have enough money to exchange for the 100 she took, so she calls up one of the assistant managers to come bring the rest. I go ahead and check this guy out. I punch in four hardbacks, one paperback, and a kid’s paperback.)

Me: “Your total is $13.56.”

Customer: *looks at the screen, looks at his books, looks at me* “There is a mistake here; the price is too high.” *getting more annoyed, he leans over my counter to look at my screen where I’ve put in his items and he points* “Too many hardbacks!”

(I double-check. Sure enough, I rang up a paperback as a hardback. I tell my manager and she voids it for me. I change it to a paperback.)

Customer: “You know, at [Grocery Chain], a mistake like that would make this free.”

Me: “Your total is $11.67, sir; debit or credit?”

(He grumbled very angrily until he left the store.)

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(I volunteer at a thrift store that supports a local animal shelter. We have recently gone through a change in managers. Our previous manager was asked to step down due to not being a people person. She’s a nice enough lady once you get to know her, but can be extremely blunt, and we got some complaints. I’m helping a customer carry her bags out to her car.)

Customer: “You really do have a nice store here.”

Me: “Thank you; we try.”

Customer: “Especially since you no longer have that manager.” *laughs, then looks at me expectantly*

Me: *frozen in shock for a moment* “I… like [Previous Manager].”

Customer: “Well, she was very rude and mean.”

Me: “She’s kind of brusque, but she never meant to be mean. It’s just her personality.”

Customer: “Well, you can’t have personalities in the service industry. Especially in a place that runs on donations.”

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(While working a temporary job at a thrift store, I am usually working in the back room, sorting donations. Every so often, I’ll be called out to clean up the floor, as I am one of the few full-time workers. I am sorting the women’s plus-size section.)

Customer: “Oh, hey, could you hand me that black skirt there, right next to the jeans?”

(I oblige and hand her the hanger.)

Customer: *looks at the size tag* “Oh, no, this is too big for me. But it looks like it would fit you.”

(I am a large guy, who sometimes indulges in cross-dressing.)

Me: “Well, thank you, ma’am. Are you sure it’s my color, though?”

(I keep sorting the rack as we talk.)

Customer: *sensing that I’m not joking* “Well, of course. I bet it’d look good with that black and white top in the next row.”

Me: “That sounds like a good mix. There’s just one problem: employees aren’t allowed to purchase items. I’m not sure why.”

Customer: “Well, maybe you can find something similar at another store.”

(The conversation goes on for a little while and when I finish, I see an eight-year-old girl by the books, trying to reach up for a toy on the shelf. As I hand it to her, she asks me this:)

Little Girl: “Mister, do you dress up like a girl?”

Me: “Yes, I do, but not when I’m at work.”

Little Girl: “I bet you’re really pretty.”

(This immediately brightens my mood until her mother steps in.)

Mother: “No, he isn’t. Boys aren’t meant to be pretty. Only girls are.”

(The little girl looks at her mother, back to me, and to the customer I was helping.)

Little Girl: “Mommy’s lying. You would be very pretty! Like a… giant princess!”

Customer & Me: *laughing*

Me: “Thanks, little girl! I’m going to put that on my business card!”

Little Girl: “Okay! Bye-bye, Princess!”

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That Is ‘Pretty’ Awesome

(I’m shopping in one of the local thrift stores, not really looking for anything specific, just killing time. In the very long aisle that holds kitchen and glassware, I see a nice casserole dish on the top shelf. I’m six feet tall so this is easily within my reach. As I go for it, I hear a sharp voice behind me.)

Employee: “Can’t you read the sign? It says, ‘Ask for assistance for items on the top shelf.’”

Me: “Okay, sure. I can reach it, though.”

(This man might be 5’6″, but I doubt it.)

Employee: “No, you can’t! I’ll get the ladder.”

(He walks to the end of the aisle, mumbling, and returns with a folding step stool. He makes a big deal out of unfolding it, positioning it, and then climbing onto the first step. On this step, he is still shorter than me. He does not step up to the next, larger step.)

Employee: “What is it you want up here?”

Me: “The blue casserole dish.”

(He reaches for it and knocks over a vase. He pulls the dish down, knocking over another glass item, which rolls right off the shelf and smashes onto the floor. He thrusts the dish at me.)

Employee: “I hope you’re happy.”

Me: “Oh, it has a nick in it. Never mind.”

(I set it back on the top shelf and walked away.)